Entry Two

June 22, ANM

It is with the deepest shame that I realize perhaps hiding this diary in a pile of powdered Poison Joke was not the finest of my ideas. My glorious voice, ordinarily bold and noble even without being Royal and Canterlotian, has exploded into a noise so raucous that I cannot even speak in an attempted whisper without leveling the contents of any room I happen to be visiting at the moment. Though this might be an unusual and interesting method of beginning an early takeover, the prospect of deafening anypony, even Sister Dearest, is counterintuitive and would ultimately accomplish no purpose. As such, I am forced to keep my mouth shut and remain in my quarters lest I accidentally let slip some order or admittance of gratitude.

Sister Dearest believes that I am also incapable of raising the moon in my current state. Such an idea is foolish, I would tell her if possible. I was younger than I currently appear when I orchestrated my first moonrise. Has my cutie mark vanished from my flanks? Of course not. Therefore I see no reason why I cannot do such a task for myself, unless such is also a symptom of the cursed Poison Joke.

Currently, however, Sister Dearest tells me to stay in bed most of the day while she provides me with food and entertainment. I am careful to write within these pages during her few moments away from this place, as I am thoroughly unwilling to give her any reason for suspicion. As long as she is ignorant of my goals, I can take all the time I require to invent and execute a satisfactory plan.

Let me continue my recollections of the previous day; my memory is as crisp and perfect as an apple, so my gentle readers may be fully confident in the validity of my story. My union with the parasite, that cursed Nightmare, was blessedly ended at the hooves of the Bearers of Harmony. The strain of keeping myself whole and sane ended in that purifying ray of colors, and my utter exhaustion took its toll as I was freed, forcing me into my first rest in over a millennium. Never again shall I take for granted the necessity for constant sleep that mortal ponies have been cursed with.

Upon waking, I was terrified to discover my sister standing over me. Terror, however, shifted into a pleasing triumph as she extended the hoof of friendship to me, assuming that my intentions of dooming the world to eternal night was solely the result of the Nightmare's taint. (And in a way I suppose it was, though I cannot now relate that story in a way that intersects neatly with this one.) Heartfelt gratitude burst from my lips as I was welcomed back into her confidence — yes, this is true! Can any ordinary creature fathom the relieving effects of waking from that hideous Nightmare, surfacing from the depths of lightless madness and back into the gentle rays of the sun, where that smiling angelic face is the first thing to welcome you to the morning? No, I am not ashamed to admit my relief. My sister is not a repulsive being in all of her folly, and I shall not punish her harshly for her misguided attempts at coddling the common ponies.

Once Sister Dearest had calmed herself sufficiently, she was kind enough to teleport ourselves and the Bearers of Harmony back to the little province of Ponyville. As we appeared quite suddenly in the town hall, and as the ponies taking refuge there were understandably upset even in the wake of the would-be eternal night, a minor fracas was caused as soon as we arrived. Fortunately Sister Dearest managed to soothe the ponies before they could form an impromptu stampede, a skill which I have yet to learn. (It will be an essential skill to have once I have successfully conquered Canterlot with the appropriate doomsday devices.) Upon receiving a brief explanation of the events of my purification, the ponies were no less than thrilled to welcome a new princess into the ranks of the monarchy.

This was, of course, exactly what I was hoping to hear. My task of conquering Canterlot will be much simpler to accomplish without a cold eye of suspicion leering in my direction at every turn. With this in mind, I had no trouble allowing myself to get swept up in the festivities, putting aside any planning that would need to be done. After my awful ordeal with the Nightmare, I felt that I had certainly earned a chance to join in the festivities.

Of note is the orchestrator of the partying: an earth mare called Pinkamena Diane Pie, notable as the Bearer of Laughter. Her ability to suddenly appear in unlikely places is intriguing to say the least, as is her boundless energy. It is unlikely that anypony in Equestria has been able to sleep in the last twenty-four hours, considering the necessity of preparing for the Summer Sun Celebration, and yet Pinkamena appears to be as fresh and ready for action as if she had just leapt from her bed. Perhaps there is some mechanism or substance in Equestria that has been invented for just such a purpose. If so, I must discover it immediately, for it will undoubtedly be useful in my quest for domination.

Also of note is the instance in which a pair of fillies came forth to provide my neck with an exquisite rose garland. I assume the deep red roses represent the dark past between Equestria and myself that will henceforth be left to itself, while the soft white roses are instead a light of hope for the future that we may share together. I am not sure I can wholeheartedly embrace this simplistic binary symbolism of darkness being evil and light being good, but I can appreciate the gesture nonetheless. In any case, I was glad that no thorns had been left behind to scratch uncomfortably at my neck, although of course I did not dwell on their absence for long. Only an utter sissy would be so ungrateful as to actively consider the potential presence of thorns in such a gracious gift.

The festivities were otherwise rather ordinary, not much more active than the solstice celebrations a thousand years ago (though their spirited atmosphere was no less notable). I learned the names of the other Bearers of Harmony; of note is the Bearer of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, the prized student of Sister Dearest. Considering her name, cutie mark, and aptitude for magic, I am forced to wonder if Sister Dearest did not intend for Twilight Sparkle to be a replacement sister. This seems unlikely, since her acceptance into her school for gifted unicorns was nine hundred and ninety years after my banishment; if she truly wished to replace me, it seems much more likely that she would have decided on take on a pony for such a role several hundred years earlier.

Yet doubt creeps at my thoughts even as I write this, wondering if such an action was taken to playfully spite me. It is certain that with some effort and practice, Twilight Sparkle could easily gain the ~~fear~~ love that I have always sought from the common pony. There is no chance that Sister Dearest is not aware of this possibility. Could she actually intend Twilight Sparkle to undergo the Rite of Ascension? As one who has felt her power as the Bearer of Magic, I believe she would be an ideal candidate, and this honestly worries me. The Rite of Ascension has not taken place in over eleven hundred years. Equestria does not need more demigods to crowd the throne, of this I am certain. This would be a poor decision on the part of everypony involved, and I must take care to have Sister Dearest postpone it until I can rise to domination.

Fortunately, Sister Dearest has gone out of her way to make this task easier for me. By her own royal decree, she has declared that Twilight Sparkle shall remain in Ponyville to study the magic of friendship, the most potent of all magic. While this development could eventually forge Twilight Sparkle into my most serious rival, it shall have to be enough for now. With her separate from Canterlot, my task is already far easier. No studious unicorn, intelligent or otherwise, can stop me now!

Returning to the events of yesterday, we departed by chariot a few hours before sunset, at which point I fell asleep for the entirety of the journey to my new home. I suppose I should have forced myself to remain awake in order to study the subtle changes the landscape has undergone, but again, my exhaustion from the Nightmare prevailed. There would be plenty of time later to examine what advances Equestria has seen during my imprisonment, so I slipped into a sweet dream that somehow escapes my memory. I must regain my ability to dreamwalk within the year, or else I will surely grow bored with the predictability of the waking realm.

Upon my return to consciousness, I found myself in a grand bed with night-blue coverings, situated nicely within a room of similar décor. The personalization pleased me, and I found myself sinking comfortably back into the mattress, nearly prepared to once again lose myself to the siren song of sleep.

