Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia's precocious student, wants to know why it can't be teatime all the time.
Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia's precocious student, wants to know why it can't be teatime all the time. Princess Celestia's response comes in the form of a story, The Tale of the Dark Empress of Teatime.
In this tale, Sunny Sunshine goes to pay the Dark Empress of Teatime a visit, and comes home a different pony.
Technically an entry in the Weedverse, but stands alone and takes place in pre-history.
After a long, trying day, it felt good to sit down and drink a cup of brown joy. It had been one of those days and the filly responsible for making it one of those days was settling in across the table. She was a bit short, this filly, and her head just barely peeked over the edge of the low table spread with the trappings of teatime.
“Twilight, a few mistakes do not mean the end of the world.”
Ooh-hoo, the sullenness to be found in those eyes. Little Twilight was the purplelecent colour of a frustrated, thunder-charged stormcloud and at the moment, had the disposition to match. Beside Twilight, Spike murmured, a wordless sound, and he banged his tiny clawed hands against the highchair tray table. Poor little Spike almost looked as miserable as Twilight did. He was hungry, perhaps, or just in need of some attention.
As for Twilight’s constant companion, Smarty Pants, the doll was resting against a stack of books placed on the table, a source of annoyance to Princess Celestia. Nothing was said—Twilight was far too bent out of shape for constructive criticism right now—but at some point there would be a lesson about how only tea-related things belonged upon the tea table.
“I’m not mad about the mistake,” Twilight muttered as her tiny nostrils flared.
“Well then, what is the source of all this anger?”
“I’m mad that Moondancer was better than me. It’s not fair. I studied harder than she did. She barely studied at all.”
Sighing, Princess Celestia was reminded of another student, during another time, and she worried about this anger, this resentment. Twilight was a good filly, but sometimes showed troubling signs. Twilight’s anger was not always unfounded though, and she had strong feelings when her sense of fairness was tweaked. Still, these moments of anger were something to be concerned about.
“Have you thought about how Moondancer feels?”
The question caused Twilight’s face to darken. Her mouth opened, she licked her upper front teeth, and then her mouth closed, with faint, muted click of her teeth. Her ears reddened, and Princess Celestia was almost certain that her student neared the boiling point. Yes—with another student on her mind, Celestia knew that this anger would have to be dealt with—but for now, a lesson in empathy was in order.
“Feels about what?” Twilight demanded.
“Moondancer, like you, has a talent for magic. She is gifted, just like you. A genius of rare order, just like you. She is capable of extraordinary feats of magic at a young age… just like you. And yet, for all of her apparent greatness, for all of her talent, for all of her ambition and drive”—Celestia paused to give Twilight a moment to take everything in—“Moondancer is not my apprentice. My student. Imagine the frustration she feels. Think about how angry she might be. To be as gifted as she is… to be as gifted as you are. It is no wonder that she delights in showing you up, Twilight. Rivalry is expected.”
So frustrated and upset by this revelation, speech failed poor little Twilight, who whinnied out her distress. Celestia withheld further remarks and waited, hoping that the clouds would part and that some serenity would return to Twilight’s face. Across the table, the flustered filly folded one foreleg over the other, slumped, and sulked. Yet, there were hopeful signs. Twilight was thinking. Hopefully she was thinking about Moondancer’s feelings.
Celestia plated up a few sandwiches, a teacake, a cookie, and then put the plate down in front of Twilight, who failed to say ‘thank you.’ The barest hint of a smile could be seen on Celestia’s face as she prepared her own plate, which held considerably more food. It had been a long day, a trying day, and thinking of another dear student left Celestia in need of comfort.
“Why can’t it be teatime all the time?” Twilight asked.
Taken aback, Celestia struggled to process the sudden subject change. It brought up memories—unwanted, unpleasant memories—and once more, she found herself thinking of her beloved student. Twilight had redirected her frustration, channeled it into something else, and she now eyeballed her cookie with a petulant, hungry, lip-curled glare.
“You have the highest marks in your schedules and organisation class, but you ask me this.” After a quick deep breath, Celestia was a bit more prepared to deal with her precocious student. “Teatime is just one of many times during a day. A cup of tea can be had at any hour of the day, such as breakfast, or lunch. There is nothing finer than a cuppa during an intense study session, is there not? But teatime is a break, Twilight. A time to catch our breath, to compose ourselves, and to slowly transition into the evening that is to come. Equestrian teatime celebrates that transition. Teatime is sometimes called the truce between day and night. A shift occurs as one gives way to the other.”
There was anguish hidden behind the gentle schoolmarm smile.
“Perhaps a story is in order,” Celestia said as she began to pour tea.
“I’d like that.”
“Spike, would you like to hear a story?”
The baby dragon burbled a bit, smoked, and then clapped his tiny, clawed hands together. Twilight seemed a little calmer, and as Celestia prepared her student’s tea, she allowed her mind to slip back into the mists of the not-so-distant past. So much had happened, not that long ago, and the memory of her other student was still fresh in her mind.
So were the scars.
“Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria—”
“That’s a terrible way to start a story.”
“Twilight.” Celestia kept her tone level, though her eyebrow rose a great deal.
“Yeah?” But before anything could be said, the filly continued. “Well, it is. If I were to turn in a creative writing project, with that as the opening line, that would not get me good marks, and I’d be told that my opening was drab and uninspired.”
Celestia’s sigh was such that it almost seemed as though she might deflate. Twilight was certainly… unique. For all of her worshipful adoration, she was quick to call things exactly as they were. Yes, little Twilight was most certainly unique in this behaviour, and perhaps this was for the best. With Twilight, nothing was hidden. No hidden resentments, no subterfuge, everything was right out on the table, come what may.
If only another student had voiced her disappointments before they turned into an issue…
"Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, there was a unicorn who went mad with power, and she proclaimed herself the Empress of Teatime. By her decree, every hour, of every day, would be teatime. This is not as good as it might sound, and so another unicorn was tasked with putting an end to her nefarious ways. A brave little unicorn filly, though not a little filly. She would be a mare soon, this filly, and her name was Sunset—you know what, we'll call her Sunny, because she is best remembered for her sunny disposition. Sunny was the student of one Princess Celestia, a wise and benevolent ruler of great renown."
“That’s a little telly—”
“Twilight Sparkle, this is opening exposition, it is supposed to be telly.” Brows now furrowed, Celestia put a teacup and saucer down in front of Twilight, and then took a moment to consider what to do with her student, all while thinking of another. She pondered the notion of telling Twilight that nopony likes a know-it-all, but she knew that her student would only probably counter with the fact that being a know-it-all was the reason she was chosen.
The snarky little know-it-all was just that kind of filly.
“You’d think that a wise and benevolent ruler of great renown would know how to properly start a story.”
“Twilight Sparkle…”
“Yes?”
“Eat. Your. Cookie.”
“Yes, Princess Celestia.” So commanded, she crammed the whole cookie into her mouth—and there was blessed silence, save for the sound of chewing.
The lessons in empathy would make a difference. They had to. The memory of previous failure haunted Celestia, and trapped between the past and the present, she tried to make sure that her regrets did not taint her current efforts. Twilight was almost certainly The One. Failure was simply off the table. Yes, the situation with Moondancer was serendipitous. Twilight could be coaxed out of her own headspace and she would learn empathy. It would make a difference.
Already, Twilight showed signs of remarkable empathy for Spike, and he wasn’t even a pony. Celestia’s optimism swelled, and though her mind was troubled, her hopefulness restored her calm. Lifting her teacup, she slurped her tea, and thought of a better way to start her story, one that would have Twilight’s tacit approval. The cookie was exceptionally chewy, and quite large, so it would keep her busy for a while.
“A long time ago, there was a pony who loved to wear pyjamas to bed, and she was much beloved by her teacher, who had some pyjamas made so that they would have something in common, something to talk about and share…”
Sunset Shimmer spent a moment doing facial gymnastics, an impressive act that ended with a triple eyeroll. Celestia allowed herself a smile; for a while now, her student was far too grown up to say the word ‘cute’ in her close proximity—yet she still wore silly novelty pyjamas. Yes, Sunset was growing up, yet, for all of her seeming maturation, she was remarkably foalish when it came to most things.
“Have your breakfast and hurry up. You have a train to catch.”
“A train?” A distinctly teenage whine could be heard in Sunset’s voice.
“There is a problem. You have a mission. Please, don’t dawdle, as there is much to do and little time to do it in.” Celestia flung open the curtains to allow some sunshine in and ignored the pained groan from her apprentice. “In one hour from now, you’re scheduled for a dyejob.”
“A dyejob? Why?”
Standing near the window, Celestia turned her head and leveled her gaze on Sunset. “For the mission, of course. Sunset, I don’t want you going as my apprentice. You need to work on your diplomacy skills, and I feel this would be far too easy if you went and threw your weight around. So for this, I don’t want you recognisable.”
“This is stupid—”
“Young lady, you need to work on your friendship skills. Not everything needs to be solved with brute force. Guile and treachery, while they have their place, should not be the only thing you try. So you’re going to get a dyejob, adopt an alias, and then you are going to rely on charm and wit to get everything done. No making demands, or throwing around the fact that you are my apprentice. Doing that leaves you weak, Sunset. Come up with creative solutions! Make friends!”
“Friendship feels pointless,” Sunset retorted. “Ponies should be made to obey. Trying to be nice feels like a waste of time. I shouldn’t have to cajole and make nice just to get my duties done. What’s the point of being your apprentice if I can’t throw my weight around? What is the point of having authority?”
Almost exasperated, Celestia reminded herself that Sunset was entering into those difficult teenage years. Apprentices always took a turn for the worse when adolescence struck. For Sunset, it was particularly bad—but all was not lost. Sunset, her dearest, most beloved student—would come around. This lesson would do her some good.
“Wait…hold up.”
“Yes, Twilight?”
“How is Sunny Sunshine supposed to make friends if she’s not herself? Isn’t that lying?”
Mere inches above the edge of her teacup, Celestia’s lips quivered.
“Sunny Sunshine is going in as a spy!” little Twilight crowed. “And spies are not to be trusted. You can’t make friends with spies. Beware of spies and Pies, for both will catch you unawares.”
“Twilight, dearest.” Celestia sipped her tea, summoned her patience, and thought about how to explain this in a way that made sense to one as young as Twilight. “The point, Twilight, is that Sunny Sunshine will learn about diplomacy and tact, which happen to be vital elements for friendship. Being my apprentice affords one a certain sense of power and authority. I didn’t want her exploiting that, and circumventing what was sure to be a valuable lesson.”
“But… that’s like… lying.”
“No, Twilight. Not lying.” After trying, and failing, Celestia wasn’t sure what to call it, or how to explain it. It wasn’t lying, but it was deceptive. At least, in a sense. It was sneaky. In fact, it was the very sort of guile and treachery that Celestia wanted Sunny Sunshine to avoid, now that she thought about it. All to teach a lesson. It dawned upon Celestia that a mistake might have been made.
“Sometimes, sometimes we do strange things that don’t always make sense for the sake of a lesson,” Celestia said, uncertain if she was trying to convince herself or her student. “For Sunny Sunshine, she… ceased to learn for a while. When it came time for a mission, or to get something done, she failed to interact with ponies. She arrived, announced that she was my apprentice, and then demanded things be done, lest my wrath be incurred. This was hurting her, Twilight. Depriving her of necessary life skills. She didn’t learn normal, healthy ways to encourage ponies to do what needed done, but rather, she relied upon threats and coercion.”
“Oh.” There was a slight tremble in Twilight’s teacup, but she appeared to be in no danger of dropping it. “So it is like my big brother bossing me around and telling me it’s because Mommy and Daddy said so.”
“Yes, Twilight. Very much like that.”
“I understand,” the filly said. Her head bobbed up and down, and her fuzzy-wuzzy chin narrowly avoided upsetting her teacup.
“I am glad.”
“My brother, when he bosses me around, he’s not really mean about it. He’s just trying to be a good big brother. Mommy and Daddy trust him, and he’s always worried about that trust. He talks to me about it, sometimes, and while I don’t always understand, I do try to listen.” Then, Twilight smiled and added, “He gets a little strict when it comes to the vocabulary flashcards.”
“Shining Armor understands the importance of eloquence. He’ll make a fine diplomat, your brother. And his hard work paid off… you’re so well-spoken, Twilight… how could I not have you as my apprentice?” She saw her student beam and Celestia felt better. Twilight responded well to praise, flattery, and kind words.
It made her easy to manage.
“Green is a magnificent colour for you.”
Right away, Celestia could see that her kind flattery did not have the desired effect. Sunset fairly bristled and her lip curled back into a rather disrespectful snarl. No words were said, but none were needed to convey what she was feeling, and Celestia understood full well what her student wanted to say.
Sunset Shimmer was a fine shade of seafoam green, and her fiery mane was now subdued shades of pale yellow and muted pastel blues. Celestia chose the colours specifically because they were not aggressive, hot colours, but rather, were warm, friendly colours. Kind colours that she felt made her apprentice far more approachable. Little ponies were excitable creatures, and sometimes, overly-vivid colours spooked them.
Little ponies were the silliest creatures, at times.
“You’ll be travelling to Sleepy Creek, a mining town not far from Tall Tale. That part of the country is known for the flesh-eating willows, so beware of them. You’ve not encountered them, my student, so pay attention to what I have to say. The willows look harmless, but if you get too close, you will be in grave danger. What appear to be leaves are actually tiny flying creatures, which are ravenous for blood. The willow serves as a hive of sorts. When prey is sensed, the leaf-creatures fly off in search of flesh, which they bring back to the willow trunk to act as a fertiliser. Typically, the leaf-creatures go after birds and wildlife, but will also go after ponies who stray too close.”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand. If a flesh-eating willow threatens me, I’ll burn it to the ground.”
Lips pursed, Celestia tried to express her displeasure without saying anything.
“What?” Sunset demanded.
“The flesh-eating willows are a vital part of the ecosystem, Sunset. They are beautiful. When the leaf-creatures roost, the branches droop from their weight, making the tree look very much like a weeping willow.” Brows furrowing, Celestia resisted the urge to lecture her grumpy apprentice. “You should learn to appreciate such beauty, even if it is dangerous. If the flesh-eating willows are respected, they are harmless.”
“Yeah, I get it. Now, what am I doing? Not sightseeing willows, I hope.”
Though her student’s attitude made it difficult, Celestia maintained her composure. “Sunset, the details are sketchy at best. A local unicorn has gone quite mad. I believe her name is Nadir. She now calls herself the Empress of Teatime, and she has declared that every hour, of every day, is now teatime. She’s taken over Sleepy Creek, from what I understand. The town is now held hostage to her whims.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Sunset asked.
“Do?” Celestia’s lips formed a tight ‘O’ and her wings ruffled against her sides. “I want you to help this poor mare. I’m certain she’s hurting in some way. Be kind to her. Approach her with caution. Earn her trust, if you can. Be gentle, be kind, and try to be the good pony that I know you to be. See what you can do to alleviate her suffering. Coax her into getting some help. If you can, convince her to come to me. I sense that… she is… troubled. There is something about her, but I am unable to discern what it might be.”
