Fare Thee Well.
My hoof shakes. Even things I grab into my aura twitch and wobble unevenly. It is getting worse, and I have to decide, I have to decide before I am too weak, before it is all too visible. I have written dozens of letters; some even still exist. I have made preparations, I have tried to make sure that every corner would be covered and that others would suffer as little as possible. Well...that is not so hard, really. There is only one pony who will suffer, and she is why I have such trouble with this. No, actually, I am lying. The problem is that I still do not want to; I am still just toying with the idea.
Letters, plans...every time there was something or other I had to take care first. It helped to know I had the option, but I never really intended to use it. I was chickening out. After all, if you realize your presence is detrimental to someone, you do not push them away; you do not tell them what it is - not if you have more than three brain cells. You fall silent and get on with your life, and let the silence be the arbiter of matter unresolved betwixt you. The same principle applies here - all I have been doing was making up excuses. For my fear, for my uncertainty, for my unwillingness to make one more evil act, one that cannot be fixed or redeemed, leaving me a monster for eternity, even if nobody will see it like that. And by writing down these words I am doing the same again and yet it feels different. As if a timer was ticking in the back of my mind, as if it finally were real this time. Will I find the strength? I know not. I hope so. I hope not. I should not hope. Hope is a bitch. Hope is what makes you carry on day after day, to brave the cold and dark, but it is a carrot dangling on a thread in front of your snout. And even if by any chance you catch it, there is always another one to struggle for. I am tired, so tired. Of this, of myself, of being evil.
Is it evil? Oh yes. Selfish though? In a way, I can see why you would think that, but just thinking that is incredibly selfish and self centered by itself. I cannot say I have anything much. A few trinkets with more shine than meaning and that is about it, everything else already gave in to the tooth of time. By the one thing I have is myself; is that not a right we grant everyone, to do with their lives as they please? So what right does anyone have to get all angry when somepony actually does just that? Or do we just want to allow choices if they are our choices, if they would choose like we would? You can like any food except pineapple on pizza, because how dare your tastes differ from mine?
Well, great. So, having thoroughly insulted whoever it may concern, I can move on safe in my knowledge my snarky nature kept loyally with me till the very end. I need to make some practical provisions now; dealing with these matters calms my mind, takes it off things. I really have nothing to pass on, everything I use is property of the state. I could ask for anything for the funeral and it would not matter - it will be as it will have to be, because I am not myself and never was, I am - I was - a symbol. And symbols are things. So do what you will for the ceremony, I just ask the site not be ostentatious. I doubt I will get even that, but a mare can...no. No more hope. Why do I even care anyway? It is just another example of hanging on the world even as I prepare to leave it. How incredibly selfish, incredibly stupid to care about what happens to the carcass I no longer will inhabit! I take back what I said. Do what you want to do; do what will make you feel better.
My charge will leave with me, I made sure of that. But the stars will shine all the brighter now that they won´t be hindered and the night will be no darker than before. Besides in cities with lamps and shining windows, they are barely visible anyway; our kind if moving on from the need of such help. Our little ponies now craft stars of their own, beautiful, ingenious stars that anyone can make, that you do not have to be deity incarnate to move. Democratization of godhood, perhaps. I always thought they would one day surpass us, that we were but guards in the infancy of our kind. But I imagined they would become like us, just bigger, brighter race of alicorns. Instead they already did it in they own little, inconspicuous way - and we failed to even take notice. I am proud of them, proud of what they became. Please make sure they are told that. And I am proud of you for guiding them there on your own. I can only imagine how hard that must have been to balance safety and freedom like every parent has to. Yet you are a mother to an entire civilization and I know I do not have to caution you; you will know what has to be done, like you always have. I always admired that about you. My turn now with it now I suppose.
I automated the celestial processes as best as I could; there will no longer be new stars until someone takes over, but you will not be burdened with moving lumps of rock and light around either. Except your own lump of light I guess.
Personal message time. Whoever you are, and especially YOU, it is not thine fault. I guess it is not even mine either. Things just happen and it does not have to be anypony’s fault. Playing the blame game helps nobody, even - especially - if you only play it with yourself. It would have been better were I forgotten or never born, but neither me nor thou have that comfort. I cannot change the past, I can only limit future damage. And no matter how it hurts right now, I know that in the long run it will be better. You will be freer than you have been...well, ever. In a way, I suppose history is repeating itself. Before, I had trouble accepting I was just the spare. Now - now I have. Yes, I really have. Took a bloody long time, but it was a lesson I needed, so no blame wallowing about that either. Everyone has a place, and this is mine, or was, and I am no longer discontent about it, just a bit melancholic at times perhaps. But there are other things I am I cannot just as easily accept and swallow.