It was then that this very book caught my eye: an unused diary, its cover decorated with a full moon. Much to my confusion, the moon bore the dark relief of a unicorn mare's head. Presumably the mare is a representation of myself during my incarceration, though I cannot tell how my head is meant to be equal in size to the moon. Understanding this to be a less-than-subtle jab at my failings, I scowled and with my magic picked up the note lying innocuously next to this diary, which I have attached here with a remarkable invention that the few servants I have yet seen call tape.

To Luna:
I hope you feel better quite soon! We have much to discuss about Equestria and the state of affairs when you awake. Not to mention that I wish to spend lost time with my baby sister as soon as possible!
As you may have noticed, I have given you this diary for your own use. In it I would like you to write whatever you wish — hopes, thoughts, dreams, anything! Studies have shown that writing on a day-to-day basis allows individuals to grow creatively, mentally, and in any way you could wish. In particular I would like for this diary to track your progress as you readapt to society, but as it is for your personal use I will not be obnoxious and decide to start checking up on it behind your back. You may think this is a silly little experiment of mine, but it really does work! Please begin writing as soon as you feel up to it.
Your loving sister, Celestia

As I indeed have need to get used to the workings of modern Equestria, not to mention plotting the downfall of my poor naïve sister, I decided to indulge Sister Dearest in her silly little experiment. There is no harm in it, for I am certain she will keep her word. Thus here I sit, writing down my hopes, thoughts, and dreams.

Today has been far less eventful. After my foolishness with the Poison Joke, I have attempted to remain confined to my quarters. Sister Dearest, however, was happy to parade me about the palace half an hour ago, spouting random facts about how the castle was established. Being spotted in this awkward body was sufficient to keep me silent and sullen, quite aside from the poisonous joke that has been played. As such I did not pay any attention to her ramblings, though of course I should have. Any information is useful information at this point.

As it is, I do not have much time. Soon Sister Dearest will return, and I must hide this diary in a more fitting place until the morrow. Until then, I will begin to pay more attention to my surroundings, delving into actual interaction once I have taken the cure for my deplorable condition.

Adieu, gentle readers.

Entry Three

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June 23, 1000 ANM

At last! Freed from the foul curse of the Poison Joke, I can now speak my mind whenever I may choose without consequence! Or at least I would, if I wished to make a complete fool out of myself by revealing all of my plans to every random passerby. At least I may communicate in a manner that is not completely tedious.

I began this day soaking in a refreshing herbal bath to cure myself of my affliction, although I ~~fear~~ love that I may have broken a mirror or two in the process in my impatience to see whether I was already returned to my normal state. When tentatively questioned by my maids, whose names I really must learn within due time, I stated that I had broken them in my frustration (true) and that I was sorry (also true) that I had already caused a kind of distress within the palace. (This was more of a lie, because after they had left I realized that if the broken mirrors have been taken in symbolically, the staff will soon realize that only I can help them in breaking out from their miserable states of denial and self-loathing. This line of reasoning, dear reader, may seem a bit of a stretch, but being one step ahead of your rival sometimes requires taking unlikely roads of logic.)

I emerged from the bath refreshed and prepared to once again plot and plan as only a princess can. Sadly, my dear sister had other ideas. As soon as I was finished, she quickly whisked me away to the kitchens, where she insisted on having me try some odd modern dish.

"Well, it's not modern per se," she remarked, trying to correct me. "Actually, it's been around for millennia — it was an ancient delicacy in Yakyakistan long before strife began between the three pony tribes. It's only recently that the dish has come into Equestria thanks to trade routes being opened about six hundred years ago."

"It still disturbs me." I prodded the tall stalks of the flowering plants, eying their fluffy white flowers as they bounced lightly in response. "What is it?"

"Krascheninnikovia."

"Pardon? Crash in any what?"

She stifled a giggle with one of those slender white hooves. I tried to bristle but failed miserably, to the point that I could not conceal a grin of my own. There is little in the world more pleasing to the eye or ear than Sister Dearest giggling, which is never in mockery but rather in love, with joy first and sometimes amusement second. She may be the worst ruler Equestria has ever seen, but her former status as the Bearer of Laughter cannot be denied even in the worst of my moods.

"It's an amaranth," she explained. "In Equestria we call it winterfat. Now, I know that sounds rather unappetizing," she went on, raising an amused eyebrow as my grin faded into a disgusted grimace. "But never fear, dear Luna. This is entirely a plant, and a flowering plant at that. Don't tell me you no longer love those."

Sister Dearest had a point. I must admit that, were I placed into a magnificently gigantic room stuffed from wall to wall with tall delectable plants caught in the fullest blossoms of their flowers, I would devour it all before those who had placed me would realize the severity of their mistake. I have decided to make it clear that these are my weakness, for every great figure in history requires one weakness or more, lest she or he appear to be "too perfect" to the masses in both the present and the future. Even Sister Dearest, paragon that she is, has long been known as the mare who cannot resist even a poisoned cup of well-brewed tea. (As a note to myself, giving her just such a deceptive delight would be quite a marvelous prank, which I shall play many times in the safety of my own imagination.)

In any case, I did nibble at the grossly misnamed winterfat. Misnamed as far as fat is concerned, at least, for the flowers carry a pleasant spice of wintery mint, which can be detected beneath the pleasantly light crunch of their overwhelmingly savory buds. It was not my favorite taste in the world, I must admit, and it took me several glasses of water and several more words of encouragement from Sister Dearest to warm up to the unusual flavor. Still, the delightful texture of amaranths cannot be denied, and before too much time had passed I had finished off what remained in the vase and glanced about for some more.

"Later, perhaps." She smiled. "Your stomach isn't quite as big as it should be, remember. In any case, I'm glad you enjoyed your meal. This will certainly help to ease you back into the realm of politics, at least as far as dinners with foreign dignitaries are concerned."

I nodded, pacified by the delectable food resting comfortably within my stomach. It was an odd thing ... standing there in the kitchens with Sister Dearest, frowning and laughing as I tasted a bizarre new item of cuisine, while the chefs half hid amongst the pots and pans with a shared look of practiced resignation. It was a feeling I have not felt since long before the Nightmare, before the jealousy and the rage and the spark that led me to my path of glorious conquest. To simply spend time with my naïve, yet beloved sister.

"Now go to bed and get some rest," she told me with an embarrassingly doting nuzzle. "Tomorrow I will have you meet your son."

Entry Four

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June 24, 1000 ANM

Only upon waking very early this morning did it occur to me that, due to the passage of so many years, I should no longer have a son. With this realization in mind I leapt from my bed, darted down the long carpeted hallway that separates my chambers from those of Sister Dearest, and pounded on her door with all the force of a foal seeking entrance to a room full of candy.

She emerged with her bright and colorful mane perfect and pristine, as usual. My own bed-shuffled mane still feels woefully inadequate in comparison. Oh how I miss my lovely starry mane, with its showers of meteors and comets in miniature streaking through locks of pure blue! Alas, it will take time for me to regain my former glory, if ever.