“Isn’t this a matter for the guard?” Sunset seemed miffed now. “This feels like a waste of time. I’m a skilled wizard now… why am I doing this?”
“Because I want you to be more than a skilled wizard, Sunset. You are my student. My apprentice. My protégé. You have endless potential, my apprentice, and I want the best for you.”
“If you want her brought to you, I could do that with a lot less fuss. Just sneak in and ambush her—”
“No!” Too late, Celestia realised that she had raised her voice. Calming herself, she tried again, this time with a lower, more civil tone. “No, Sunset. No ambushes. No guile. No treachery. No sneak-thievery. Be gentle, be kind, be generous. Laughter is also good.”
“This whole thing just sounds pointless. I could be studying magic. Advancing myself. Not foalsitting some crackpot who thinks it should be teatime every day.”
Now, her student was sulking, and Celestia felt the hot prickle of frustration running up and down her neck. Adolescence left a dark, rebellious streak in Sunset, which was every bit alarming as it was concerning. Such anger… such choleric temper. But Celestia was certain that this was a phase, and that it would pass. She would just have to be patient.
“What’s the point of having all this power if I can’t do anything with it?” Sunset was whining now, and her ears were pinned back against her head. “I have more magic than I know what to do with, and I’m not allowed to do anything with it! Who needs diplomacy when I can just make ponies do as I command. Obedience spells get results. It’s efficient, and time is not wasted. That is time that could be spent in study, or self-improvement.”
Though deeply disappointed, Celestia did her best to hide it. “Sunset,” she began, hesitant, “how would you feel if I made you do as I wished, with no regard for your feelings?”
“Don’t you do that anyway?” Sunset retorted.
Biting her tongue, Celestia choked back her angry words, and then, in a calm, measured tone, she replied, “Right now, I am sticking with diplomacy and tact. Would you like if I used an obedience spell to make you comply? Would you be comfortable with that?”
“No.” Sunset spat out the word whilst she glared in defiance. “I have power. Having power, I deserve better. I have enough power to rule. I can make others do what needs to be done, if you’d only let me. How much of Equestria has to fall apart before you come to your senses and allow me to do what needs to be done to restore order? I can do what you’re too squeamish to do. Things don’t have to be as bad as they are.”
Sunset had dodged the question. Even worse, her subterfuge, her diversion away from the difficult question suggested monstrous acts, a surefire distraction if ever there was one. Celestia wasn’t sure where to begin, where to start. Things were, perhaps, a little worse than she feared. But she needed time to think, and Sunset, obviously, needed time to cool off.
A lesson in patience was needed, perhaps. And one in empathy. Sunset was too focused on results, on success, and too little focus was placed on methods, on ethics, and morality. Upon Sunset’s return, there would be a renewed focus on these subjects. This was just a phase, a trying one, and like so many other troubling things, it would pass. Celestia would need to redouble her efforts; Sunset, a pony with extraordinary potential, was worth it.
“I have a list of mission guidelines for you to study, and I’ve taken the liberty of slipping them in with your train tickets. Hurry now, and head to the train station. I believe in you, my student, and know that you will not disappoint me.”
Whatever words Sunset might have said came out as a huff.
“Sunset Shimmer—”
“What,” she snapped, impatient.
“I love you dearly. Please, be mindful of the willows.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Sunset’s slow eyeroll revealed her true feelings. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t be wasting my time. This is pointless. Meaningless. A distraction away from my studies.”
“Go, Sunset… and good luck.”
Saying nothing, Sunset stormed away, stomping with every step.
Sunset Shimmer found herself in an unknown place that was not where she needed to be. The train had stopped here and was now being prepared to retreat back to Tall Tale in reverse. Annoyed, angry, and fed up with everything that life had done to her, Sunset turned her ire upon the station manager, the sole, lone pony that worked at this pathetic stop that wasn’t even a real train station.
“I need to be in Sleepy Creek,” she said, almost shouting.
“Can’t,” the station manager replied, his voice tired and weary.
“Well, why not?” Sunset demanded. “Also, where am I? What is this place?”
“This is Willow Creek. Mind the willows, Miss. You can’t go to Sleepy Creek because somepony tore up the tracks. The town’s been cut off. Some unicorn up that way went nutters. I wouldn’t go there if I were you. Nutter unicorns are dangerous. No offense.”
In spite of his words, Sunset found herself offended.
On the verge of exploding, she tried once more to relay the fact that she had somewhere to be, and she tried to keep her voice down to a somewhat reasonable level. “Well, I need to go there. I need somepony to take me there. I had a ticket to go there, and I am not getting what was paid for. So as the station manager, you need to arrange a way for me to get there.”
“Miss,” the station manager replied in the weary manner of service ponies who have to endure unreasonable demands, “you can sod off.”
“What?” Almost shrieking, Sunset stared incredulously at the pony who’d refused her. It took several seconds, but then she remembered that she was unrecognisable. She wasn’t Sunset Shimmer, Student of Princess Celestia… she was Seabreeze, or Seafoam Something-or-other, a name she couldn’t be bothered with remembering.
The station manager, a pegasus, bristled at her brazen, angry outburst. His lip curled back, his feathers were thoroughly ruffled, and his hackles rose. “I am getting so sick you unicorns that come through here and think you own the place, or that you are in charge just because you have a horn. That one mare, the one calling herself the Empress, she came through here and made a real mess of our town one day. Stole away all our unicorns with pretty words and left. Something about eternal teatime. Now we’re having a rough patch. Good day, Miss.”
Before Sunset could respond, the station manager whirled about, strode away, slipped through the door of the tiny cabin that was his office, and them slammed the door behind him. She thought about ripping the door right off of its hinges; she could do that, it would be easy, and then making the insolent station manager obey. How dare he speak to her in that manner! Just who did he think he was, anyhow?
Then, the more analytical part of her brain brought an important fact to her attention; Nadir had come to this place, wherever this place was, and had lured away the local unicorns. This… this was worrisome. Was she dealing with unicorn supremacists? Glaring daggers at the station manager’s door, she took a moment to digest this new information. Her mission packet mentioned nothing about this, and she wondered if her master, Princess Celestia, knew about this development.
Quite without warning, her fury abandoned her, replaced by a weird, eerie calm.
Perhaps, if she’d been a bit more diplomatic, she might have learned a bit more. But it was too late now. She had somewhere she needed to be, and the sooner she finished this business, the sooner she could go home and continue her studies of meta-charismatic magics. To finish her task, she had to get to Sleepy Creek, and it seemed that the only logical way to get there was to follow the tracks.
Or maybe there was a road.
Either way, she had a long walk ahead of her, and it was best to get started now.
“Spike! No! Don’t eat the teacup!”
Jolted from her reverie, Celestia’s attention quickly focused on Spike, who was, indeed, eating a teacup. He’d nibbled the edge and was now thoughtfully crunching away while poor Twilight waved her hooves at him to make him stop. All that hoof waving didn’t have much of an effect, and Celestia waited to see what would happen. Would Twilight lose her temper, as she sometimes did? Would this become a time for an impromptu lesson?
“You had gems, Spike. Lots of them. Why eat a teacup?”
No. No sign of Twilight’s temper, just patient resignation. This was good. Spike was already teaching Twilight a great deal, perhaps patience first and foremost. Twilight lowered her hooves, pressed her thin lips together, and gave Spike her best big sisterly stare—an expression that Celestia was intimately familiar with.
It pained her to see it, though she showed no outward sign.
“Twilight, dear Spike is an omnivore. Do you understand what that means?”
“He eats everything,” the filly replied, sighing out the words in an exasperated, resigned sort of way. “Toys, gems, my favourite blanket, and now, teacups.”
“Are you angry?” Celestia asked.
Twilight hesitated, and did not respond right away. She seemed to be thinking, perhaps wondering if she could get away with a fiblet, or maybe even an outright lie. It didn’t happen often—but it did happen, and Celestia had a keen awareness of it. The real trick was to figure out why it happened, what motivated these rare instances, and then correct it.
“A little,” Twilight said in a small voice.
“It is just a teacup, Twilight.”
“He ate my favourite blanket.”
“Twilight, have you ever considered why he does this? What do you think it is that motivates dear Spike?”
“Hunger?” Twilight was quick to say, without much time spent in thought.
“You said it yourself, he just ate some gems.”
“Oh.” Lip protruding in a pout, Twilight slumped down in her chair, and with her face almost hidden below the edge of the table, she peered at her dragon companion with a puzzled expression.
Meanwhile, Spike took another cautious bite of his teacup, and sat there, crunching away.
Sipping her tea, thoughtful, Celestia watched her student cogitate. Twilight was a visible cogitator, and if one watched carefully, one could see the gears turning inside her head. Spike, baby dragon though he might be, was Twilight’s best teacher, and Celestia didn’t mind being second-best. The baby dragon had much to teach, and right now, a lesson was in progress.
Regretful, she thought of another student who could have used this lesson.
While Twilight wrestled with her thoughts, Celestia, never one to suffer boredom, thought of puns. She didn’t particularly like thinking of puns, but they happened from time to time, and as old she was, she could be quite clever when it came to doling out punishment. With Twilight cogitating, Celestia thought of a clever pun, a student that did nothing but sat on a sofa and thought about great big thinkity-thunks all day.
A cogitator could be called… a cogitatoe.
She was careful to hide her smirk, lest her inner-amusement betray her.
“I got nothing.”
“You have nothing.” Celestia’s gentle correction was swift and held no trace of disappointment. Little Twilight wasn’t always successful in her thoughtful ventures, but she tried, and that was important.
It didn’t take long to think of a suitable example. “Twilight, beloved student of mine, did you like broccoli the first time you tried it?”
In response, Twilight shrugged, and her eyes remained on Spike. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“Twilight, sometimes you have to eat something to see if you like it. For Spike, everything is edible.” Celestia took a moment to consider what she had to say next. “Perhaps if you took a more active role in helping him. Give him things to try. Talk with him. Spend time with Spike and teach what is acceptable to eat, and what isn’t. Just like your mother does with you.”
“Dad gets me to try new things,” Twilight replied.
“Well, Twilight… you and your father should sit down with Spike and give him things that he can try. Things that are fine for him to eat. Try to see the world through Spike’s eyes, Twilight. If a problem comes up, try to see it as Spike might, and then take steps to make things right. If you only ever fix problems as you see them, Spike could end up with hurt feelings, or just hurt, period.”
At this, Twilight’s small head swiveled around, her eyes went wide, and she looked up with an expression that seemed on the verge of tears. “I don’t want Spike hurt.”
“Good.” Relieved, Celestia let go the breath she didn’t realise she was holding, and right away, the tension in her barrel melted away. That Twilight was clearly so emotional was a good sign—a promising sign.
Twilight was a creature with immense, almost unfathomable power, and a talent for magic as well. That much power could so easily corrupt and lead to moral laziness, if not outright moral turpitude. Celestia’s worst fears haunted her, she had nightly visits from past spectres that tormented her with vivid cinematics of her every failure, and she desperately did not want Twilight to end up as one of those failures that she saw paraded past her nightly whilst she tried to sleep in bed.
So far, at least, Twilight showed promise, and Spike kept her leveled out.
If this didn’t work, Celestia wasn’t sure what would.
After centuries of students, she still hadn’t found a way to temper absolute power with benevolence, but she felt that she was getting closer. Twilight would be The One. Of this, she was certain. After so many failures, she had to be close to seeing results—or if not results, progress. Spike, unwitting test-subject though he was—happened to be a great controlled variable to change the outcome. Twilight adored her dragon, even if she had some troubling moments with him.
“Sunny Sunshine, she had trouble thinking about other ponies feelings.”
“Yes, Twilight, that is true.”
“It’s hard, sometimes.”
“Also true, Twilight. Sometimes, I myself fail to do so.”
“You?” Little Twilight seemed downright incredulous of this revelation.
“Does that surprise you, Twilight?”
“A little.”
Celestia found the honesty of her student refreshing.
“Yes, Twilight. Sometimes, I fail to think about the feelings of others…”
It was all uphill. This whole stupid walk was all uphill, and Sunset Shimmer hated every minute of it. Her pack was rubbing her raw, she was covered in dust, she was thirsty, and her tummy had a dreadful case of the rumbles. As it turned out, there was—well, it wasn’t so much a road, as it was a cart path, a narrow, rough trail that meandered along the railroad tracks. A towpath, perhaps, for stout, sweaty earth ponies to pull a cart along the tracks when there was no train.
Somepony was going to pay for this indignity, and it might very well be Princess Celestia.
Birds sang a mocking song, taunting her every step, and Sunset was certain that her mentor made the sun shine extra-hot. A thick dusting of yellow pollen covered everything, it coated every surface, and the dirt path was yellowed with it. No doubt, there were ticks and fleas, and she was already assailed by all manner of bitey bugs. Gnats, perhaps, Sunset wasn’t sure what they were, but she had incinerated them and in doing so, almost set the woods ablaze.
She didn’t have supplies. Supplies had not been brought. She was supposed to arrive by train, not by hoof, so supplies were never procured. Princess Celestia should have planned for this outcome, and provided supplies. Sunset didn’t even know how far she had to walk. How long would she have to trek through these abysmal woods? Days? Weeks?
“I HATE EVERYTHING!” she shouted, with only nature to witness her fury.
Right away, she wished she hadn’t, because now her throat was scratchy and she was thirsty. Oh, this was just the worst, the absolute worst. Conjuring fire was easy, but water? Not so much. She’d never seen the point in struggling to overcome her seeming aversion to water-magics. There were always fountains, faucets, and sources of readily drinkable water.
Except for now.
And she hated it.
She hated everything.
And for good reason.
So far, the tracks seemed fine. The train could have at least brought her this far. She was Princess Celestia’s student, and on a mission for the good of Equestria. The engineer could suffer a bit of inconvenience for the greater good. Yes, the train could have brought her this far. The tracks were perfectly good here, and up ahead as well, for as far as she could see. It was stupid having to walk all this way when she could have been riding on a train.
Everything felt so pointless.
If only she had an airship.
But no, friendship.
Stupid Princess Celestia wanted her to travel by train, so that she would make friends and meet ponies. It was impossible to make friends on a train, because the swaying and rocking left her slightly queasy, and it was difficult to be friendly when one was on the verge of tossing their cookies. Trains were the worst, and Sunset couldn’t wait until they were replaced by something better.
It occured to Sunset that there were no lavatories out this way, no modern sanitation facilities. She halted, disgusted, and whipped herself with her tail for lack of anything better to do. Banished to the boonies with no little fillies room was just too much; her teacher was going to get an earful when she returned home. If she returned home. For all she knew, she might die out here, ambushed by some horrible ravenous bugblatter beast or a toothy, tushy-terrorising tarrasque while squatting in a bush.
If she died, it would all be Princess Celestia’s fault.
That’d teach her to send civilised Canterlot unicorns out into the alicorn-forsaken hinterlands.