I am not sure this can be understood. I am quite sure I do not want it to be understood; if you know, you know, and if you do not, then move on and live a happier life; good for you. There are curses I would not wish even on myself. But by the same token I have to offer some explanation, if only to prevent yourself going spare trying to figure it out. Truth is...truth is I am in debt. No, not like that, nothing your coffers could solve. I am in debt because for every breath I take I should be giving back, but I am so diminished I no longer have anything to give. We both know what happened the last time I gave so much there was not enough of me left to remain, well, me, but I am not doing this to prevent another war, I have no such excuse; that would not happen in any case. I cannot give love, I cannot even pay through pain anymore. It is there, but it is dug in so deep in the back of my mind I can no longer feel it. Mostly I am just staring into an emotional wall. Others...should not be made to bear the burden of paying for me continued existence over and over again. I know you would gladly, but I cannot allow it. The bill gets higher and higher with every nightmare I do not catch, with every strained smile when I make another blunder. I have to admit that things might be different with nightmares for a while, but let us be realistic - I created more than I ever took away. My net balance simply is in red numbers, and not just with nightmares.
I am too emotional, bring nothing to the table, and take a lot away...focus on facts. Facts do not lie. Fact, I am not needed, and have not been for over a millennium. Fact, my existence is a strain on everypony around me. Fact, I cannot change the previous two. I could find new ways of being useful and I tried, but...I just don’t have the strength anymore. Someone along the line I buried myself piece by piece and now a husk is realizing that she has been for far longer than the tombstone will suggest. I am already gone, ’tis but a formal confirmation.
Am I depressed? Yes. Does it alter my feelings and thinking? Yes. Does that change anything? No. Just because you are paranoid does not mean they are not after you. Just because you are depressed does not mean you are wrong. After all, these things are subjective. I could label the world insane, or the world can label me the same; like motion, it is relative and ultimately makes no difference; it is social consensus that makes it swing one way and one way only. Maybe it was the solitary existence that broke me; we need others to tell us who we are. No. Yes. Maybe. We need others to see what we are not, we need not-selves to define ourselves against, else our personalities deteriorate and unfold, no longer needed.
And the world made its choice. Or maybe I stand outside it. Sometimes I stare out of the window and it all feels so unreal. Other times I would laugh at the most inappropriate moments because it is all just absurd, too absurd. Let me tell you, few things can damage a male ego like a sudden bout of unexpected and unreasonable laughter from the object of their (not admitted) desires. It does not make sense, it does not fit, I look into the world and see a broken jigsaw puzzle, I look into a mirror and it cracks – perhaps in revulsion, perhaps to display what an undamaged object could not. And yet...yet there is the little cold hard space in the back of my head that is guiding me even now. The one that does not yield, the one that is not influenced. I watch myself from outside, no longer a person, not even a jailer, just a cold, clinical observer. It helps me do what must be done.
There is one more thing I must address, that took me too long to figure out. You never asked for it – I know you too well to believe if was out of pride or a belief in your own infallibility. If anything, I suspect that you simply did not think it possible, not after all that happened, not after you had to be the strong one. So, here goes: I did not even think about this up until now, because there really is nothing to forgive. I think we both know that in our heads. But hearts are sometimes a different matter and if yours needs it, I am loathe not to give it: I do forgive you too.
I wish you could hate me, or at least be angry. It would have perhaps helped you. But you will not. I do not deserve nor expect that last act of mercy and you will still give it without a second thought, without even thinking of doing otherwise, because that is who you are – forgiving the unforgivable is in your nature. And I am sorry, more sorry than I will ever be able to let you know, that I was never who I should have been, that I never could do what I should have done, that I am now doing this to you. It is worth nothing and it means nothing and yet I am sorry. I tried to keep it out for the entirety of the letter, knowing it helps nothing, resolves nothing, it nothing, but it would not be kept out. I believe I need a break. I am all but finished anyway.
If it is any consolation, I feel well now. I am calm, at peace. I won. It finally all stopped mattering, and I am now writing out of momentum more than anything else. It is time.
Fare thee well. Or at least better than I did.