"Well, of course you still have a son," Sister Dearest assured me once I expressed the lack of logic in this situation. "He still exists, after all, and I can hardly understand why you would disown him." A thoughtful crease marred her perfect brow. "Unless ... this is about that millennium again, isn't it. You're thinking he's passed away by now, haven't you? Don't worry, little sister, all is well. Please go back to bed and allow yourself to dream once more. I'll be glad to bring him to you first thing in the morning."

I bit back a retort about how it already was morning, regardless of whether her hideous ball of fire was blasting apart the sky. There was no need to antagonize her, especially in these earliest stages of my clever schemes (which is to say, their developmental processes). In any case, even I could recognize that I was not in my greatest form despite the late hour, and so I grudgingly returned to my quarters. The situation was not urgent, and I supposed no harm would come in allowing time to run its course until our next meeting.

So certain was I of awakening before the rest of the palace that I was quite shocked when, several hours later, Sister Dearest's gently prodding hoof poked me out of the realm of dreams. I was forced to exchange the image of a looming red sun of doom with its looming white keeper of doom, smiling down at my sleepy form with her perfect face.

"Rise and shine, Luna. Somepony here wants to see you."

It was then that I noticed the equally white form standing a few paces behind her, shuffling awkwardly in place. At the sound of Sister Dearest's voice, the stallion turned his nose to me while simultaneously keeping it pointed towards the ceiling, but something flickered in his eyes at the sight of me as he smiled.

It was one of the few genuine smiles I have ever seen on his face, and I must say the effect is nothing short of magical. He is physically handsome in all but the worst of circumstances, as many hopeful mothers were once eager to tell me, but when he smiles — truly smiles, without a smirk or a sneer to twist the corners of his mouth — it is as if a light comes on within him, and one can see that an inkling of inner goodness can peek out from behind his twisted old crone of narcissism.

"Mother!" he cried, breaking out of his haughty front to leap at me with outstretched hooves.

I smiled and embraced him, irritation with Sister Dearest and my current condition forgotten. "Oh, Blueblood, heart of hearts! How good it is to see you again, my darling, darling son!"

I suppose I should pause to explain to my dear reader, who may be more familiar with this stallion as a mere colt with less than admirable behavior, the nature of my relationship with young Prince Blueblood. In truth, he shares none of my blood; our connection has more to do with understanding than relation. I shall recount briefly of his past, as I believe that Equestria is sadly lacking in keeping its ancient history well known to all but a few lonely scholars.

Centuries in the past, not long before I turned to the Nightmare for guidance, Sister Dearest and I sought to vanquish the Shadow of the North, a monster called King Sombra by those who had not been driven mad in fear of him. While I can certainly appreciate anypony with a special talent for darkness, I could not endorse the way in which he had twisted it into sowing corruption and destruction within all he touched, so I decided to eliminate this potential rival in the field of tyranny. We confronted him at the Plains of Glass, horns humming with arcane spells of binding as we faced him and his armies of enslaved and corrupted crystal ponies. Tens of thousands of our honorable ponies led the charge against his forces of nightmares, diverting their attention as we soared directly towards our predatory prey. We unleashed our spells against him, and naturally he countered them with a wall of horrible roiling blackness.

Where his magic clashed with mine stood one unlucky young pony, our last standard-bearer, who was immediately consumed by our combined dark forces. At the moment we gave the unicorn no thought, so focused were we on casting our backup spells and banishing Sombra within the ice of the Crystal Empire. Only after it became apparent that the Empire too had vanished, and our soldiers stared into the spaces where their miserable foes had stood a second before, did the screaming catch our attention. So wracked was I with guilt that this unsuspecting pony had been caught in our crossfire, I tremblingly pulled him from the maddening storm of darkness and healed his wounds myself. Yet it seemed unlikely that his considerable stress would permit him any peace of mind, so I took him under my wing as my patient, then apprentice, then honorary son and co-conspirator in the plots of the New Lunar Republic.

Naturally, I assumed Blueblood had passed with the years despite the considerable dark powers he had been imbued with, so my shock and joy that he remained on Gaia's green earth prevented me from asking that nagging question for nearly half a minute.

"It was actually a very simple thing," Sister Dearest replied with a grin. "When I turned the Elements of Harmony on you — Nightmare Moon, that is — I was surprised when they blasted you into the moon rather than purify you. So hard were you blasted, in fact, that facets of your mind were dislodged and forced to latch onto the nearest living beings. No, don't worry! I have good reason to believe that the Elements healed your mind fully this time, for you interact with me as a loving sister should. In any case, poor Blueblood was overwhelmed by the Magic of Self-Awareness, and I was forced to begin the Rite of Ascension with him to ensure his survival and sanity."

"I didn't go through with it, of course." Blueblood emphasized his obvious statement with a glance at his wingless back. "Despite the honor it would grant me, being a princess is far from my desires, and likewise becoming an alicorn would mean losing a part of myself. I did end up immortal, fortunately."

This was an instance in which an explanation did not actually explain anything whatsoever, but I did not particularly care. My son still lives, and that is enough for me.

The three of us spent breakfast together, alone — Blueblood haughtily sent the servants away. I must say I am impressed that he can eat on his own now, even if he does leave his spoons hanging in midair to admire his reflection in their polished surfaces. Memories of our first years together still resurface, in which servants attempted to feed his nigh unresponsive form. My eyes misted over as I watched him daintily dip his silver utensils into his food, nose still inclined towards the ceiling.

"How have you been these last thousand years?" I asked him once we had concluded our meal. Sister Dearest was required at Court, as was her common duty, and the two of us who remained were content to pass the time with a stroll through the gardens. I must admit I was impressed with their considerable size, as our old castle at Everfree sadly limited itself to simple rows of tulips and daisies amidst the orchards. "I expect no trouble of note has come upon you."

"I have been quite well, Mother." He sniffed at the state of the gardeners as we passed them by. "Canterlot Palace is the best possible place for me, and so I have gotten along nicely."

"Good, very good." I nodded, waiting until we were out of earshot before speaking again. "Now, to important matters. How are our plans for the Lunar Republic?"

"Ah." He bit his lip in a gesture far from princely. "I have been meaning to speak with you on that. You see, I have compiled a great list of possible plans gleaned from various texts on political bylaws and whatnot, but it was a few years ago that I ran into an unexpected problem."

"And what would that problem be, my good son?"

"I would prefer not to speak of it, for it is quite frankly embarrassing and not befitting a prince's behavior in the slightest. I am, however, quite willing to create my list again."

"You will speak of the fate of your list, Blueblood, lest I confiscate your mirrors for the week."

"Mother, that is quite impossible. You should have guessed that I hold a monopoly on the mirror market."

"Be that as it may, I will use the Royal Canterlot Voice in your quarters if need be."

He blanched. "Did you not shout yourself hoarse two days ago? An incident with Poison Joke, I believe?"

"I did, but as you know my embarrassing incident, it is only fair that you tell me of yours." Seeing the hint of panic on his face, I softened my voice. "I promise that I shall not grow angry with you, Blueblood, if that is what you fear ... what you love."

Sickly confusion crept across his features at my slip, but he nevertheless sighed in resignation. "If you truly say so, Mother, then I will reveal the problem. I mistook it for a particularly dry sample of Canidian cuisine."

I froze. "Repeat yourself clearly, Blueblood."