Princess Celestia deserved to have her student gobbled up for this indignity.
Muttering, mumbling, cursing, swearing, Sunset continued her trek up the mountain.
Just as Sunset Shimmer crested the rise, she got her first glimpse of a flesh-eating willow, as well as the destroyed railroad tracks. The willow was beautiful, in some nightmarish way. Tall, drooping, boughs heavy with a countless number of leaf-mimics. Was it flora? Fauna? Sunset wished that she had paid a bit more attention. Had her teacher mentioned what it was? If Princess Celestia had, Sunset could not remember.
The leaves were not leaves at all, but were tiny insect-like creatures, whose wings very much resembled green willow leaves. As for the tree itself, it was some kind of hive structure, a way to distribute nutrients to the whole of the colony no doubt, a specialised organism capable of surviving Equestria’s unique and rather hostile environs. It was a highly evolved beehive, of sorts, only the beehive was a living, monstrous entity that fed upon blood and flesh.
Then, as she stood staring, she noticed another, and then another, all tucked way back in the woods, away from the cart path and the tracks. Had they been there this whole time and she had failed to notice? It seems they had, and now, in light of her failure, she felt like berating herself. What if she’d stumbled too close because she wasn’t paying attention?
At least the path that ran parallel to the tracks seemed safe, but nothing should ever be taken for granted.
As for the tracks themselves, they were torn up in a sure-to-be blind-spot, just where the alpine meadow flattened out a bit above the rise. Somepony had pulled up the spikes and undid the anchoring of the tracks. She wasn’t sure of the terminology involved, as she cared very little for railroads, only that they worked and that the trains ran on time.
Some of the many trees had retreated, revealing a broad, grassy meadow strewn with wildflowers. What had cleared the trees away was unknown, Sunset didn’t understand the formation of meadows, and if the truth were told, she didn’t much care. She understood that flat ground was valuable, because flat ground could be built upon.
Though, that didn’t explain Canterlot.
No sign of a town of any sort, or even a distant train stop. No water tower, no coal bin. Civilisation did not exist here, save for the tracks, but those were torn up. There were no telegraph wires running along the tracks. This place was remote, the end of the line. But as distant as it was, Sunset knew her master had ways and means to know the goings on. She just didn’t know how her master knew.
Princess Celestia had a roving eye spell of epic, legendary ability, perhaps. Or some manner of remote viewing spell. Whatever the means, her master kept this knowledge hidden, and Sunset greatly desired this secret method. Knowledge was power… the ability to see far away places, to know the goings on was knowledge and power, all wrapped up in a neat, tidy package.
The knowledge of the unsavoury deeds of others could be used against them. As leverage. As a means of coercion. The knowledge of illicit actions could be used like marionette strings, and when tugged in just the right way, could make a puppet dance. Sunset stood, resting, thinking of her master, and admiring the beauty of the flesh-eating willows.
If one could learn to control the willows, one would have impressive guards.
It couldn’t be the sun, Sunset decided; Celestia had knowledge of where the sun did not shine.
“I deserve power,” Sunset spat, her mouth dry and her voice full of gravel. “What do I get instead? This.” With a sweep of her foreleg, she gestured at the mountain meadow ahead of her. “That brown-noser Cadance… she gets power. And Shining Armor. Stupid pink pony. I deserve better. I am owed better. My master keeps knowledge from me. She keeps denying me what is rightfully mine. Why do I put up with it, I wonder?”
For a moment, she thought about burning everything around her, just to destroy something beautiful. She had control, mastery over fire, and her power was such that the flames obeyed her every whim, they bowed to her will. Cadance had no such mastery… and yet, Cadance was now a princess. Not that she deserved to be. The pink pain in the plot was an insufferable goody-four-shoes that hung on Princess Celestia’s every word and obeyed every command given. Cadance was an insufferable suckup, a brown noser, and a plot kisser.
Sunset hated her almost as much as the uncivilised wilderness.
Shining Armor was a prize to be won. He had the right family, wealth, connections, and he would have a brilliant military career. But the pink pony had stolen him away with her feminine wiles and her love-magic. She had captured and claimed Shining Armor, and in doing so, lay claim to the brilliant, desirable, fabulous future that came with him.
A future that Sunset Shimmer wanted for herself.
With a weary sigh of resignation, Sunset continued her trek to whatever creek she had to be.
“Did you talk to Sunny about her feelings?” Twilight asked, and in doing so, caused crumbs to go tumbling down her delicate, fine-featured chin.
Celestia, lost in between the past and present, allowed her student’s question to sink in. Before answering, she gave her response some thought, and after a short time spent in careful consideration, she replied, “I tried. On so many occasions, I tried. A conversation takes two ponies, Twilight. I asked Sunny how she was feeling, but she… but she… well, she stopped telling me.”
“So you didn’t ask her how she felt before she left?” Twilight—her chubby cheeks rounded from her grin of worshipful adoration—nipped off a bite of her sandwich, which caused a slice of cucumber to slip out from between the bread.
The paper-thin, translucent cucumber slice, slathered in butter, vanished with a slurp.
Ears sagging, Celestia couldn’t remember. She strained, trying to part the curtains of her mind, hoping for clarity, but there was none to be had. “Actually, Twilight, at that point, I might’ve given up on doing that. Just asking how Sunny was doing typically caused a fight. She always accused me of having ulteriour motives, just for trying to find out how she felt about things. Sunny didn’t want me knowing how she felt, or what she thought, or her opinions… such was the state of our disagreement.”
Such a precocious filly. Twilight had abandoned foalhood endeavours and foalish behaviour for scholarly success and academic pursuits. At the moment, she was taking part in an adult conversation—and holding her own quite successfully. Celestia discovered that she had a sort of reverence for Twilight’s extreme precociousness. Though quite young, Twilight knew what she wanted from life, and was prepared to do anything to have it. Her love of magic was extraordinary. It would take a lifetime of dedication and sacrifice to develop to her full potential.
“Twilight, are you familiar with the term, ‘estranged’ and do you understand its meaning?”
“Does it mean to be weird? My foalsitter is weird. She’s really weird around my brother.”
“No, Twilight. Estranged… it means that two ponies, formerly close and affectionate, are no longer close and affectionate. They grow distant. Alienated. Where there had once been a warm friendship, only cold hostility exists. Sunny Sunshine and I, we became estranged, I think. We stopped being friends. It is important for a teacher and their student to be friends. Because we could no longer talk to one another, because we could not be candid, we just… sort of… went through the motions. I told her what to do, and expected her to do it. It was easier than fighting.”
Twilight, almost unblinking, her eyes wide and soulful, chewed on her sandwich in silence.
Celestia thought of denial. Sometimes, it was better to pretend that a problem didn’t exist. And one did that by withdrawing from the situations and circumstances that manifested evidence of said problems. Leaning over the table, her crown heavy upon her head, her neck aching almost as much as her heart, Celestia looked fondly upon her student, hoping that their friendship would survive Twilight’s tumultuous teenage years.
All too often, that was when things went wrong in the worst way.
“So you sent Sunny into danger, without talking to her about it?”
“Yes, Twilight”—Celestia sighed out the words as a crushing force encircled her heart—“yes, that is exactly what I did. I did not know the danger, for reasons that will soon be made clear. I failed to give Sunny the support she needed just so the peace could be kept between us. I didn’t do a very good job as her teacher, Twilight. I can make mistakes.”
“Would you send me into danger?” Twilight asked.
“If I did, would you go?” Celestia had trouble with just how easily these words slipped out of her mouth, without thought, without hesitation.
“I’d ride Spike into battle.”
“Spike is a little small for that.”
“He’ll get big. ‘Specially if he keeps eating teacups.”
“You would allow Spike to go into danger with you?” Celestia found herself intrigued and she seized upon this revelation. She found herself wondering just how Twilight saw Spike, and what she thought of him. Nothing to panic over, not yet, but an opportunity to teach might have presented itself.
“Spike is a dragon.” Twilight raised her right foreleg, as if she was a director cueing up an action sequence. “Spike, roar!”
“Grawr?”
The roar, such as it was, was the most polite, most indoor-voice roar that Celestia had ever heard from a dragon. It was the roar of a dragon raised by the Canterlot well-to-do, cultured, refined, socially-acceptable roar, the sort of roar that wouldn’t annoy the neighbors too much or cause a disturbance.
If done around other dragons, Spike would become a laughingstock, and Celestia knew this from experience.
She sighed.
“Spike is ferocious,” Twilight said, matter-of-factly. “Once, he caused the maid to drop her duster.”
“Grawr,” Spike grawred again, grawring grawringly for the sake of going grawr.
Not one thing on the table trembled, nothing quivered, and the tea in the teacups didn’t even ripple alarmingly. Twilight’s head was bobbing up and down; she was no doubt enthused by her dragon’s performance. A faint plume of smoke curled up from the corner of Spike’s mouth and Celestia decided right then and there that she would have to become Spike’s tutor, lest he embarrass himself amongst his own kind, which seemed the likely outcome.
Celestia waved her hoof to get Spike’s attention and said, “Enunciation, Spike. Grrr-RAWR. It’s all in the epiglottis. Rrr.”
Somewhat timidly, Spike blinked, and then just sat there, looking up in awe.
“Twilight,” Celestia asked suddenly, “how do you treat your maid?”
“Uh…” Put on the spot, little Twilight squirmed in her seat. “She’s old, our maid… and she needed a place to live. None of us are ever home. Mom’s always busy, Dad works, I have school, and so does my brother. Somepony needs to live in our house, so its not empty.”
“Yes, Twilight. But how do you treat your maid?”
“Nice.” The filly squirmed a bit and her eyes darted from side to side. “I try to clean up my own messes and make my own bed. Sometimes, I leave books out. Miss Lane startles easy, so I try to keep quiet. When Miss Lane is startled, it hurts her inside her ribs.”
Eyebrow raised, Celestia felt a bit of much-welcomed relief. Twilight was kind to the help. That, at least, was a promising sign. She poured herself more tea, added nothing, and then sat, watching, waiting, as her beloved student swallowed the last bite of her sandwich.
“All of our household staff are kinda old, now that I think about it. Really old. Almost too old to work. Father hired them all because nopony else would.” Twilight lifted up another sandwich from her plate, and examined it with a critical eye.
Night Light’s Home For Old, Unwanted Help, Celestia thought to herself.
“So, did Sunny get gobbled up in the wilderness?”
With a tilt of her head, Celestia looked down at the filly looking up at her, and thought about her reply. Twilight seemed eager to hear more of the story, and while that was good, Celestia was hesitant to keep going. Doing so meant facing up to the mistakes of the past, hearing the haunting moans of old ghosts not yet laid to rest.
“Sunny spent two days and one night in the wilderness, before she reached Sleepy Creek, surviving solely by her wits. She was careful, she avoided the willows, and she was smart enough to stay on the path, which was mostly safe. Sunny had never really spent the night in the wilderness before, so this was a new and novel experience for her. She got to experience the joys of camping, a rewarding and enriching life experience.”
“I like to camp in the parlour,” Twilight said amicably.
“On the second day, after spending a night in the wilds, Sunny Sunshine reached Sleepy Creek…”
“Two whole days,” Sunset Shimmer muttered to herself as her hooves struggled to find purchase on the slippery rocks she scrambled up so that she might have a better view. “Two whole days of misery. There are no words to express my hatred for everything right now. I had to sleep outside like I was livestock. Like some dirty, smelly, plow-pulling commoner.”
Just as she slipped her body into a crevice between the jutting rocks, she had a spectacular view of Sleepy Creek. It was a mining town and the largest structure in the town was some kind of rock smasher. An industrial ore crusher? Sunset had no idea what it was called, but it was huge—and appeared to be pony powered. The tracks here were still intact, but came to a dead end. What was the end of the line called? She didn’t know. She saw the loading area, coal bins, ore bins, a water tower to refill the locomotive, and a smattering of ramshackle buildings, some of which were shacks covered in black tar paper.
This place was an uncultured dump if ever there was one.
No signs of life.
Not a one.
She saw no smoke rising from tin pipe chimneys. No ponies worked. The ore crusher was silent, still, and somehow ominous to behold. As for the town’s namesake, she saw no signs of a creek, no flowing water, nothing of the sort. Maybe she lacked the proper viewing angle to see it, or maybe, just maybe, the town had a name that was an outright lie, a deceptively pleasant name to fool simple-minded ponies into coming here to find work.
Electricity did not exist here, which meant no air conditioning. No blessedly cool air awaited her. She’d been sweating for days now, and was so damp in some places that she feared that she might grow moss or sprout fungus. Coming home with moss would serve Princess Celestia right. Ponies would know what manner of indignities the princess heaped upon her apprentice. They would see the evidence of neglect, abuse, and cry foul.
Wedged betwixt the rocks, Sunset’s mood transitioned into something a bit more analytical. She saw the gaping mines and right away, she put two and two together; her master’s ever-seeing eye would be blind here, if the goings on were underground, deep beneath the sheltering rock. Cultists, nutjobs, covens, and all manner of nogoodniks congregated in deep caves and mine shafts for the sake of secrecy. Most forms of scrying spells could be foiled with about ten or so feet of solid stone, and even advanced scrying spells with the addition of more stone. Depth sheltered secrecy, and allowed conspiracy to flourish.
So, if there was some kind of unicorn uprising, which there might very well be, they were down in the mines, perhaps, planning plans, plotting plots, perchance. A place this secluded, this remote, with natural defenses against magical spying would be a great staging ground. Perhaps Equestria’s next civil war was about to begin; Sunset doubted that this was the case—though it very well could be.
She wondered what time it was, but then she remembered her mission papers. It was teatime, of course. Here, it was always teatime. Nadir the nutter unicorn now called herself empress, this was her empire, and it was always teatime. Jolly, jolly teatime. How droll. With her lip curled back in a sneer of contempt, Sunset contemplated burning this place to the ground.
But this was not allowed. She came here as a diplomat. This was to be a test of skills and she had to fulfil Princess Celestia’s idiotic friendship objectives. At some point, she was going to have to unwedge herself from these rocks, clamber down the incline, go into the town proper, and introduce herself. Princess Celestia was probably watching right now, no doubt amused, and having a good chuckle. Ho ho ho, my apprentice Sunset Shimmer suffers needlessly, all for the sake of a concept that tries to alleviate the discomforting disparity of power between the ruling class and the peasants. It’s not so bad that I’m a crushing, oppressive tyrant if we’re friends, ho ho ho! Now do as I say, or it is off to the friendship gulag with you, ho ho ho!
Friendship… a pathetic attempt at a kinder, gentler, more compassionate gentry.
A waste of time, as far as Sunset was concerned.
This would be so much easier if she could follow her own methods. She could have this place working again in no time if she could only make a few… examples. Just hold one hapless peasant over the fire and the others would abandon this teatime nonsense so work could continue. Efficiency in action. As an extra-added bonus, the fear left behind from such an act would probably increase productivity and output by a considerable amount, as the peasants would work overtime to appease and placate.