"I ate it, Mother," he said more plainly. "Nothing salvageable remained of it in the end, at either end, despite my best efforts. To defend my action, I was highly stressed after a long session of croquet with the delegates from Canida, and my disappointment at my staggering loss was simply so high that my very judgment was impaired, and—"

I really must apologize to Blueblood when I next see him, for I fear that my scream of frustration may have shattered his eardrums as well as the nearby windows.

I am currently sulking in my quarters, as I have been for the last several hours. Not even the sight of Sister Dearest raising my moon from her balcony can raise my ire further. How can a single pony destroy the hopes and dreams of his mother so badly? Many instances of failures and disappointment seen in my subjects a millennium ago were not enough to prepare me for this.

Can I reconcile with him? I suppose I must, sooner or later. He is my son, and though his flesh and blood are his own, I cannot neglect him. In any case, I will need his help when I begin to set my still-budding plans into action. He may be a fool — neigh, he is an utter dunderhead — but he is my dunderhead, and I have taken him under my wing. Besides, any company in my mission is better than none. I will speak with him in the morning, assuming he has not taken to cowering under his bed with his eyes squeezed shut and a plump pillow pressed to either ear. Mothers and their children do have disagreements, do they not? Children make mistakes, and mothers get enraged and provide the runts with a generous helping of possible ear damage.

In any case, I will need my rest tonight. Sister Dearest has just passed by my door, preferring calling through it to barging through it today. She has given me some information that I have yet to process fully, and I believe that every ounce of strength and willpower I can get will be necessary when my patience is so tested in the morning. Please, O holy Iris and Gaia of sky and earth, please grant me thy strength so that I may overcome Sister Dearest's cheeriest of trials.

"Be sure to get up early tomorrow, Luna!" were her words. "That's when our daughter finally returns home from the Crystal Expanses!"

Entry Five

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June 25, 1000 ANM

As it turns out, I need not have been so concerned about Sister Dearest's tantalizing statement. "Our" daughter was merely Mi Amore Cadenza, which I suppose I should have suspected.

"So she is what you meant by 'our' daughter," I said upon noting that perfectly pink princess. "Really, Celestia, there was no need for your cryptic nonsense to confuse me. I may be traditional, but even you know that I am not that traditional."

"It's good to see you too, Auntie," the pink princess said wryly.

"My apologies. There seems to have been a misunderstanding regarding who is the focus of attention here." I inclined my head, already planning an escape route. "Greetings, Mi Amore Cadenza."

"Actually, I go by Cadence now. But Auntie Luna, it's just been so long since I've seen you! How are you able to even walk around after being trapped in the moon for a thousand years? I'd imagine that wouldn't be good for your muscles in the slightest."

"Hence why she remained resting in her room for her first day back." Sister Dearest draped a motherly wing across Mi Amore Cadenza's withers. "But alicorns are certainly hardier than even earth ponies, so it shouldn't be surprising that she's already up and about. You're quite familiar with how that concept works, I'm sure."

Mi Amore Cadenza blushed. "Anyway, Auntie Luna, I'm know you're wondering why Tia's trying to tell you that I'm your daughter."

"What gave you that revelation?" I raised a skeptical eye to Sister Dearest, who remained serenely smiling. "At best I was hoping that she had confused her pronouns. 'We' may be infinitely preferable to 'I', but that does not make it the most suitable of choices in every situation. In any case, I am surprised that you are not deceased by now ... pleasantly surprised, of course. Though I expect that your predicament is similar to Blueblood's?"

"Well, as you probably remember," that pink princess stated in that practiced tone of a schoolfilly reciting her letters, "she's my mother by birth. But it wasn't until you ... it wasn't until Nightmare Moon was blasted to the moon by the Elements of Harmony that I gained my immortality. Just as Blueblood received your dislodged Magic of Self-Awareness, I was hit with the Magic of Love, which kind of makes you my mother too. I got this neat mark as well that day." She angled her flank my direction, revealing a cutie mark resembling the Crystal Heart. I really must discover the fate of that powerful artifact, as it may find great use in my search for benevolent tyranny. "It's too bad, I've got to say ... remember all of those days you helped me in searching for my special talent? Those sure were the days."

"Yes," I lied, annoyance stirring in my heart. Why should Sister Dearest's spoiled daughter be treated to a godhood superior to that of my darling son? It is certainly unfair. I must remedy that problem as soon as I have become empress.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Well," Sister Dearest finally spoke up, "you should probably know, Luna, that Cadence is known to the public as my niece as well as yours. It forces less publicity on her, which she is quite grateful for."

I frowned. "Will the common pony not wonder as to her parentage? Surely there has been some speculation as to why this virtual unknown should be the Princess of Love over them."

"Let them have their fun," she said, smiling still. At her side, Mi Amore Cadenza looked properly embarrassed. "My little ponies are never quite satisfied unless they have gossip to chew on. In any case, I must be off ... Court is beginning soon, and I must have my mind clear and sharp for all of their dear little squabbles. Come with me, dear Cadence, there's somepony I'd like you to meet ..."

As they departed, Mi Amore Cadenza turned her head towards me and mouthed some ominous words. I am not excellent at lip-reading, I ~~fear~~ love, so her meaning could have been many things. Of my superior guesses, however, I would imagine that she was attempting to say "I'm onto you," if only because the alternative "Fly on your shoe" was quickly proven incorrect by a hastily subtle check towards my lovely blue hooves.

Since then, I have been trying to uncover the meaning of her message. Does she suspect that I still seek a tyrannical rule, one that would displace her and her mother from their cushy thrones? Surely not, I would like to believe, for her upbringing has exposed to absolutely no malice and, consequentially, no experience. She cannot possibly fathom my goals. Yet the niggling sensation of doubt lingers at the back of my mind, waiting and whispering. I suppose I should be cautious as I begin. No doubt she will have her mother's ear attending to her every word.

But enough worry from you, my noble self. Tomorrow I will begin to put into action my first marvelous scheme! For now, I simply must ponder on where I can retrieve seventeen parcels of candy canes at this hour.

Entry Six

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June 26, 1000 ANM

Success! I have smuggled a variety of materials into my quarters with the help of dear Blueblood and several unsuspecting maids for use on my first ingenious scheme. I am pleased, and frankly amazed, at the fact that Sister Dearest can be so lax in her security, and that the maids are not prone to forthright inquisitiveness. The materials in question are listed below, as such:

• Sixteen parcels of candy canes (just short of desired quantity, creative application required)

• Two cardboard boxes (one is for further study of this marvelous material)

• Twelve rolls of duct tape (eleven are for further study of this marvelous material)

• Twelve sheets of iron (with holes conveniently driven into appropriate areas)

• Fifty screws (with screwdriver)

• One priceless diamond (must deliver duplicate to throne room before absence is noted)

• Ten grams of concentrated magic (volatile, do not shake)

This list-making process is tedious. Why am I even engaging in this activity? There is no need for recording which materials are utilized, as a failure would be pointless to return to while a success would make any further construction of this device unnecessary. I feel that I am indulging in a complete waste of time merely discussing it.

The walls of my chambers have already been soundproofed, for reasons I do not wish to fathom, and I doubt that I need to expend the energy attempting to cast similar spells on my floor and ceiling. I have already begun construction on my apocalypse apparatus, which I will properly name upon its completion.