If this was an actual unicorn uprising, Sunset was almost certain that she had ways and means to deal with that too… and those ways and means had nothing to do with friendship. Of course, there was always the option to join them. Not as a follower, of course, but she could take a little initiative and create a leadership position for herself. Maybe it was time for a change in management. Celestia’s push for benevolence and friendship had turned Equestria into a bunch of lazy layabouts. Equestria was now a nation mired in stagnation, and Celestia’s policies were to blame.
Sunset was certain that she could do better.
“All that sounds spooky.”
“Are you scared, Twilight?”
“A little, yeah.”
“Well, this is a scary story, Twilight. Can you be brave?”
“If I hafta.” The filly abandoned all pretense of well-educated speech with her response. “Being brave wasn’t on the schedule for today.”
“Something tells me that Sunny Sunshine didn’t schedule a time to be brave either. She had to adapt, and quick. The situation went quite bad. She had survived the wilds, found the settlement of Sleepy Creek, and then, before Sunny knew what was going on, it was teatime… though a teatime quite unlike any other. Alas, poor Sunny found that she was served some lumps with her tea, and I don’t mean sugar. Be brave, Twilight, and cling tight to your dragon if you are scared.”
“I’m brave,” Twilight said as she peered over the edge of the table.
“So you are,” Celestia replied as she once more parted the mists of time…
Fearing nothing but her master’s displeasure, Sunset strode into the center of town. She made no attempt to hide; as her master had commanded, no effort was made to be sneaky or treacherous. Celestia was probably watching right now, which was the only reason why Sunset obeyed her orders. If she thought she could get away with it, this scenario would end quite differently. But the fact that Sunset obeyed out of fear only proved her point; fear worked. It was fear that made the peasants, the commoners, comply and obey. It was all the evidence she needed to reaffirm that her way, her belief held true under scrutiny.
Her arrival conjured up a sign of life; a screamingly neon-hued magenta unicorn mare poked her head out of the door of a tar papered shack and then stood there, her eyes rapidly blinking with shock. Sunset sized her up and found no real threat. This unicorn was a commoner through and through, peasant stock, with the merest trickle of magic—which is to say, no real magic to speak of. No power. There was nothing about her that was threatening, save for her extreme colouration. Nothing in Sunset’s life prepared her for this sort of vividness. It was like staring into the sun. The shade of magenta almost seemed to have its own luminescence, its own glow, and the retina-searing colour was the most vivid thing that Sunset had ever seen.
“Hello?” the mare asked as she peered out her door.
The unknown mare had a blinking problem; her eyes didn’t quite blink in sync. Sunset studied her as much as she could, while also avoiding staring directly at her. Her eyes were a weird shade of off-purple, and her mane might be called indigo coloured, but like her eyes, there was something off about it. Snap judgments were dangerous, but Sunset decided with all certainty that this mare was crazy.
“I’m”—Sunset paused to try and remember her fake name—“Seafoam. Hello. I’m Seafoam. Might I ask you your name?”
“Nadir.” The mare gulped and her mismatched, desynchronised blinking was distracting. “I am Nadir… Nadir… well, I am more than Nadir. I was meant to be more than Nadir. I am… I wish to be… no, I am Nadir Dark. Dark. Yes. I will be what I am. Dark. Nadir. Of the Darks.”
Sunset could feel the muscles in her left temple twitching, and it was a struggle to keep her ears up. She was sent to make friends… with this pathetic creature? This was the threat she was sent to deal with? She knew the Darks… she knew them to be powerful. The Darks however, were true to their namesake, and prided themselves on their dark, sombre appearances. This mare, this practically magicless mare, she had to be an imposter.
Sometimes, a unicorn ‘borrowed’ a name for the sake of fame… or infamy, as the case may be.
A great many of Princess Celestia’s previous students had been Darks, and Sunset took some pride that she had been chosen, held in higher regard than the Darks. She reveled in her own superiourity every chance she got, at least when she felt that she could get away with it. A long line of students had preceded Sunset, Lulamoons, Darks, Bluemarks, but she, a relative unknown, had claimed the most coveted position in all of Equestria.
“I came to find out what is going on here.”
“Oh.” Nadir appeared visibly distressed. “I suppose you’ve come to see the Empress. That’d be me. Empress Nadir. The Empress of Teatime. Are you a diplomat? You must be. Has Princess Celestia sent you to recognise my rightful rule?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.” Sunset prepared herself for the lies that were about to spill out from her lips. “I’m just a low rank and file government worker. You’ve failed to achieve your quotas, and I’ve come to find out why. What is going on here? Why has work stopped?”
“It’s teatime,” Nadir replied. “By my own decree. As Empress, that is my right. Say… would you… would you like to discuss this over tea?”
This gave Sunset pause. Tea… sounded wonderful. Hot tea. Perhaps with sandwiches. Cakes. Would this abysmal place have proper teacakes? Probably not. But as famished as she was, she wasn’t sure that she cared. Food. Drink. Sustenance. Perhaps there was something to be said for this diplomacy thing after all. It wouldn’t hurt to play along and get a full belly. Once she had a proper meal in her and a cup of brown joy, she could sort out this business.
Yes, in this instance, diplomacy worked.
If she didn’t get her cup of hot and brown, she just might have to destroy this town.
“I would love to have tea. That would be excellent.”
“Liars.” Twilight said the word with visible disgust. “How can you make friends if you lie?”
“Twilight, we’ve briefly discussed this. It was done for the sake of the lesson. Sunny had to learn how to be diplomatic. She had to lie to earn Nadir’s trust.” Saying this aloud gave Celestia pause. It was one thing to think it, but was quite a different matter to give it voice. Was this really a lesson she wanted her apprentice to learn? Lying to earn trust?
Something about all of this caused the crown upon her head to feel so much heavier.
Celestia rested one foreleg against the edge of the table in an unprincessly manner, her neck sagged, and she sighed. Little Twilight was waiting, and in her student’s eyes, Celestia could see fear, anticipation, eagerness, and disgust. Quite a stew of emotions. What feelings might her own eyes reveal? Regret seemed likely.
Yes, regret seemed likely.
“Cupcake?”
“Please!” Sunset sniffed her tea and felt the tension in her muscles slip away. “Thank you.”
No proper teacakes, but there was a surprising assortment of baked goods. The table was well spread, though calling it a table was a stretch. It was a few planks of wood laid out over sawhorses and covered with a somewhat smudged tablecloth. Nadir made a rather pleasant host. She was attentive, almost servile, and eager to serve tea.
If there had to be an Empress of Teatime, Nadir wasn’t a terrible choice.
“So, where is everypony else? Why aren’t they joining us for tea?”
Nadir smiled while placing a pink-frosted cupcake on Sunset’s plate. “Full bellies. Happy ponies. Napping. Is there nothing more glorious after a spot of tea than a nap? That’s what we do here. This is my splendiferous utopia.”
“Tea and naps?” Sunset tried to be incredulous, but failed. She was too hungry and too dehydrated to muster any sort of meaningful doubt. Forgetting all pretense of manners, the entire cupcake was crammed into her maw and she devoured it, eager to fill her empty, aching belly.
Nadir sipped her tea, but ate nothing. Sunset watched, trying to read and understand her host. It stood to reason that if it were teatime all the time, Nadir might be full. Which stood to reason, really. If what she said was true, that everypony was napping, then perhaps Sunset had just missed the previous spot of tea. Nadir might still be stuffed. If these were leftovers, and the sheer quantity was anything to go by, there must be plenty of food.
Plenty of food in a town that no longer had rails to access the outside world.
How long might the food last?
Sunset felt herself sway and when the dizziness struck her, she attributed it to spending two days in the boonies. It was quick to pass, but left her especially thirsty. She took a sip of tea, which soothed her parched throat, then another sip, and then gulped the entire contents of her teacup. Another wave of dizziness crashed into her, followed by a curious weakness of her magic. She struggled to hold her teacup up. Sparks flew from her horn as the floor seemingly rippled beneath her. The walls wobbled like a meringue pie served on a train and Sunset’s vision doubled.
Then tripled.
There were at least three or four Nadirs calmly sipping their tea.
Sunset’s magic failed completely, and her temples throbbed in some terrible way as her teacup crashed to the table. The table, well spread, flickered a bit, and ghostly images haunted Sunset’s failing vision. She didn’t see cupcakes, cookies, and sandwiches… no, she saw something else. Something unsettling. The curtain of illusion over the table parted and she saw… meat. Roasted legs of what might have been birds. Haunches of larger animals, species unknown. Her stomach tossed about and she wondered what the cupcake might have been.
She wasn’t eating pony, was she?
With no magic, she couldn’t cast a spell, she couldn’t defend herself. Sunset found herself completely helpless, a victim of false friendship. When she tried to speak, a thick ribbon of drool dribbled from her now slack lower lip. Her body was going numb, and her headache progressed into a real thumper. She raised her foreleg and her hoof felt like a distant balloon—a lead balloon.
“What a stupid, stupid girl,” Nadir remarked as Sunset tumbled to the floor.
Watching as Twilight sat shivering, Celestia pulled Spike from his high chair and then gently stuffed him beside her student. The two of them were small enough to share a chair, and tiny Twilight eagerly gripped Spike, which meant that he was in no danger of a fall. So embraced, Spike returned the favour, and held Twilight, his companion, in return. With every breath taken, Twilight wickered faintly from fear, and Celestia gave her a moment to recover.
“Sunny tried to do the right thing,” Twilight said, almost murmuring, almost whining, “and something bad happened. That’s not fair. She did as she was told and she tried to be nice to Nadir. Why would Nadir do that? That’s mean and super not-nice.”
Almost sighing, Celestia stared down at the table, her heart heavy with regret. The Darks had their standards and like devoted gardners, they pruned their family tree. Celestia thought of Nadir and wasn’t sure what to say about her to Twilight; not just about poor Nadir, but the Darks in general. What would Twilight say if she knew that her friend, Moondancer, was a Dark? Alas, poor Moondancer, like Nadir, did not meet the Dark Ideal, and she’d been given up to be raised by a family that loved her for what she was; an adorable filly with terrifyingly strong magic in need of special parents capable of raising such a foal. What might Twilight say if she knew? The questions she might ask… trying to explain all of this, the hows and whys, it would make for a complicated conversation.
Would knowing colour Twilight’s perceptions?
Celestia could not help but feel that she had failed poor Nadir.
“Twilight, will you be okay?”
“I have Spike,” she said, replying through teeth that were threatening to go a-chattering.
“Well, things will get scarier. Be brave, Twilight.”
“If I hafta.”
Seeing no point in correcting the brave filly, Celestia continued with her story…
Everything felt far too warm for Sunset Shimmer, who could not overcome her grogginess. She lay upon the cold stone, thankful for its coolness against her fevered skin, and tried to make sense of what was going on. It was dark and the air she breathed was dank, almost mildewy, with a hint of something foul, something rotten.
“If you try to use your magic, the resulting pain will be quite exquisite, I assure you.”
Sunset found that her tongue was almost too thick to make words, and she writhed against the rough stone floor as a hot, electric jolt shot through her innards. It felt as though her guts were on fire, her stomach gurgled its distress, and she could feel her bowels writhing around like agitated serpents.
“It is fortunate that you came along. I awaited your coming, which was foretold by my Master. The Mare in the Moon said you would come. You’re just what I needed. The other unicorns, I consumed their essence, which did not give me the power that my Master promised. It stands to reason that they were too weak to do much for me. But you… I suspect that I shall see my power grow by a magnitude, and when it does, the Darks will be forced to recognise me as one of their own.”
As groggy as she was, Sunset could not help but notice that Nadir’s entire demeanour was quite different. It was all a ruse, a clever one, and Sunset could not help but wonder what Nadir was talking about. Consuming essence? This sounded… dire. Sunset suspected that she was deep underground now, out of sight, beyond Celestia’s roving eye.
One thing remained constant though… Nadir was nutters.
Mare in the Moon?
The foalish folktale?
Absolute nonsense.
“The Mare in the Moon has promised me that upon her return, teatime will last forever. So I aid her in that noble endeavour. All the stars are aligning and the teatime hour, the twilight hour, it is upon us. It is time for the sun to set and for teatime to begin. The twilight hour has come ‘round at last.”
“Who”—the act of speaking caused Sunset’s head to almost implode—“is the Mare in the Moon?”
“The mother of all Darks.” Nadir’s words were pure honey, sweet and pleasant. “When she returns, she will recognise me as her daughter, and I will be given rule over a vast, mighty empire. I prepare for my mother’s coming. When the moon is just right just a few nights from now, I will drain you of your essence. In the meanwhile, I suggest you contemplate upon your many mistakes. What sort of clueless idiot embarks upon a journey through the wilderness with no supplies? Am I to believe that you are Celestia’s champion? The best she had to offer?”
Then, after a moment of prolonged silence, Nadir spat out, “Pathetic.”
Sprawled out on the floor, nauseous, and with her guts trying to slither out of either end, Sunset was quite unable to come up with a suitable snappy comeback. As galling as it was to endure these insults, Sunset saw no point in responding—even though she very much wanted to do so. For now, she had to recover her focus, a task easier said than done, given her condition.
“The hour of twilight inches ever-closer.” Nadir’s every spoken word was velvet, which somehow made her madness all the more disturbing. “In that time in-between, we set out the sandwiches, cakes, and the tea, and so satiated, we settle in for the night. Soon, the sun sets, the day ends, and the night begins. Such is the ritual. Teatime is the only time that is balanced. The balance must be restored. For a thousand years, the sun has not set to allow the moon to rise. Now, twilight time is coming, and soon, the balance shall be restored.”
Leaning in close, Nadir said, “And I shall be its restorer. I will free my Master… my Mistress… my Mother.”
Then, Nadir trotted away and Sunset heard the sound of a heavy door slammed shut.
Drenched in sweat, shivering, Sunset lay on the floor with her eyes closed, trying to focus the tiny bit of magic she needed. For most ponies, this would be impossible, but she had been trained to cope with this very situation. Celestia, her master, had taught her methods to push through pain and distraction, so that magic might be used during the most improbable of circumstances.
As Nadir had said, the pain was unreal, but not insurmountable. It was a matter of breathing, with a bit of visualisation and willpower. Sunset imagined a candle’s flame, which flickered in time with her breathing. The point was to keep the flame going, and not allow it to go out. Which meant slow, steady breathing, and ignoring the pain. All she needed was just the faintest spark of magic, and she would be free.
But first, she had to make the magic happen, and that meant fighting whatever nefarious toxins coursed through her blood. Failure meant a fate worse than death, from the sounds of it. Having one’s essence drank was not a desirable outcome. Was Nadir a vampire? With the answer unknown, Sunset pushed the distraction out of her mind, and visualised the swaying, flickering flame that was the representation of her magic.
She couldn’t feel her hooves, which were bound tight in rope. The knots were tied in such a way that any sort of struggle caused them to clench tighter, which would cut off circulation completely. Rough, scratchy, hard and unyielding, the rope itself proved to be a formidable distraction. Her guts squelched, cries of gastric distress, and Sunset tried not to think about the hunk of meat digesting within her.