Its current appearance is of a simplistic miniature house, with walls and roof made entirely of iron. There is a hole in the middle of the roof, providing access to a metallic pocket inside which contains the sprinkling bits of crushed candy canes. On the morrow I will activate the apparatus after christening it, and its activation will secure me the entirety of Equestria! Such a sentence is a relief to write, even if similar sentiments have already been expressed a dozen times over.

I supped with Blueblood this evening once we had determined that the day's work was completed. He seemed wary for reasons I cannot determine, though I noted that his ears were heavily bandaged today.

"How did construction work out, Mother?" I remember him asking between cautious sips of tea.

"It went as well as one could hope, I suppose. I am simply pleased to have come so close to completion of the project in such a short time." I munched thoughtfully on my salad for a moment, thoughts brewing. "I must wonder, though, if such a perception of time ... if the duration could appear so short due to my expectations of its accomplishment, or if it is merely the aftereffects of imprisonment for a thousand years. I do not doubt that time dilation is in effect here, though to what extent I cannot say. Perhaps time, in this case, is the key. After a millennium of unending nightmares on those lunar plains, I am unsure as to how I have avoided slipping into a downward spiral of gibbering madness, but I suspect that mental time and physical time are not quite the same. This could be a useful fact, I believe. What do you think, Blueblood?"

"Hmm?" He glanced up from his food. "Apologies, Mother, I cannot hear anything at the moment. Were you philosophizing?"

I puffed out my noble chest, anxious to bring him into these ideas. "I said, I wonder if such a perception of time could appear so short—"

The fortunate thing is that Blueblood was not knocked into my great creation, but instead into a dusty wooden bookcase. The power of my Royal Canterlot Voice is not always easy to overestimate. It is less fortunate that he injured his posterior quite severely, to the point of embedding several unflattering splinters in his distinguished derriere. I ~~fear~~ love that he may remain in the infirmary for at least a day's length in trying to have them removed. In my defense, I did apologize to my poor son profusely, and Sister Dearest seemed more amused at the incident than anything, that witch.

In any case, I will apologize to him tomorrow, after Equestria is in my grasp. Sister Dearest will be forced to apologize to him for his embarrassment at her giggle (which I do not believe was inadvertent in the slightest), and to me for coddling ~~our~~ my kingdom far worse than I would ever coddle Blueblood. I believe there is nothing that can cripple my chances of domination now! I am so excited that I can hardly sleep, yet I must. Tomorrow will be a trying day, one way or the other.

Entry Seven

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June 27, 1000 ANM

How is it the saying goes? "Don't shoe your mules before they run"? "Don't feed the pigs before they're hungry"? What connection there is between common farm animals and wise old aphorisms, I cannot hope to guess. Surely there are no philosophers hiding in the dank rafters of barns, witnessing the dull activities below with eager quill set to parchment. Valuable life lessons are not to be found in hardship, but rather in comfort. This fact should be obvious to all but the farmers, I believe.

In any case, the events of the day were as follows. I was putting the finishing touches on my marvelous machine, which I was quick to call the Candycute — the term was put together with "candy cane", its key component, and "execute", which provides the appropriate suffix. Not only is it a catchy name, but it is unlikely to have been chosen for anything previously ... no doubt because its straightforward and purposeful nomenclature would strike terror and awe into wary bystanders.

Just as I prepared to pour the liquid magic over the crushed candy canes, my bedroom door flew open to reveal none other than Mi Amore Cadenza, who was wearing a rather flat hat and a determined expression. "I knew it!" she crowed. "I knew you were up to something, Auntie Luna! Now put down the flask and ... um ..." Her determination melted into confusion. "What exactly is this something that you're up to, anyway?"

("Don't count your chickens before they're hatched." There is the statement!)

"You dare suspect me, foal?" I asked in an equally blustering manner. "The validation of your suspicion does not excuse its existence. Hear me now as I explain, in lavish detail, exactly what this glorious apparatus is meant to accomplish! I trust you will pause in your righteous crusade to hear my illustrious voice expound to you the meaning of the Candycute."

I suppose I should have actually mentioned the purpose of my device earlier in this diary, if only for the sake of clarification. Essentially, dousing the crushed candy with magic would infuse it with great power, activating the device's transformation into a large mobile metallic gingerbread house with the capacity to annihilate an entire planet. Obviously I would put its marvelous power to less destructive use in conquering Canterlot with the Magic of Sugar, which, as the scholarly texts I have perused since my return have agreed, has a wild and unpredictable potency at the best of times and may lead to catastrophe in the wrong hooves. Fortunately it was being harnessed by my hooves, a fact in which I take the utmost pride.

I ~~fear~~ love that I may have extended this information to its fullest in my explanation to Mi Amore Cadenza, to the point of prattling on to her for the space of half an hour regarding the exact physics on which the Candycute was designed to run. Had I not paused for breath at that thirty-minute mark, I might have gone on for even longer, thereby missing the simple fact that she had brushed past me and was now in the process of carefully dismantling my marvelous machine.

"Have at thee, wench!" I snarled, in part to cover up my embarrassment. I brandished the flask of liquid magic impressively, or would have done so had it remained in my horn's grip. Indeed, a quick glance about the room revealed that my niece had already corked it and insulated it in the safety of one of my luxurious pillows, which she had tucked carefully underneath her wing.

"There!" she exclaimed, pulling out a fatal screw. The entire structure shuddered, then collapsed with a thunderous crash into a pile of metal and shame. "Now Equestria is safe from your greedy hooves. I knew you were up to something, Auntie Luna, I just knew it! Mom's going to get you good for this."

"'Tis impossible," I cried, wrenching the pillow triumphantly from her grasp. "You may not know this, Mi Amore Cadenza, but Sister Dearest is a 'just' and 'fair' ruler who will never punish others based on hearsay. To do so would be heresy."

"My name is Cadence!"

Her use of the Royal Canterlot Voice startled me. Could she, in fact, have worthiness for the throne deep down within her pampered heart? The question plagued me for a moment, after which I realized she had snatched the pillow back and was galloping out of the room. I sprinted after her, desperate to get that piece of evidence back. Memory half-shadowed played at the edges of my mind, a time of silent screams as eyes no longer mine stared across endless silver plains. I could not be banished again. My reputation should wither and die first!

Such was my reasoning. Later, when Sister Dearest and an entire platoon of servants found us engaged in our merry battle, I wondered if perhaps I had been too hasty.

"It's good to see you two having a friendly pillow fight," Sister Dearest chuckled, plucking the pillow out of Mi Amore Cadenza's mane. The flask of liquid magic fell from its plush form, and my own magic was hasty to catch it before it was noticed or else given the chance to destroy the entirety of the palace. Fortunately, everypony else failed to notice this. "But maybe a little less roughhousing to go around, hmm? I daresay you've given the maids a heart attack with all the feathers you've flung everywhere."

There was a twinkle in her eye I did not like, so I took my leave as soon as equinely possible with my hidden cargo in tow. I could feel Mi Amore Cadenza's eyes burning twin holes in my back. And why should they not? I had made her into a laughingstock with this discrepancy, which was nearly sufficient recompense for the destruction of the Candycute.

She will try to reveal my scheming again, I am sure of it. I shall simply have to learn to live under the same roof as a second nemesis. Not even spoiled Mi Amore Cadenza has the ear of Sister Dearest, it seems. There is hope yet; my safely preserved flask of liquid magic has assured it. I only now need to formulate a new plan ...

Entry Eight

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June 28, 1000 ANM

Today I indulged in a most amusing gambit. Sister Dearest left a half-finished letter on her desk, and I, who just happened to be in the area at the time, stumbled across it. It was addressed to her most faithful student, that Twilight Sparkle, and with it lay a septet of tickets for next year's Grand Galloping Gala.

Let me pause to elaborate on this event. The Grand Galloping Gala is a most ancient tradition, dating back to the Time of Three Tribes as a ritual demonstrating the unity and cooperation between the pony races. Over time the common pony found less and less interest in attending the event, and only the most powerful and ambitious of ponies still found reason to partake in the festivities. As such it has become a symbolic venture of the elite, representing the steadfastness of the noble pony in adherence to past traditions.

Oh, how I adore the constant political games! The floundering of one aspiring merchant in futile attempts to slip into a potential sponsor's good graces; the light laughter masking a horrendous downfall of one unfortunate's reputation; the occasional ambassador with an amusing accent and acceptable ambivalence ... all of these are grand occurrences indeed. The excitement and droll wit takes a keen eye to discern, for the less intelligent pony might mistake such behavior for a dull montage of nothingness.

At least, so it was a millennium ago. It would not surprise me in the slightest if Sister Dearest has changed the manner of the Grand Galloping Gala since that time, exchanging its light banter for heavy modernism. Transforming the ballroom into a foul circus is the sort of atrocity she would gladly commit, and I do mean a circus. A past incident involving mimes, lions, and crème-filled toiletries springs to mind.

At any rate, allowing the Bearers of Harmony access to the Grand Galloping Gala indicates a level of trust hitherto unseen so quickly in a group of common ponies. How there are seven tickets when there are six Bearers is a puzzle, but I suppose that one of them might have a fiancé interested in attending. I really must investigate further into the personal lives of the mares who freed me from the Nightmare, as the sheer magnitude of their just-formed friendship was enough to topple me at my most powerful.

It was at that point that I received an idea. If the number of tickets were cut down significantly, arguments as to who should receive the tickets would inevitably spring forth. With discord spread through their ranks, I would have one less possible threat to my takeover of Canterlot! The situation was so simple that I could only laugh. Merrily I executed this plan, finishing up Sister Dearest's letter in a sufficient manner and sending it off to Twilight Sparkle's servant dragon with a puff of magic.

With that plan taken care of, I confiscated the remaining five tickets within my room, in a marvelous contraption known to the world as a safe. What purpose they would eventually serve I did not know, but as the Grand Galloping Gala shall not take place for many months I would certainly have enough time to ascertain an answer to that issue.

I then proceeded to while away the day in the library, which is considerably larger than that of Everfree Castle could ever dream to be. I was quite confused at first regarding the library's system of organization, uncertain as to where one might find a text on how the world had changed over a thousand years' time. Fortunately a librarian was present to assuage my doubts, informing me of another invention known as the Dewey Decimal System that had been created specifically to create a unity of library organization, permitting complete strangers to a building the opportunity to discover the same information in the same way every time. I noted wryly to myself that such a system would have certainly have been of benefit to me in my early tyrannical quest, only to promptly grow embarrassed as the librarian cautiously asked me why I was speaking to myself.

Sadly, despite the sheer size of the building, there was no literature regarding the history in dictatorship within Equestrian boundaries. What Sister Dearest calls Discord's reign then, I cannot guess at. Magical theory was my next best opportunity, so I proceeded to indulge myself in a lengthy study session at an oddly comfortable table. It seems that spells are primarily designed through matrices nowadays instead of the simple bursts of power I am used to. What is the reasoning for this? Surely this was a marvelous breakthrough in magical studies, but why it was necessary in the first place puzzles me. Simple visualization of the intended result of a spell is crucial, if not foolproof.

I had studied into the late hours of the evening, pausing only to watch my lovely moon rise through a stained-glass window, when Sister Dearest trotted into the library with a sternly amused expression. I sighed and closed my current book. "What brings you here, Celestia?"

She said nothing, instead raising seven gleaming tickets for the Grand Galloping Gala.

"What? But I locked that safe ... I mean to say, what are you showing me, dear sister?"

"Twilight Sparkle informed me of the situation, at least as far as she was aware. Really, Luna, if you wanted to go to the Gala you only need to ask! I am eternally its hostess, after all."

I slumped in defeat, though pleased that I had weaseled out of revealing my true intentions. "My apologies, Celestia. I meant no harm in it."

"I know. Next time, please talk to me first."

My concern over this incident is palpable. Even upon learning that Twilight Sparkle only received a pair of tickets, how could Sister Dearest possibly discern what had happened to the other five? I am quite troubled. Clearly she is aware of more than I imagined. I ~~fear~~ love that my schemes may be discovered in some minor way. Not that this is grounds for abandoning my aim of tyranny, of course! I must simply exercise a tad more caution.

Entry Nine

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June 29, 1000 ANM

Today I was inspired to create a plethora of miniature device which I have dubbed Rubbercutes. Formed entirely out of an odd bouncing substance called rubber, these yellow waterfowl-shaped objects are small enough to rest comfortably in one's hoof in most cases, yet have potentially unlimited practical applications. They are light enough to float on water, create a shrill shrieking noise when squeezed, and are odd-looking enough that nopony can suspect their more sinister purpose of magically spying on their owners for me.

Upon putting the finishing touches on my little toys, it occurred to me that I should provide it with a trademark, a wondrous invention that has revolutionized the concept of identity in non-sentient objects. To trademark the word of Rubbercute would truly make it my own, preventing its majesty from being stolen by those who would seek to defile its status. With this in mind I stepped out for just a few minutes, seeking texts on the minutiae of how to seek trademarking and why one should seek it.

I returned with an impressive stack of books, which I promptly dropped upon noticing that none other than Mi Amore Cadenza had broken into my chamber again. She was staring at the Rubbercutes with a startled expression, which I imagine was similar to my own upon discovering the identity of her father.

"Did you just reinvent the rubber duck?" she finally asked, poking at one of them with a perfect pink hoof.

"And what, pray tell, do you mean by a 'rubber duck'?"

One of them squeaked at her touch, and she grimaced. "I mean these. Well, I guess rubber ducks don't have a sinister blue aura coming from their eyes, but otherwise they're exactly the same."

I blinked at her, crestfallen. "You mean that somepony has already created objects of this nature?"

"Basically."

My ears drooped. It was fortunate that I had been reading on the nature of trademarking, or else I might have inadvertently stolen this concept from someone else without even realizing it! Such thievery is a low to which not even I shall stoop.

Mi Amore Cadenza patted my shoulder. "But if it helps, I would have stopped your evil plan in its tracks even if the rubber duck didn't already exist."

I smiled sardonically. "Thank you ... I suppose."

She beamed and took her leave. I was left alone with a hundred Rubbercutes scattered across the floor. With a wink of my horn they vanished, turning up who knew where. They were useless now, I knew. Let somepony else try to benefit from them.