Quite without warning, her horn ignited. The light, though faint and quite weak, was enough to blind her right through her closed eyelids. Her magic fizzled, but did not die completely. Breathing in, breathing out, she nurtured the flame back to health, which did not take long. When her horn lit up for a second time, she was prepared for it.
Using her telekinesis, she was able to undo the ropes binding her hooves together. It was a slow process, painful, and quite unpleasant. Each action caused spikes to go shooting through her skull, and these left her woozy, queasy, almost to the point of being sick. As she lay there on the floor, slowly releasing the tension from the rope, Sunset was grateful for her master’s patient instruction.
There was no way she could cast spells in this condition, and even summoning just a tiny smidgeon of telekinesis was a monumental undertaking. But, she would be free. Once free, she could fall back on what she knew… guile, treachery, and sneaking about. Would she escape? Deal with Nadir? The outcome was unknown, uncertain. She would need to assess and evaluate the situation once she had freed herself from this cell.
And to do that, all she had to do was slip free of this rope…
There was a muted click and a scrape of metal-on-metal as the lock was sprung. Cautious, Sunset pushed the door open with her hoof and found herself, well, in a place she rather expected even though she was surprised to see it. This was an alchemist’s laboratory. Against the far wall was an alchemist’s bench, a stone cutting table dominated the middle of the room, and there was an alchemist’s larder.
On the stone cutting table was something quite unpleasant: the dried, desiccated remains of a unicorn. It was leathery, shriveled, and dried out to the point of being genderless. All traces of hair were gone, which left the nutty brown skin visible. Every inch of mummified flesh was wrinkled, shriveled up like a raisin, and Sunset suspected that this unicorn had been drained of its essence—whatever that meant. This had to be the outcome.
Parts of the poor, unfortunate creature had been snipped away.
Fearful of being caught, Sunset had a look around. There were plants here, an oddity, the most curious plants. They’d been altered, these plants, and seemed to be growing just fine down here in the dark where the sun did not shine. In the middle of a thicket of roses, there was an enormous fungus that glowed with a faint blue light. In fact, there were a lot of plants, and all of the light in the room came from plants.
Sunset was smart enough to understand that she was witnessing something miraculous, but not coherent enough to make sense of it, the hows and whys of it, the importance of what she was seeing. For a pony to modify this many plants, many of them common alchemical ingredients, they would need a reason, a purpose—and Sunset failed to grasp that.
There was even precious food growing down here in the dark.
Turning her head this-away and that-away, Sunset checked the floor for traps. At least, obvious, visible traps. She was unable to cast a trap-detection spell, so a quick check with the eyes would have to do. As she stepped into the room proper, she saw another dried out, shriveled, raisiny unicorn, this one stored in a glass cabinet. It was at this moment that Sunset understood the fate of the unicorns taken from the other town, and probably from this place as well.
Nadir had drained them… though the reason was unknown.
This… had to stop.
Though she was in no condition to fight, Sunset understood what needed to be done. Her sense of duty implored her to do the right thing, and for once, she was inclined to agree with her sense of duty. Something dangerous was going on here. Unicorns drained of essence, mutated, significantly altered plants, secret goings on down deep in sheltered mineshafts… it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something dreadful was in the works.
If put together, the pieces might reveal a peculiar puzzle.
There was the cell door behind her, which Sunset shut, and two other doors leading out of this room. One was a door made of iron, an oddity for certain, and another made of rough hewn wooden planks bound with iron bands. Intrigued, Sunset made her way to the iron door, curious as to what might warrant such a door. Much to her surprise, she found that the door was slightly ajar, and a faint light could be seen beyond.
It was time to investigate why such a door was needed.
The passageway was sweltering… humid. It was like a jungle down here and the path was so choked with plants that it was difficult to follow. There were bushes down here, some with berries, and some without. Foliage of all kinds could be found. Warm, moist, slick stone left her frogs damp and her fetlocks were soaked with dew.
Ahead, Sunset could hear Nadir’s voice, and so she wiggled into the bushes to hide.
“Mother, I have done as you’ve asked,” Nadir said, speaking to some unknown figure. “Celestia’s apprentice has been dealt with. Just as you said, allowing her to wander the wilderness and waiting patiently for her to come to me has worked out for the best. I am sorry to have doubted you.”
“All is forgiven, my beloved Nadir.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“The rituals have made you my worthy heir, my precious one.”
“I am still very weak, Mother, even after draining the essence of the others. This Sunset, she is powerful. I am hopeful for better results.”
“Bleed her dry, Nadir. She will make you strong. Don’t you worry, my precious one.”
“But I do worry, Mother. I need to be stronger, so I can prepare for your return.”
“My coming was foretold. The stars shall aid in my escape. Precious Nadir, the twilight hour approaches. Nothing can stop my return, but your efforts hasten it.”
“And when you return, I shall become the Matriarch of House Dark…”
“Of course, precious one. I shall restore you to your family, and they will kneel before your greatness. They will acknowledge you as the greatest among their number.”
“Everything will be ready upon your return. The plants have been altered, just as you’ve requested. Everything needed for eternal teatime awaits. Mother, I am anxious for your arrival.”
“You have done well, my precious one. Now go and watch the stars, Nadir. See what messages might be read this night. Others too, work to assist my return. The stars shall aid in my escape.”
“As you command, Mother.”
The sounds of Nadir leaving could be heard, but she did not come up the path where Sunset was hiding. Waiting, crouched in the bushes, Sunset did not dare move and she barely even drew breath. When she felt certain it was safe, she popped her head up out of the bushes, and peered ahead. Fearful, she emerged from her hiding place completely, and went forward to have a better look.
Ahead, there was a statue of a massive black alicorn… but not one like Celestia. This one was beautiful, but terrible, with slitted eyes and draconic wings. Sunset couldn’t help but feel as though the statue was looking at her. In front of the statue was a basin of some kind, and in that basin was… something rusty-crusty brown.
Some sort of alchemical soup bubbled, a foul smelling concoction that Sunset believed to be blood. Foul magic, which she could not sense very well due to her condition. A lot of time was spent here, because the rough stone before the statue had been worn smooth. The basin was actually two glass bowls, with some sort of goo sandwiched between them.
“I’ve been expecting you,” the statue said in a low, sibilant whisper.
Sunset wondered what sort of magic this was.
“Curious that you remain silent,” the statue said. “You study me, but you do not understand. Has my sister taught you nothing?”
“Who are you?” Sunset asked at last.
“I am the Mare in the Moon. At least, in a sense.”
“What are you really?”
“I am an illusion, a sliver of imagination, and an errant wisp of dream magic, given life by the magic I left behind in the blood of my descendents. Nadir made me, she crafted me, so that my will might guide her. Long ago, I saw my defeat coming, and prepared contingencies for my escape.”
“Why tell me this? Why be so forthcoming with all this information?”
“I see my sister still surrounds herself with idiots and the feebleminded, no doubt so that she might feel better about her own inadequacies. When you surround yourself with lesser-lights, you shine ever-brighter by comparison. Were you not listening? I am not real. I am an illusion, a sliver of imagination, and an errant wisp of dream magic, given life by the magic I left behind in the blood of my descendents. I am a magical device that acts as a means of communcation, and Nadir was too stupid to create safeguards against tampering. So now I am stuck in a dull conversation with a dimwitted, off-putting oaf.”
“You’re very insulting.”
“My voice isn’t real. I’m not real. I tell others what they wish to hear, such as Nadir. If I am berating you, it is because you want to be berated, you cretinous, brain-rotted, pimple-riddled simpleton. I am powered by imagination… in this instance, your imagination, the stunted, crippled thing that it is.”
“Hey!”
“Nadir desires a mother, as it is her heart’s fondest wish. As for you, I know what you desire…”
Sunset squinted at the statue, unsure of what to make of it. Nothing in her extensive education prepared her for this… whatever this was. Even with a throbbing headache, she could not help but feel a sense of awe and wonder. But, whatever this was, it had to be destroyed. It fairly reeked of unnatural magic… foul alchemy. Soul-magic of a sort, though the specific name escaped Sunset—a forbidden name that she wasn’t supposed to know.
“You could rid me of Nadir,” the statue whispered enticingly. “Then, all I promised her would be yours.”
“And then I’d live in fear of somepony replacing me,” Sunset replied. “Why be rid of Nadir?”
“She is weak-willed and weak-minded,” the statue was quick to reply. “Nadir is dimwitted. The essence she drains from others does nothing to help her, nothing at all, but she thinks it does. What it does do is break down the seals that bind me. Once I am free… there will be a reckoning between my sister and I. Let that be your motivation to assist me. You want my sister humiliated. Dominated. I see it, the echoes in your mind, your feverish adolescent fantasies, the dreams that are your secret shame.”
Blushing furiously, Sunset said nothing—denied nothing.
“Nadir’s essence would go a long way toward freeing me. She has committed black deeds in my name. Her soul is tainted. She is damned. Beyond redemption. Her dabbling into animancy has left rot in her soul. A real pity, for one such as her, to go beyond the pale. She’s weak. Powerless. The only thing worthy about her is the fact that she carries a tiny portion of me. That is the only thing of value she has. The first chance I get, I plan to cast her aside, and find a more worthy assistant. Like you, for example.”
Sunset stared the statue in the eye.
“I could show you. Teach you. It is easy. A simpleton could do it. Nadir does it. You could rip the souls out of others. Extraordinary magics, all of which my sister practices in secret. Has my sister shared her power with you? Are you her apprentice, or her lacky? It seems to be that you are her toady, her snivelling, whining, wretched flunky that is sent out on errands. You deserve more, don’t you?”
“The only thing you can offer me,” Sunset began, “is whatever I might imagine for myself. You offer nothing substantial or real. Only betrayal. Begone.”
Then, before the statue could respond, Sunset kicked the delicate alchemical apparatus at the base of the statue. A spiderweb of cracks appeared, there was a burbling sound, like bubbling porridge, and the stench of ozone filled the passageway. With a hissy fizzle, like a just-opened bottle of soda pop, the illusion died and ceased to be.
Nadir’s plan, whatever it was, had to be thoroughly destroyed. Wrecked. Sunset had to put an end to this. Retreating back the way she came, towards the alchemy laboratory, she tried not to think too much about the things the Mare in the Moon had said. Nadir herself had to be dealt with, and while Sunset didn’t have a plan just yet, she did have the element of surprise.
It was time to prove once and for all that guile and treachery were superiour to diplomacy and friendship.
Beyond the wooden door in the alchemy laboratory, Sunset Shimmer found a garden filled with ponies. They offered no reaction when she opened the door. In fact, they failed to acknowledge her existence altogether. Earth ponies, pale, palid, shuffled around garden plots, each with a blank stare. The one closest to her tended to what appeared to be some kind of cabbages of some sort, which grew by the light of a cluster of bioluminescent toadstools.
As for the pegasus ponies, they too were in a sickly state, with many molting their feathers.
Careful, mindful of danger, Sunset approached the pony stumbling through the cabbages, and when he did not respond, she waved her right front hoof in front of his eyes. Still nothing. It was like they were some sort of metaphorical zombies. Had they been magically lobotomised? Given some alchemical concoction that erased all traces of equinality? There was just nothing there, nothing at all. The pegasus ponies seemed to have it the worst of all, as they were not earth ponies—they did not grow things—but were trapped underground, unable to fly.
Upon closer inspection, Sunset found that they had been experimented upon. There were surgical scars in suspect places. One earth pony wasn’t an earth pony at all, but a unicorn—only not a unicorn any longer. When she turned him around, Sunset saw that his horn had been removed and curious fungal growths now sprouted from where his horn once grew. These toadstool like growths were bioluminescent, quite bright, and obviously magical.
Did they need magic to grow?
A unicorn was a wellspring of magic, for certain.
All of this suggested a world without a sun, a world in which darkness ruled.
Sunset could not help but be intrigued.
“She turned you into a flower pot,” Sunset said to the fungal-infested unicorn.
The hornless unicorn groaned, its jaw hanging slack, and shuffled away from Sunset.
With no apparent danger, Sunset had a better look around the garden. She found cabbages, corn, beans, what she thought might be potatoes, squash, cucumbers, and eggplants. Some were sickly looking, others appeared quite healthy, so there were varying stages of success to the bioluminescent adaptation. The corn did not grow tall, but rather, it all leaned in towards the glowing fungal cluster in the center of the patch.
With the erasure of free will, Sunset noted that the Empress of Teatime had made her subjects compliant. A part of her knew that she should be horrified, but mostly, she was just impressed. Of course, the workers were not spry, so efficiency and output might suffer, but the workers were not uppity and noncompliant, either. A worthwhile trade-off? Perhaps. Of course, Nadir was no doubt trying to perfect the process. This was a work in progress… a brilliant work in progress.
Nutter Nadir was a genius… and she had to be stopped.
“Twilight, are you alright?”
“No.” Then, after a moment, after a long, shuddering, shivery exhale. “Yes. I don’t know.” She squeezed Spike hard enough that smoke came squirting out of his nostrils.
It was, indeed, the twilight hour, which had come around at last. What light came through the windows was indirect light, the last remaining vestiges of the glorious day. The coming night now diffused that light, scattered it, and sent it into retreat. Celestia conjured up a blanket, unfurled it, wrapped it around both Twilight and Spike, and then lifted up her half-full teacup, which was most certainly not half-empty.
“Is the Mare in the Moon real?” Twilight asked.
“That remains to be seen,” Celestia was quick to reply. “Ponies are so quick to blame every bad thing they do on the Mare in the Moon. When caught doing wrong, that seems to be the acceptable excuse: ‘The Mare in the Moon made me do it.’ It is a great way to shrug off accountability.”
“But… is she real?”
“That seems… doubtful, Twilight. But… you should study about it. In the library. Find out all you can. When you think you’ve found everything that there is to know, create a report and tell me of your findings.”
“How do you know about this story?”
Celestia paused, uncertain of how to answer. “I don’t,” she said at last. “A lot of it is conjecture drawn from unknown, unreliable sources. Sunny Sunshine told me very little upon her return. I had to rely upon other means, other ways, so that I might piece the story together. I suppose if we compared the version of the story that I am aware of with that of Sunny’s story, they might be very different.”
What Celestia did not mention was that others had been inside of Nadir’s ruined, shattered mind, and some of the story had been gleaned from what was found there. Everything was so jumbled, very little made sense, and then there was the fact that something… something had interfered with recovering the information from the ruins of Nadir’s mind.
Troubled, Celestia sipped her tea while her apprentice shivered.
“The Mare in the Moon scares me.”
“Oh, Twilight. Don’t be a silly a pony. She’s nothing to be afraid of.” Celestia was quick to add, “If she’s real, that is. She’s a ghost story told around a crackling fire. A spooky tale told before bedtime by irresponsible brothers trying to scare their little sisters. Twilight, if we blame her for our every terrible action, it means that we never have to accept responsibility for our wrongdoings. The Mare in the Moon is just an excuse, really.”
“Shiny said she eats up foals who stay up past bedtime.”
“Oh, did he?”
“Yeah.” Twilight nodded. “I think he wanted me asleep so he could spend time with Cadance.”
A wry smile almost spread across Celestia’s muzzle.
“What is tonsil hockey, and why does my brother want to play it so badly?”
“Well, Twilight, that involves a different story. For now, we should finish the one we’ve started.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Now, let’s see… where were we?”
“I’m upset that my brother wants to play hockey with Cadance, and not me. It’s not fair.”
Twilight’s sudden words very nearly caused Celestia to drop her teacup, and all of the celestial bodies she was currently manipulating during their complicated dance through the heavens were in grave danger of falling down as well. Celestia was forced to quickly recover her wits, lest there be a celestial catastrophe. To have held up the heavens for all these years, all by herself, only for all of it to come crashing down because of a few precocious words from little Twilight.
Twilight would never know how close she came to ending all of life as she knew it.
Once, Twilight Velvet told a tale of how Twilight Sparkle caused her to drop a casserole mere moments before it was to be served at a dinner party, and now Celestia understood why. Of course, dropping a casserole was nothing compared to allowing multiple complex life-sustaining orbits to fail. She considered her response to Twilight’s words, and after a moment of intense reflection, she decided to ignore them for now. Addressing them might require explaining, and that… that would be awful.
“Here, Twilight,” Celestia said, preparing a distraction, “hold Smarty Parts. She looks scared.”
“She does!” Twilight was eager to tuck her doll between herself and her dragon, and the blanket was pulled back into place. “Sorry, Miss Pants!”
With everything right in the world once more, Celestia continued her story…
The mines formed a vast network of warrens, a maze that Sunset was forced to navigate. Unable to cast spells, she was forced to rely upon her other senses, which she had to admit, seemed dull and stunted. Up to this point, she’d relied upon her magic far too much for everything, but she understood now that this needed to change. Sensing an incline and detecting up shouldn’t be this hard.
This unacceptable laziness would be purged.
She slipped from shadow to shadow, falling back on what felt right, what felt best. While other ponies prefered the light of day, Sunset rather liked the cover of darkness, at least she did during moments like this. Her blood still burned with a fever, sweat ran rivulets down her sides, but her rage sustained her. The words of the Mare in the Moon bothered her a great deal. She wanted to be insulted? Put down? Was she that insecure? That stupid statue had been silenced forever… and soon, Nadir would be dealt with as well. But how?
The Mare in the Moon was too treacherous to trust. With honeyed words, she had sent Nadir away to watch the stars, leaving Sunset free to navigate these tunnels. But for how long? Sooner or later, Nadir was bound to return, and when she did, she would have to be dealt with. Somehow. Sunset didn’t know how this ended, not yet. Nadir had to be neutralised somehow.
Killing her seemed as good of an option as any, but Sunset knew that her master would not approve.
Tearing the souls out of others? Forbidden magics practiced in secret? Celestia had some explaining to do—but confronting her felt impossible. Sunset knew that trying to explain how she knew would be a real problem, and Celestia would be quick to turn the tables. For all of her talk about purity and goodness, Celestia was a fraud. That is, if she did, in fact, know soul-tearing magic.
Why wouldn’t Celestia know it?
Almost overcome, panting, Sunset came to a halt, leaned against a wall, and tried not to wretch. Her head was throbbing in the worst way, her ears rang, and the sudden rush of wooziness was almost unbearable. She felt something… a presence… and it was every bit as terrible as it was awful. There was… magic… and it was so strong that she could feel it curdling her blood, even as it coursed through her veins like an infection.
You deluded fool. Did you really think that you’d be rid of me that easily?
Sunset feared her knees would buckle because the thunderous voice inside of her head was overwhelming. Each word was like dull, searing-hot steel scraping against the inside of her skull, and Sunset was certain that her eyes would come popping right out of their sockets. She squeezed them shut, trying to prevent this very thing from happening, and braced herself when she sensed that whatever it was that was inside her head was about to speak again.
You are an unsuitable vessel, but you will walk the world. I will make you walk the world. When at last you encounter a vessel compatible with my needs, I will possess them, and you will know my terror. Twilight can only last so long, before the midnight hour comes round at last, and my darkness shall be eternal. When the clock strikes midnight, I shall unravel your very existence. Before your end, you will kneel before me. I will show you power, and it shall be the last lesson that you ever learn. Know this, as you walk the world an outcast, you bring the shadow of your own doom where'er you go.
Then, quite unexpectedly, the thunderous, overbearing voice was gone. Sunset, still reeling, endured a mighty struggle to remain upright. She felt… dirty somehow. Unclean. It was as if she’d been stained by something, something which couldn’t be scrubbed away. A greasy spot left on her soul.
Telling Celestia about this would be impossible; she’d have to explain how it happened.
Get moving, a soft voice said within her head. You must survive. I will make you survive. You will live until such a time that my revenge upon you is complete. Now, get moving.
So compelled, Sunset found her legs obeying, and for a moment, it felt as though she was a passenger in her own body. She lurched forwards, away from the wall, off balance. Whatever was controlling her, she had the sense it was having to learn how to walk on short legs. But then the odd sensation faded, and she found herself back in control of her own limbs.
“I’ll resist,” Sunset said to whatever was inside of her. “I’ll fight you to the end.”
You won’t even remember, the voice between her ears replied. Who and what I am cannot be revealed. Do you think that I am a fool? That I would take such careless risks? I am nothing like you. You are nothing. My sister crafted you for compliance and weakness.
Before Sunset could respond, she was overcome with a crashing wave of dizziness.
A kitchen. Sunset found herself in a kitchen, of sorts, with no memory of how she’d come here. Her head was achy and she was so parched that she could feel her eyelids scraping against her eyeballs in the most unpleasant manner. The remains of an animal carcass lay upon a wooden butcher’s block, and she found that she was strangely not bothered by the sight of it.
In fact, she found herself a bit peckish.
Almost in a daze, she crossed the kitchen and went into the pantry, the place she needed to be. Why did she need to be here? She didn’t know, but this was the place. There was food here; this was a well-stocked pantry. But she wasn’t after food, no. She was after tea. There it was, along the top shelves. Tea. Not just any tea. Special tea. By itself, the tea was mostly harmless, but when paired with the activating agent, it nullified magic. If another activation agent was chosen, it sapped free will and did great damage to the mind; it became a hot, delicious cup of slavery.
How did she know this?
She didn’t know how she knew.
Somehow, she’d always known.
The knowledge had been there with her all along, it seemed.
Natural genius.
That was the reason why she’d been chosen; natural talent. She was the best of the very best of what Canterlot had to offer. It didn’t matter that she came from peasant stock, no. She was special. With a slow, deliberate tilt of her head, she looked up at the tea tins stashed away on the top shelf. She had work to do. Nadir was a loose end, and loose ends had to be dealt with, lest everything unravel.
One had to be careful when knitting a sweater of evil.
What made her think that?
She wasn’t sure.
In fact, she didn’t want to know.
Thinking about it made her head hurt.
It was better to go along with things and not think.
Besides, she had tea to make.
Teatime.
Yes, it was teatime.
When she thought about magic, her horn sparked. That would not do. She needed magic, but the terrible poison still burned her blood. A little telekinesis could be mustered though, and that was better than nothing. Better than fumbling around like a magicless peasant. Lifting the first tin, the pain was almost too much to bear, but she held on somehow. The pain had to be felt. For whatever reason, the torture was welcome… necessary.
She deserved this torture.
One by one, the tins were taken down and placed upon the counter. The coursing static in her brain caused her face to contort into a rictus of agony, but she never faltered, her actions never ceased. Her body moved in an almost mechanical manner, all jerky and twitchy, or perhaps it was better described as a marionette. Up and down, her head bobbed, as if keeping time to some unfathomable, incomprehensible song, a lullaby from the darkness beyond the stars.
A kettle was placed upon the stove, and a fresh log was tossed over the still-glowing embers. The fire, so kindled, woke up from its slumber and began to devour the offered fuel. With a turn of her head, Sunset looked at the half-butchered carcass, and her orange tongue peeked out from between her cracked, dried-out lips.
Food would have to come later, because right now, it was time to serve tea.
Head bobbing up and down, her tongue still sliding over parched lips, Sunset waited for the kettle to come to a boil…
Cool night air filled Sunset’s lungs, and some of the cruel burning subsided. She stood in the mouth of the mine, gulping in much-needed fresh air. Sunset was in no hurry, because she knew exactly where Nadir was. How did she know? Because she could see Nadir. Somehow. Nadir was looking up at the moon, and Sunset, somehow, was looking down at her.
It was midnight now. Midnight. Celestia’s powers were at their weakest. This was the hour when Celestia truly rested, because her powers were so weak. Hidden beneath a curtain of draped midnight, Sunset was free to act with impunity, as Celestia’s ever-watchful eye would be closed. Sleeping. What was done in the dark would go unknown by the light.
Careful, cautious, Sunset crept out of the mine and began to make her way to the clearing where Nadir was stargazing. Sunset’s head was filled with hazy, indistinct dreams. Lullabies. It was like standing outside of a theatre and hearing the show inside. Nadir dreamed of maternal things; of having a mother, of being a mother, and of having a family. Hers was the desire of orphans everywhere, and Sunset was going to crush those dreams.
Nadir had outlived her usefulness.
The plan, such as it was, had changed.
Sunset lurched forward, a steaming teapot held aloft behind her. Her eyes were spiderwebbed with vivid scarlet and the corners of her mouth were crusted over with partially dried drool. She walked as though she was still a foal learning how legs worked. A crazed gleam could be seen in her bloodshot eyes; her twitching lips alternated between a snarl, a smile, and a scowl. If there was ever a word to describe Sunset at this moment, that word was lunacy.
“Go to sleep, little foal,” Sunset murmured, safe in the knowledge that she would not give herself away. “Go to sleep, little foal. Your mama’s gone away, and your daddy’s gone to stay, didn’t leave nopony but the foal.”
Unable to help herself, she cackled.
Just a bit.
It just sort of happened.
“Don't you weep, pretty foal.” Still lurching ahead, Sunset continued her demented lullabye, relying upon its magic to keep Nadir pacified. “Don't you weep, pretty foal. You and me and the Darkness makes three… don't need no other lovin’, foal.”
What curious magic Sunset found herself in command of; the absolute control of others.
“Go to sleep, you little foal.” Softly she crept closer, and Nadir was in view now. “Go to sleep, you little foal. I’m gonna and lay your bones on the alabaster stones, and you’ll be my ever-lovin’ foal…”
Nadir swayed, lulled into a false calm, and was utterly unaware of Sunset, who snuck up behind her. The lullabye changed to a wordless murmur, a soft, soothing sound, and Sunset now stood over Nadir, looking down at her whilst she looked up at the night sky. This was power. Unbelievable power. Stealth unimaginable. Nadir was spellbound.
“Nadir, you pathetic dungheap, it’s time to drink your tea and go to bed,” Sunset whispered into Nadir’s ear. Her every word dripped with malice. “Drink every drop.”
Eyes vacant, Nadir tilted her head back, and waited for her tea.
The tea was piping hot. Not boiling, and maybe not scalding, but steaming, piping hot. Enough to burn. To cause pain. When it was poured down her throat, the spell was broken, and a gurgling scream caused the tea to come foaming and bubbling out of her mouth. Sunset held Nadir’s head in place, kept her jaws prised open, and she kept pouring, oblivious, uncaring of Nadir’s pained distress.
Somehow, Nadir pulled away, she shoved Sunset, and coughing, sputtering, she went crawling away over the grass. “No!” she croaked through now-blistered lips, her voice an unrecognisable spectre of its former self. “No, no more! The magic goes away!”
“I know.” Ignoring the pain, Sunset seized Nadir with her telekinesis, flipped her over, and once more, she prised the mare’s jaws open. She stomped down upon Nadir’s stomach, which forced out a ragged, wet cough, and then, without mercy, she continued to pour more piping hot tea down Nadir’s throat.
Nadir’s lips, muzzle, nose, and the whole of her face was blistered. So was her neck and front legs. With one hoof solidly upon Nadir’s stomach, Sunset emptied the contents of the teapot, and forced the liquid down Nadir’s gullet. Then, looking down, eager, Sunset watched as the intelligence slowly retreated out of the stricken mare’s eyes. Nadir’s struggles slowed, weakened, and then ceased altogether as the last of the light went out in her eyes, as the windows to her soul went dark.
“Nighty night, Nadir.”
Dropping the now-empty teapot onto the soaked grass, Sunset stumbled away on legs that somehow felt far away and disconnected. Nadir was now just like her victims down in the mines below, a mindless, drooling creature, driven by instinct. Sunset threw a wild kick at her, but was too far away and almost took a tumble.
Now, all that was left to do was to clean up, and then go home.
Back in whatever creek she had started from, Sunset Shimmer waited for the train. She sat atop an enormous trunk, and while waiting, ate an apple. It had been a long, long walk through the wilderness, two whole days in fact, and she had carried the trunk the whole way, held aloft in her telekinesis.
She was ready to go home.
Coming here had changed her in some way, though she could not say why or how. Perhaps she had grown. Her magic was stronger now, and she understood what she wanted with life. This trip had given her remarkable clarity of mind, and now, she itched more than ever to be out from beneath her master’s yoke.
No longer would Celestia hold her back.
Sunset would no longer be denied the power she was owed; she knew the truth, and it would set her free.
If Celestia would not freely give what was owed, well, it would be time to move on. There were other worlds, other places where Sunset knew she could go, and she would not be held back. It was a mystery to her how she knew these things, but she knew alright, and she would not be denied. Something about Cadance’s very existence now enraged her, and this slight, it would have to be answered for.
Something within the trunk let out a muffled moan.
“Miss, are you gonna need help with that trunk?” a porter asked. “Train is a-coming.”
“I got it, thanks.” Sunset smiled, a cold gesture that seemed contrary to her sunny hues. “How long until the train arrives?”
“Not much longer. About five minutes or so, if it’s on schedule.”
“Fantastic. Thanks.” She dispensed the perfunctory courtesy with cold cheer.
The apple was gone in just a few more bites, and with a smooth, effortless burst of magic, she made the core vanish. Where did it go? Why did it matter? With the sweetness still in her mouth, she thought about the dream she had, the terrible, awful dream. Last night, while sleeping in the wilderness, she had dreamed that she stood on a cold, lifeless world, a place with no sky, no sea, a place utterly devoid of the greenery of life.
She had stood on this barren world, and stared into the cold vacuum of empty space, all while strangling, choking, fighting for a breath of air—but there was no air. For a thousand years or more, she had struggled, she had tried to draw breath. A thousand years spent asphyxiating, her lungs burning from a lack of oxygen, but she was unable to die. The fight would not end. Her eyes made every attempt to flee their sockets, and her blood boiled in the cold emptiness where there was no life. On the verge of death for a thousand years, she was unable to die, but didn’t want to continue.