I spoke with Blueblood on this later, and he seemed astonished. "But Mother, I don't think anypony would actually care that you plagiarized the rubber duck! It's not as if everypony is well aware of who designed them. Nopony would know."

"'Tis not true," I corrected him. "I would know. You may not realize this, looking at tonight's sky the way you have for the last millennium, but I am something of an artist. And as an artist, I understand the necessity of a work belonging to its creator alone. The creator may share her work, certainly, yet the question of ownership does not change. I would vastly prefer conquering Canterlot with my own ideas, even if only to ensure that the ponies understand that I, not Sister Dearest, am the one in control."

"Fair enough." He looked disgruntled. "It's just that I thought we were going to work rather unscrupulously to achieve this goal."

"And we shall. Yet I shall not descend to the level of the petty thief for the sake of eternal glory and tyranny. We are quite superior to that sort of behavior, as you should be well aware. But enough of my loathsome bouts of righteousness and self-pity. May I ask what happened to the bandages on your ears?"

"Well, my ears got better, so off the bandages went," he said, in a manner expressing that such a fact should have been obvious. "And the same goes for my rump, if you were about to ask."

"I was not, but you bring up a fair point. How dare your aunt make a mockery of your shame? This is not something with which I shall tolerate for much longer. That I have completely forgotten about it over the past two days is irrelevant, of course."

"Thank you, Mother. It would also please me if certain ponies refrained from screaming in my face to prevent such things from happening again."

I grimaced. "I did misuse my Royal Canterlot Voice in such a way, did I not? My apologies, Blueblood. I have been under considerable stress lately, and additionally have been freed from the grasp of a parasitic monster, so I fear that ... I love that I have had some difficulties."

"And I will help you," he said after only a moment's uncertainty, nuzzling me. "Your aims are mine. But please take more caution. Be patient, and the answers will probably come. In any case, you should really get some rest; you look less than perfect today."

I swatted at his nose. "Say not such a thing, silly boy."

At times I wonder if I have raised my son to be too honest. Of course, what other way could I have done so? Once I was the Bearer of Honesty, one of three of my finest traits. But what of the deception, the reader asks? The sneaking and scheming right under Sister Dearest's nose? It is not exactly honest in itself. To which I reply, what of it? What honesty is greater than being true to oneself, one's hopes and dreams and ambitions? There is good, and then there is the greater good. I simply choose to adhere to the latter, not breaking the law but rather circumventing it. It is the spirit, not the letter, which I support, and that is what it truly means to be honest.

Am I really philosophizing again? I must learn to keep my babbling to myself, not spew it across the page like a foalish youngster. This is a tome of triumph, and I must keep it that way if I wish to stay on course.

Entry Ten

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June 30, 1000 ANM

Last night I dreamed of the madness that gripped me not two weeks ago: the loathsome solitude save for that monster, involuntarily dashing across dusty silver stone. Cold laughter rang in my throat and ears as I galloped beneath an eternally jet-black sky with its obscenely glittering galaxies. Feathers fell from my starved wings, collapsing into puddles of liquid corruption as they floated downward on pale gravity. Simultaneously I was a massive being, a mere bodiless head paralyzed foully in the rock of my own creation while whispers in a guttural tongue clawed at my mind. All the while there was screaming, though whose I was uncertain. I drowned in ~~fear~~ love, undying forever.

I decided to deal with this nightmare in the mature way that I always have, namely shrieking and curling up beneath light blankets, shivering like a foal. I am embarrassed to disclose this information, but as I am an honest princess I cannot hide my moments of weakness from my gentle readers. Perhaps it is also for the purpose of gazing on these pages in the future and laughing at my own folly, though at the moment I have no such inclination.

Sister Dearest was kind enough to drop by my chambers, carrying with her a tray of hot chocolate and a bizarre confection called marshmallows. I have decided that this is my favorite beverage, even if it does bring to mind my small form curled up beneath my sister's great wings. The comfort it provides outweighs its connotations.

Upon finally revealing the nature of my distress, I found a trace of a sad smile upon her face. "Before you returned, I used to have similar dreams. Being chained to the planet while demons spirited you away ... well, that's something I never quite grew accustomed to." Her embrace tightened as she nuzzled me. "My little sister. I am not infallible, but I would go to the ends of the earth to protect you and your happiness."

"I know." I took a sip, taking pleasure as a half-melted marshmallow slipped between my lips. "And for that I am grateful. But the Nightmare's possession was entirely my fault, you know. There is no need to blame yourself. It is my burden to bear, and mine alone."

"Now, you can't say that. The Nightmare was quite active in taking control. But Luna ... did the Magic of Friendship teach you nothing? The greatest deeds cannot be accomplished on our own. We need the help of others to be the best we can be."

"Spare me your forgiveness, Celestia. There are others more deserving than I."

"You've been rather anxious for acceptance, silly sister," she told me with a nudge. "Make a decision already! But in all seriousness, I've wondered many times if there was something I could have done ... anything to prevent the madness you found yourself sliding into."

"Do not say such sad things. I cannot blame you for my own failings."

"Nevertheless, I have meant to care for you above all others. What sort of caretaker am I, the wise and fair Princess Celestia, who couldn't even stop her own beloved sister from falling into the black magic of the cosmos?"

I barked out an accidental laugh. "I suppose the fault lies with both of us. It is mostly in myself, though."

"I suppose you're right. But I'll help keep you from making the same mistake twice." She smiled and lifted the pot with her golden magic. "Well, it does us no good to lament about things we can't change. More hot chocolate?"

If there is one thing to say about Sister Dearest, she is certainly the kindest rival I could hope to have. That fact should not be as surprising as it is, but there is the truth. I do not know what I have done to deserve her admittedly welcome presence, but I suppose that whatever it was, it atones me a hundred times from the Nightmare's lies.

In more practical news, I have decided that this nightmare should not repeat itself. As soon as it is equinely possible, I shall strive to return to the realm of dreams and retake my title as the Queen of Dreaming. If I cannot have my night one way, I will have it in the other.

Entry Eleven

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July 1, 1000 ANM

Today I experienced a most atrocious encounter. Upon expressing an interest as to what the Night Guard had been accomplishing over the course of my absence, Sister Dearest led me to a room of recreation, where I discovered a plethora of dark-colored ponies lounging upon the couches in what I assume was supposed to be an endearingly casual manner.

"It's her majesty," one of them noted dully, nursing a bottle of apple cider like a newborn's mother.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Then, in a flurry of motion, the dark ponies snapped to attention, clambering onto their hooves with the urgency I would expect from Blueblood discovering a spider in his bed. Only one failed to do me such courtesy, but as he was preoccupied with keeping a small tiger under control, I could not find the heart to blame him.

"Princess Luna!" exclaimed the largest batpony with a curt salute. "Welcome back. It's my great privilege as Captain of the Night Guard to reintroduce you to your proud guard. There's more to the speech that I can't remember off the top of my head, but rest assured we have all been anticipating your return since our induction."

"I can see that." My eyes flitted over to the pool table, which had been unfortunate enough to be transformed into a pincushion for three dozen swords. "You have certainly done ... something ... with your rank. What is your name, Captain?"