In the morning, when the long, long nightmare was over, when she could finally breathe again, she was drenched in sour sweat, and she reeked of fear. This dream was only the first. Somehow, she knew, this nightmare would return, and every night when she laid her head down to rest, she would dream.
It would be terrible.
The train could not come soon enough.
“—and so Sunny Sunshine came home, with poor Nadir locked in a trunk, comatose. She wouldn’t tell me what had happened. After that, speaking almost felt impossible. I don’t know what happened to Sunny. She left home and came back a different pony. She was a stranger, almost, but also familiar in a peculiar way, a way that I cannot possibly explain. Sunny told me that I didn’t deserve to know what had happened. Our estrangement progressed, until such a time that it became unbearable.”
“What happened to Nadir?” asked Twilight.
“I don’t know.” Celestia found herself shrugging, while wishing that she had answers. “Her mind was gone, and she had no magic. Sunny… never did offer an explanation. I can’t even begin to speculate as to what happened.” Content in telling the truth, but also in confessing her wrongdoing, the alabaster alicorn let go a long, shuddering breath. “Sunny had the most terrible nightmares after she came home. Night terrors, as they are called. I can only assume that Nadir did something awful to her… and perhaps this backfired on Nadir. I have long searched for the answers, Twilight. And that’s the really awful thing. Sometimes, no matter how much you study, no matter how much you want it, the answers will forever remain out of reach.”
“Will there be an astronomy lesson tonight?”
The question caught Celestia off-guard. It was so sudden, so unexpected. Was Twilight so eager to forget? Perhaps she was. After some thought, Celestia found that she could not blame her student. Twilight was not as emotionally invested in this, as Celestia found that she was. This was a terrible story, a tragic story—but a story that Celestia hoped that her student would learn from. Even as incomplete as it was, there was much that could be taken, there were lessons to be learned.
“Yes, Twilight, there will be astronomy lessons tonight. We’ll study the stars, you and I, and I’ll tell you about the constellations.”
Left to sit, the tea had long since grown cold. The unfinished food seemed to lack appeal, though Celestia could not say why. Whatever decadent sumptuousness that had existed an hour ago was gone now. The reign of the Empress of Teatime had come to a tragic end, and with so many questions left unanswered, Celestia feared that she would never know closure.
“Spike fell asleep,” Twilight whispered.
“He is in his happy place, Twilight. Of course he did.”
“I do so solemnly swear that I will try to be more mindful of Spike’s needs, and that I will try to see things his way.”
“Oh Twilight… it makes me happy to hear you say that.” Extending her wing, Celestia dabbed at her eyes, which were watering for some unknown reason. “Come, Twilight. Let us put Spike to bed. We’ll do it together.”
“I’d like that.”
Still dabbing her eyes, Celestia somehow found her smile once more.
The optional, but entirely necessary epilogue for the sake of continuity written for the sake of the 'verse as a whole
A group of ponies gathered around a crypt, and of all present, Twilight Sparkle might very well have been the most emotional. When a story ended with death, she found it quite upsetting, and this was a story long in the telling. This story started when she had been a filly, it had been told over teatime, and now, all these years later, when she was now an adult, it had, at last, come to an end.
And what an end it was.
While Twilight glanced at her brother, she heard Luna say, “Dim… how strange I find it that you wish for the Darks to end, only for you to recognise Nadir as one upon the hour of her death.”
Of course, Dim sneered, and when Luna reached for him with her wing, he tried to pull away. She was bigger than him, stronger by far, and did not have a body ravaged by consumption. Every breath was a struggle for him, and even as he struggled to be free of her embrace, she pulled him close. Feeling a need for closeness, Twilight pulled both Shining Armor and Trixie Lulamoon closer.
“The stars will aid her escape,” Twilight said to those she held close, with her wings wrapped around their necks.
“At least Nadir’s struggle with the curse has ended,” said Shining Armor, seemingly distracted. “We’ve all wrestled with it in some way, each and every one of Luna’s stars.”
“I do not suffer from insanity,” Dim said, objecting to what was said.
“No, Dim, you rather enjoy every moment,” Luna replied in deadpan, without even a trace of mirth or humour to be found in her voice. “And you, beloved Grandson, you’ve ended the curse that has plagued us all and inflicted so much misery on so many lives.” Ignoring Dim’s feeble protests, she leaned in and placed a rather maternal kiss upon his cheek.
“The curse struck my wedding,” Shining Armor said as Luna lavished affection upon Dim, who didn’t seem to be enjoying it, not even a little bit. “And what a curse it was. If it wasn’t for Twily, there might have been a bad end. A terrible outcome to everything. Of course”—he sighed, a heavy sound—“Twily saved us all, as she tends to do.”
Surrounded by family and friends, Twilight found that she had questions. How had Celestia known about the Mare in the Moon if Sunny Sunshine hadn’t said much on her return? It was only now, as an adult, that Twilight had the presence of mind to ask such questions. Somehow, Celestia knew things, impossible things, and while Twilight was somewhat privy to her mentor’s secrets, Celestia still had secret ways and means.
“The curse drove me to walk the earth,” Trixie said, and it could not be discerned if she was speaking to herself, as she tended to do. “I was consumed by loneliness. The curse… despair… I ached with it. Not even power could satisfy and fill the empty ache. Twilight saved me too. Thank you, Twilight.”
“Don’t mention it, Trixie.”
“Nadir struggled with it too. She wanted a mother… family… she wanted to belong and be loved.” Luna squeezed Dim, sighed, and her head swayed from side to side. “I exploited that—”
“That wasn’t you,” Dim said to Luna, his voice soupy, raspy. He sounded as if he might drown with every breath he fought to make.
“But I remember doing it, Dim. I remember provoking her. Goading her to do terrible acts, and promising that she would be loved in return. I ruthlessly exploited that. That’s just the problem… I remember everything.” A tear ran down Luna’s cheek, resisted the tug of gravity for a moment, and then splashed upon Dim, who sneered in annoyance.
“Großmutter—”
“I’m not gross,” Luna murmured as more tears fell.
“Every time… you make that joke… I want to burn nations... and boil away oceans.”
“Well, don’t do that, Dim. I’ll be very upset with you.” Closing her eyes, Luna pulled Dim even closer somehow, and wept.
Twilight turned away; it was a private moment, at least it felt that way.
She looked at the grave marker, etched into the side of the grey granite crypt. Nadir Dark. Nothing else. How few would know the meaning of this name, or the importance of it. Acceptance. In death. Recognised and given acceptance by another Dark… perhaps the worst and best of all the Darks. Nadir… now dead, was now laid to rest in the Dark family crypt.
Of course, it could be said that Dim’s charity had more to do with disturbing and annoying the dead Darks. Twilight did not discount this. Nopony hated Darks more than Dim did, and he’d sent more than a few beyond the veil. By interring Nadir into the family crypt, Dim was disrespecting the Darks’ well-known snobbiness and tweaking their superiour haughtiness. This might very well be Dim having the last laugh.
Twilight found herself remembering that teatime so long ago…
Outside, there was a commotion; the sound of a carriage could be heard, hooves on cobblestones, and the clanking of heavy armor. More guests had arrived, important guests. Eager to see them, Twilight turned about in the small, cramped crypt, and waited for the door to open. There was another family who belonged here, another bloodline touched by the Darkness, Luna’s unwanted legacy.
The door opened and it was not Celestia who was the first to enter, as Twilight expected, but Sunset Shimmer. Sunny Sunshine. She froze in the door, wide-eyed, terrified, and… heartbroken. But a rough shove by Celestia sent the smaller mare barreling through the doorway, and a second later, Twilight saw her bespectacled counterpart from beyond the mirror pushed through as well. Yet another touched by the Darkness—almost consumed by it, in fact.
“Hello Sunset,” Twilight said, bowing her head. “And hello, Other Me.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Sunset said to Celestia as the big mare ducked through the doorway.
“Yet, here you are, doing this,” was Celestia’s warm, emotional response. “Don’t give up now.”
“I can’t face this.” Sunset backed into a wall, whinnied once, and seemed on the verge of tears.
“Yes.” The Other Twilight moved close. “Yes we can. Together. Just like we’ve faced everything else.”
Sunset’s wings trembled and the crypt was filled with the soft rustle of feathers. “No… I can’t do this. I can’t breathe in here. This hurts… so much… I can’t...”
Celestia, whose horn almost scraped against the ceiling, pulled Sunset closer, and doing so, she ignored the much smaller alicorn’s bleating protests. After a moment, Celestia pulled the purple bespectacled unicorn close as well, and she squeezed them both with her wings. Sunset’s protests turned to whimpers, and then, with a gasp, heart-rending sobs.
Again, this felt too private, and Twilight turned away.
At long last, it seemed, the embittered estrangement between master and apprentice had mended. All of this was too raw to organise into coherent thoughts, Twilight couldn’t make sense of this yet, and all she could do was muddle through this moment. Which, it seemed, everypony else was doing as well, so she was not alone.
Shining Armor was lost in thought, and Trixie, who leaned up against him, appeared to be as well. Luna was still weeping; it hadn’t let up in the slightest and Twilight found herself wondering how many more tears might fall. Dim was still sneering, but it wasn’t a hard sneer, it was more or less a sneer for the sake of sneering, and he sometimes offered his grandmother soft words of comfort.
Standing in a corner, Twilight found herself thinking of Nadir.
There was danger in exclusion and rejection. Twilight wanted her thoughts to cooperate, but they were far too jumbled to do much of anything with. Nadir wanted family, to be loved. To be wanted. Trixie too, wanted to be loved… to have a family. Shining Armor and Cadance’s wedding had almost succumbed to an invasion. Twilight herself had struggled with her friends. All of this went back to an estrangement between two sisters. A fracture, a curse, a division whose ripples were still felt today. Nadir was Luna’s distant relation and she had paid a terrible price for her grandmother’s iniquity. It didn’t seem fair, but it was what it was, and Twilight wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
“I took everything from her,” Sunset said, her words muffled by Other Twilight’s neck.
“You were influenced—”
“No, Master”—Sunset whirled away from Celestia and almost bowled Other Twilight over—“do not make excuses for me. Haven’t you learned anything? We… us… you and I… you did nothing but make excuses for me and I became more and more entitled. Don’t you dare try to shield me from the consequences of my actions! I don’t need that sort of harm in my life.”
Celestia seemed pained; Twilight held her tongue.
“I can’t even imagine the sort of hurt I caused… the pain… Nadir is gone and I can’t do right by her. There’s no way I can apologise or make amends.” Sunset’s fiery gaze fell upon Luna, and Twilight suddenly found herself afraid. “But cursed as I am with empathy, I can at least know the pain of another harmed by all of this.”
“I don’t know if cursed is an accurate description of your empathy, Sunset.” Other Twilight shuffled about, pressed herself against Sunset, and then went still. “Though I acknowledge that it must sometimes feel that way.”
“I think it can be said that you truly deserve those wings—”
“No, Master.” Sunset, her feathers ruffled, bristled at Celestia’s words. “That’s just the thing. I don’t deserve anything. I owe. These wings, I don’t deserve them at all. They’re penance. I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make myself worthy of them. But I’ll never deserve them. They’re not a reward… but a reminder. It pains me to be here, in this place, where my wings are visible, where I can see them. I’ve put a whole nother world at risk… I brought magic there. Equestrian magic. Her magic.” She pointed at Luna to emphasise her words. “I made a huge mess and I’m stuck cleaning it up.”
“You’ve become that world’s Princess Celestia,” Twilight said, saying her thoughts aloud without thinking about them, or how her words might be taken.
Sunset paled beneath her vivid coat, and for a second, it appeared as though she might faint.
“Oh…” Twilight suddenly felt self-conscious, and Celestia, Princess Celestia, was looking right at her with some unknowable expression. “Oh, uh… yeah… right. Um… well, let’s forget I said that, alright?”
“There is no forgetting that you said that,” Sunset said in a very Princess Celestia-esque manner.
Before more could be said, the door opened, struck Celestia, who wickered, and Spike pushed his way into the crypt. He hugged a huge bundle of flowers and somehow skillfully navigated his way through a maze of legs. When he reached Nadir’s grave marker, he put the flowers down, patted them once, and then stood there, having himself a good look around.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.
“Thank you for fetching the flowers as I requested, Spike.”
“Don’t mention it, Princess Luna.”
“When Dim arranged the funeral, he neglected the floral arrangements.”
“We Darks don’t do flowers.” Casting his sneer downwards, Dim set his withering gaze upon the offending foliage.
“I don’t want to be Princess Celestia,” Sunset Shimmer said in a weak, tremulous voice.
Pointing at her counterpart, Twilight said, “But… but… you have your Twilight Sparkle.”
“Twilight… shut… up.”
Other Twilight squirmed, and Twilight found herself feeling her counterpart’s discomfort.
“Honestly, I don’t think it is a good idea.” Princess Celestia’s voice was now filled with its usual confidence and poise. “While I encourage empathy, and I think your desire to know my sister’s pain is admirable, I’m not sure if you should. And whatever you do, under no circumstances are you to touch Dim.”
Suddenly fearful, Twilight remembered the squid-headed creature that had touched Dim’s mind. “Yeah”—her voice was far squeakier than she would have liked—“touching Dim is ill-advised. He’s a living prison for the curse. Sunset, stay away from him. I’m pretty sure that the Darkness has a score to settle with you, Sunset. With all of us, no doubt.”
“The Darkness was right to fear me,” Dim muttered in a wet, raspy utterance.
“Princess Luna… I already know what others do not.” Gently pushing Other Twilight aside, Sunset stepped forward. “I know what you endured… well, I have an idea. This is suddenly more complicated than I anticipated.” Undaunted, she continued, “I know what you suffered on the moon… the constant struggle for air… suffocation… strangling… a thousand years of fighting to draw breath. I still dream about it.”
“I’m so sorry,” was Luna’s reply.
“Don’t be.” Sunset smiled, and it was like the sun parting dark clouds. “We share an understanding, you and I. As awful as it is, I don’t regret it.”
“Friends share pain with one another,” Other Twilight said. “Sunset knows my pain as Midnight… and she and I… well, every time we touch one another, it’s something we have to endure, but that doesn’t mean that we stop touching each other, no…” Her glasses fogged over, her face turned several shades of purple darker, and unable to continue, Other Twilight stood there, licking her lips. After a few awkward seconds, she let out a strained whinny, and then retreated back into the corner, where she stood, blushing furiously.
“You can’t turn it off, can you?” Celestia asked of her former student.
“Master… there is no conceivable way for me to answer that with my dignity intact.”
“No, I suppose there isn’t.”
“That isn’t a hands-off activity—”
“Luna, please, this is a funeral. And here I thought it would be Dim that would disrupt everything.” Frowning, Celestia shook her head while both Other Twilight and Sunset endured an awkward moment.
Almost defiant, Luna stood a little taller, and her horn sparked as it scraped against the granite ceiling. “As I was trying to say, that isn’t a hands-off activity. But to be willing to face such pain with each encounter is admirable. Sunset… I am glad that you are strong enough to overcome such turmoil.”
“Th-thank you.” Sunset’s eyes glazed over with tears. “It is a struggle. Sometimes, I want to be far, far away from people, so I don’t touch them. I find myself retreating from the world. My friends pick me up, dust me off, and keep me going. I don’t know how they do it. Every aspect of my life is touched in some way by this empathy. I wish… I wish I had it when I first met Nadir. Perhaps I could have helped her. I wish things could be different, but… my past has made me who I am today… and I rather like the person I’m slowly becoming. It’s hard, though.”
“Cadance is an empath. It is hard for her, sometimes.”
“That’s funny,” Sunset said to Shining Armor. “I was envious of Cadance, and of her power. Now that I have it… well, I won’t say that I don’t want it, but I will say I have a new respect for her. Where is she, anyhow? She couldn’t make it?”
“Skyla and Flurry are both sick,” Shining Armor replied. “One of us had to be there.”
Trembling, Sunset approached Luna, and Dim respectfully retreated, free at last from Luna’s wing. Sunset and Luna met just in front of Nadir’s marker, the spot where Spike had placed the flowers, and Twilight, almost overcome with anticipation, eagerly awaited for this moment to happen.
“I have wronged you,” Luna said. “Forgive me.”
“You know, just now, I almost said this wasn’t your fault… but… you and I… we share similar circumstances. We were both influenced. Celestia protected both of us… tried to shield us from the consequences of our actions. She made excuses for us.” Sunset swallowed, a hard, painful sound. “We both understand that the blame rests solely upon our own actions—”
“And poor decisions,” Luna added.
Twilight’s vision blurred over with tears, and she felt the soft prickle of Spike’s claws as he gripped her leg. A funeral was a strange place to come together, or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this was the best time and place to put the past to rest. Just one more body committed to the ground.
Sunset turned her head to look at Nadir’s marker. “We can never be normal.”
“We’re stuck being weird.” Luna too, turned to face the final resting place of Nadir Dark.
“We’ve done irreparable harm.”
“My actions cursed my entire bloodline and brought them ruination.”
“I brought magic into a world that had none, and I don’t know what will happen.”
“The curse I wrought escaped this world, and lept into another.” Luna frowned.
“Yeah, that’s my fault.”
“Our fault. We did that.” Luna wickered a bit, her wings rustled against her sides, and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I have a bossy big sister that has done everything in her power to shield me from the consequences of mine own actions… but she needs to step aside so I can clean up mine own mess.”
“I had a bossy big master—”
“Oh, please, both of you.” Though her words were firm, Celestia seemed troubled.
“We both wanted our moment in the sun,” Luna said while facing Sunset. “We were not content to be ourselves. I don’t know about you, I can only speak for myself, but I wanted to be just like the pony I admired most. I felt inadequate, weak, and could only focus on my shortcomings. Admiration became poisonous envy, and this soured my love and affection, turning the sweet wine of affection into bitterest vinegar.”
“Me too.” Sunset slumped and her wings drooped. “Me too.”
“While it might be easy to blame Celestia for this—”
“The fault rests entirely upon our shoulders,” Sunset said, finishing Luna’s sentence.
“Indeed, it does. It hurts to say, but it does help drain the wound.”
“Yeah.” Sunset nodded. “You and I, we’re like two peas in a pod.”
“Yeah”—Dim’s sudden interjection had a chilling effect—“two shrivelled, blighted peas that nopony wants.”
Eyes narrow, Luna’s expression turned deadpan.
“Power means not having to respond,” Sunset said to Luna.
“But that cannot go unanswered,” was Luna’s reply.
Before anything else could be said, Sunset raised her hoof, and placed it upon Luna, touching her breast. Twilight saw Sunset’s eyes go white and a curious magic could be sensed in the air. Luna’s face was a mix of sorrow, pain, and relief. In need of comfort, Twilight sat down upon the cold stone floor, pulled Spike close, and gave him a squeeze. He didn’t need to be here. Nadir meant nothing to him. Spike had come because Twilight needed him—and she would always need him.
It occured to Twilight that Sunset might have needed a Spike.
“Twilight, are you alright?” Trixie whispered.
“I’ll be fine,” she replied, and it occurred to her that Trixie might have needed a Spike too.
“So, we’ve gathered together to lay the Empress of Teatime to rest—”
“Dim, I will not abide you mocking the dead.” Feathers ruffled, Celestia cast a cold, imperious glare in Dim’s general direction.
“I’m not mocking.” There was nothing meek in Dim’s reply, and he was utterly fearless in the face of Celestia’s displeasure. “This is far too serious a subject to be mocked.”
“You just mocked my sister during a tender moment—”
“She expects it. Demands it. We understand each other, she and I. Are we not an affectionate family, she and I? Do I not do her bidding out of a sense of familial obligation?” Dim’s thin, frail body was wracked by a dreadful sucking cough, and when he continued, his teeth were flecked with blood. “We are family. Drawn together by blood. By suffering. The curse that has afflicted all those with the merest hint of potential. It ignores most of us, finding us to not be worthy, but those of us of Luna’s lineage who show the merest hint of being exceptional—”
He coughed again, wheezed, and then stood there, fighting for air.
“—the curse claims us. But the curse only claims the worthy. It is too haughty and arrogant, too finicky, and it ignores the common and the mundane. The very fact that the curse so thoroughly consumed poor Nadir is proof that she was a Dark through and through… one of Luna’s stars. She was one of us. The seeds of madness found fertile soil. Nadir’s lunacy was evidence of her birthright. She was, and will forever be, the Empress of Teatime. And with every cup poured, I will remember her. I will remember all of us so touched, and Celestia, if you were as wise as you are old, you would do well to do the same.”
In shock, Twilight tried to process Dim’s words.
“It appears that I was mistaken,” Celestia said in what sounded almost like an apologetic tone.
“You’ve been mistaken about a great many things—”
Luna, who had embraced Sunset, said, “Dim, there’s no need to rub it in. Do not mock my sister.”
“Very well. Ich werde dir gehorchen.” Wheezing, Dim further retreated and went silent, save for the sound of his laboured respiration.
“Are you well?” Luna asked of Sunset.
When Sunset did not reply, Luna’s lips pursed with concern. Wrapping her wings around the smaller, violently sunny alicorn, Luna pulled her closer, and for the first time, Twilight noticed that Sunset was weeping. Such a thing was expected, yet it was still a shock to see for some unknown reason. Quite overwhelmed, Twilight tried to piece together everything that had been said in such a short time, so much of which was worth remembering.
At long last, Sunset spoke, and each word was a ragged, pained effort. “He’s right. We should remember Nadir. With every cup poured. She was, and forever will be, the Empress of Teatime. And no, I’m not well, but I do appreciate your concern. Thank you for sharing with me, Luna. It’s a lot for me to unpack, and it is difficult to take in, but I am confident that I can take what I’ve learned and use it to make myself better.”
“Nadir associated teatime with family and togetherness,” Luna said, closing her eyes and leaning against Sunset. “The Darkness offered her eternal teatime… Nadir’s heart’s most fondest wish… eternal family togetherness. She wanted to belong. I remember worming my way into her mind and exploiting her simple, heartfelt needs. She didn’t start out evil, but I made her that way. I thoroughly corrupted her and twisted her every desire. And like a filly hungry for her mother’s affection and approval, Nadir did every dark thing I asked, even if it disturbed her. It is just one guilt among many.”
“I desperately wanted my mother’s approval,” Trixie said. Then, closing her eyes, she leaned against Shining Armor, sighed, and a large, visible lump moved up and down her throat several times.
Still embracing Sunset, Luna pulled away a bit, turned her head around, and focused her stern stare on Dim, who stood wheezing in the corner. “That’s why you did this. This is why you sent out invitations and called us together. You wanted to give Nadir a moment of family time, even if only it came at the end of her life. Dim, you show such sweetness at times.”
All Luna got in return was Dim’s unpleasant, abrasive snarling.
“So why are we here?” Spike asked while Dim went overboard with his theatrics.
“What do you mean, Spike?”
“Well, Twilight, why are we here? If Nadir, the Empress of Teamtime, wanted to be remembered, why are we here in this crypt? Shouldn’t we, I dunno, be having tea? Together? As a family?”
“Oh, Spike… what would I do without you?” Twilight squeezed her dragon so hard that his eyes bulged from their sockets.
“Tea sounds good. Trixie could go for tea.”
“If all of Luna’s stars gathered around a table for tea,” Shining Armor began, “would that make us a constellation?”
Luna’s head swiveled around rapidly so that she might look at Shining Armor.
“Tea sounds lovely,” Sunset said, sniffling just a bit. “Celestia, I would love to have tea with you, again, like the old days, if you’ll have me. But I can’t stay long. I have a world to protect. An endless number of lives all depend upon me, and I must be there for them.”
“Sunset, I would love to have you.”
Peeling herself away from Luna, Sunset turned to face the grave marker that bore the name of Nadir Dark. Reaching up, she touched the name, went still, and a look of sad disappointment crept over her face. Twilight wondered if Sunset expected a flash of insight, a touch of empathy perhaps, some means of closure.
“I am sorry, Nadir. For everything. There are no words to express my regrets. You deserved better. Celestia sent me to help you, and I failed to do that. I failed to do a lot of things, actually, and I’m trying very hard to make up for these failures now. I wish I could earn your forgiveness, but you’re gone, and I can’t. Since you’re gone, I guess I’ll have to go with the next best thing, and that is doing right and forgiving myself. It’s hard, Nadir. Easier said than done.”
Then, shuddering, Sunset leaned against Luna once more and said, “I’m ready for tea.”
Luna too, paid her respects. “Goodbye, Nadir Dark. You deserved a better grandmother. You deserved a better family. You deserved a lot of things. I can’t fix what’s broken, but I’m trying to make a better future.”
Bowing her head, Trixie said, “I didn’t know you, Nadir, but I think you and I might have had much in common. Goodbye, Nadir Dark.”
Shuffling out of his corner, Dim seemed to bring the darkness with him as he approached the grave marker, and Sunset backed away as he approached. Standing beside Luna, he said, “We met in an asylum, in the Crystal Empire. I learned your story bit by bit. I visited you often, and we spoke a great deal about family. About the Darks. I confessed many things to you… things I’ve done. Awful things I’ve done. And there were times when it almost seemed like you might wake up… respond. I had hopes. But on our last visit, as I held your hoof and spoke to you, while I waited to see if there might yet still be some sign of life within you, you died rather suddenly. I still don’t know how I feel about it. Was it something I said?”
Head swaying from side to side, he concluded, “It was probably something I said. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Nadir Dark. Go now, beyond these mortal troubles, and be free.”
“Dim”—Luna’s voice was thick and husky with concern—“are you alright?”
“No.” His response was a reedy, nasal whine. “I just became a father. I’m slowly wasting away with consumption. My body is the prison of an ancient, unfathomable evil set on consuming those who share your blood. I’m still grieving the loss of dear friends, now departed. Now… this.” He gestured at the grave marker with his hoof. “I felt like I was making progress with her. I don’t care what Cadance said. There was progress.”
Leaning close, Luna tried to offer comfort. “Dim, you were making progress—”
“No.” He stomped his hoof and when he did, a thin tendril of shadow rose from his back. “No! Don’t tell me otherwise!” Darkness seemed to coalesce around him and the light visibly distorted, blurring his shape and form.
Spike shivered so hard that his teeth clicked together.
“Is… he gonna be okay?” Other Twilight asked.
“He’ll be fine,” Luna was quick to reply. “Nothing to worry about.”
“I know that magic,” Other Twilight said, her voice thin and frightened. “I know what it did to me. He can’t possibly be okay.”
Shining Armor, stepping forward, was quick to offer reassurance. “It’s fine. Whatever it is… it… that thing… is deathly afraid of Dim. The curse is over. Done for. Finished. It has no power. When the Darkness encountered Dim, things did not go well for the Darkness. We have nothing to worry about.”
“Shiny—”
“Twily, I’m still trying to convince myself.”
“I’m going for a walk,” Dim announced, and then his corporeal form collapsed into a puddle of darkness, which poured through the cracks in the floor and vanished.
“I think he needs a hug,” Other Twilight remarked. “I know I do.”
Head low, neck bent, crammed into a compact crypt intended for little ponies, Celestia pushed her way through the crowd, her immense bulk and mass easily knocking the smaller, less dense beings aside. She stood with her nose almost touching the grave marker, and Twilight could see that her mentor’s eyes were sad.
“Nadir…” Celestia’s low whisper caused silence to drape over the crowd like a blanket, and she stood there, stuck in a pause for a short time. “Nadir, I wish I could think of something meaningful and sincere to say. I failed you, just as I have failed so many others. But this should be about you, and not about my failures.” She struggled to keep going, but something gave way, and her eyes closed. “I am at a loss for words. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Nadir Dark, Empress of Teatime.”
Sunset moved rather suddenly; Twilight saw cunning in her eyes, something akin to treachery, an expression that she hadn’t seen on Sunset’s face in quite some time. A part of Sunset she thought abandoned. It was the same treacherous, sneaky expression worn when stealing the crown, the Element of Magic. It was so alarming that Twilight felt her breath catch in her tight throat, and when Sunset pressed her hoof against Celestia’s cutie mark, Twilight thought for sure that she might faint from the tension.
As with Luna, Sunset’s eyes went white, her body went still, and she froze, becoming a fuzzy statue. Celestia’s face became a blur of emotions, all of them happening rapidly, going from alarm, to concern, to fear, then to worry, and so many more… until at last, the only thing that could be seen upon her face was agonised heartbreak.
“No…” Celestia’s voice cracked. “Sunset… no… you foolish, foolish filly. What have I told you about being sneaky?”
Whipping out her wing, Luna waved it in front of Sunset’s eyes, but there was no response. “Will she be okay?”
“No.” Celestia’s eyelids seemed heavy, and her eyes sad. “No, she may never be okay again. But as the guardian of her world, perhaps it is time that she learned the burden of being me. She was bound to learn sooner or later. The hard way, no doubt, because that is all she understands, the hard way. But she had to sneak up on me and catch me unawares. A great many lessons were learned all at once. What am I to do with you, Sunset?”
“Sunny?” Raising a hoof, Other Twilight clumsily waved it in front of Sunset’s eyes.
“All of my pain, all of my experiences, all at once. She’s going to need a cup of tea that a spoon could stand up in.” Celestia’s voice turned deadpan mid-sentence. “Foolish, foolish filly. What were you thinking? It was bad enough you touched Luna. Wasn’t that enough punishment for one day? And of all the places where you might’ve touched me, you had to touch me there. Now you will understand what it means to have a sun mark, you foolish, foolish filly.”
“Apparently not,” Luna remarked with cool calm. “She seems checked out.”
“Shining Armor, please, carry her out to the carriage.” Celestia gave the command with practiced ease. “As for the rest of you, come, let us gather for tea, and leave this place. It’s giving me such a crick in the neck.”
“But… Sunny has a sun mark,” Other Twilight said, pointing at that spot. “Right there.”
“Yes,” Celestia replied, “and at long last, I suspect that she is ready to face her destiny…”