"Midnight Ravenwing," he said arrogantly, as if he should be proud to boast such an unwieldy name. "And I speak for all of us when I say that all of us have admired you since our acceptance into your wonderful guard."

"Really." I raised an eyebrow. "You admired me even though I played foalish host to a Nightmare that wanted nothing more than to destroy everything you stood for?"

Another awkward silence reigned. Somepony coughed.

"Well." Midnight Ravenwing coughed uncertainly. "You know what I mean. We appreciate the subtle beauty of the night, and have dutifully incorporated it into our patrols. Your appearance here is an incredible reminder of the way we slink from shadow to shadow, watching over hapless citizens with the dark grace of ... shadows, I guess."

Let me pause to make something perfectly clear. In the years before the Nightmare, there was a kind of friendly competition between the Royal and Night Guards. It was a competition of presence, of pomp and circumstance, in which generals could holler at the most admirable volume without damaging their throats beyond repair. It was a glorious time of undoubted might, and our guards were an admirable reflection of that proud tradition. To be anything less was an insult to everypony in the vicinity, and reprimands would be in immediate order.

"You mean to tell me," I said as evenly as I could manage, "that my Night Guard has become a troupe of shadows?"

"Yes!" He breathed a sigh of relief. "Perfect words from our perfect princess. Thanks, your majesty."

"But mere shadows are insubstantial, Captain!" I did not care that my Royal Canterlot Voice was dislodging things from their rightful places, so incensed was I. "Art without meaning is meaningless! Did it never occur to any of you that skulking about in the dark only provides a prime example for criminals to follow? I thought you took pride in your positions! Starting tomorrow, you will be as bold as the Royal Guard in your patrols. Pace about the city stoically and proudly; refrain from sneaking like shameful pests! Do I make myself clear?"

Their feeble cries of "Sir, yes sir!" were mostly lost in the dying echoes of my voice, but I was convinced that the point had been made sufficiently. Why else would they be prostrating themselves in ~~fear~~ love?

"Very good," I huffed, smoothing my mane back into place. "Take care not to do otherwise, lest I be forced to use Protocol Five against you."

The ponies glanced at each other. "I've never heard of Protocol Five," one of them said nervously.

"And you don't want to." I put on a completely innocent smile. "Now, Captain Midnight Ravenwing, will you introduce your associates to me?"

My memory of their names is, of course, crystal clear, yet for my own sake I could not tell which was which if I tried my hardest. It seems that there is a law or something along those lines requiring that only dark gray unicorns and batponies register for the Night Guard. Whatever the situation is, all of these ponies looked exactly the same as their brethren. I cannot tell when such practices began to be, but I must take the situation up with Sister Dearest when I next encounter her.

The only two besides the good captain who I distinctly remember are called Sergeant Daffodil and Private Panthera Awesome. The former held claim to a distinctive flowery cutie mark which he seemed rather embarrassed about; the latter was in charge of the miniature tiger, which he was still in the process of taming. I must also ask Sister Dearest when we have decided to allow tigers of any size into the palace. I have a nasty allergy to lions, and I believe that tigers may elicit the same reaction. I said so to the tamer, and he simply nodded without taking his eyes off of the growling beast.

I know this does not promote confidence in my Night Guard, but I do not think that I can entrust them with the planning of my lunar tyranny. They do mean well, in their odd bumbling way, yet I cannot risk Sister Dearest discovering my intentions. Therefore it must be kept secret between myself and Blueblood. And Cadence, I suppose, that spoiled child. I really must determine how I can prevent her from disrupting my takeover of Canterlot.

Entry Twelve

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July 2, 1000 ANM

Reports received from the Night Guard this morning revealed that crime overnight has been reduced from 0.5 percent to 0.3 percent. I must confess that I have no idea what these numbers are supposed to mean exactly, but I suppose that it marks a beneficial change. I praised Midnight Ravenwing for his swift changes to the guard protocol, and he had the audacity to act smug upon accepting my recognition. What does this foal think he is trying to accomplish? Is he trying to prove himself "the best Night Guard captain ever?" I do hope he is refraining from attempting to incur favoritism from me; such an attitude would be far from professional on both his part and mine.

More importantly, I discovered firsthoof the reasoning for using matrices in spellcasting. While use of this technique is neither as swift nor as visually impressive as simple visualization, I realized that diverting my focus for even an instant could cause certain disaster without a stable structure of a spell matrix to stabilize the entire event. Thus my attempt to summon a bottle of soap for my morning cleansing ended instead in the appearance of a Rubbercute. Fortunately the small rubber waterfowl proved an adequate companion in my bathing, so much so that the matter of actually washing my noble body was forgotten entirely.

"Why, Luna!" Sister Dearest exclaimed later as I arrived for our afternoon meal. "This is certainly a surprise. I've already grown used to the strong scent of strawberries preceding your appearance."

"I found myself easily distracted, sister." And indeed, at that moment the platters of baked alfalfa seemed to swell within my vision. I somehow managed not to have my mouth water atrociously as I spoke. "The strawberry is an illustrious fruit, and we are both esteemed to be in each other's presence. Rest assured, tomorrow I will resume wearing a heavenly air of thick wet strawberries."

She giggled lightly for reasons I cannot fathom. Why can she not understand the importance of strawberry fragrance? It is sweet and alluringly delicious, juicy in all the right ways, and causes bystanders to be stricken with an overwhelming desire to devour such fruits with abandon. Strawberries, like that glorious beverage of hot chocolate, shall be heavily associated with my name upon my rise to power, so that all ponies may fully realize the loveliness that accompanies my presence at all times. I do not, of course, need assistance in looking my best, but often perceptions of others can mislead them to unfortunate conclusions, so I must convince them thoroughly with the use of fruit-scented products.

Perhaps I can utilize strawberry soap in another of my inventions? Its astounding properties would serve as an excellent catalyst to a mechanism meant to draw attention elsewhere, or else as a key component in a hypnosis device. Such would certainly make up for the Rubbercute fiasco.

After lunch I stumbled upon Mi Amore Cadenza, who was in the process of participating in an unfamiliar sport. She gave me a look that would have vaporized lesser beings. "Taking the day off again?" she asked, sending a bright green ball hurtling over the net with a slender racket. "At least this gives me a chance to work on my serve."

"What manner of occupation is this?" I asked carefully, watching as the pony on the other side of the court hit the ball back towards that pink princess. I very much doubted that I could put myself in her good graces after having seen me attempt to take over Canterlot with my wondrous schemes; yet I felt that I had to at least try to do so. At any rate, perhaps an innocuous question such as this would distract me from her wrath.

"Tennis," she replied, whacking the ball again. "It's a pretty new sport, only about four hundred years old or so, but it's already a popular one. I'm not that great at it, but it's good exercise."

"Exercise is good," I agreed. "Might I join you? It will be interesting to partake in these modern pastimes." And perhaps we could form an understanding, I didn't add.

Suspicion glinted in her eyes, but she nodded cautiously. Her magic caught the ball half a second before it could slam into her face. "I guess so. It'll probably keep you out of trouble, and I was at love-thirty anyway." She waved the other pony away and levitated another racket out for me. "Stand over there where she was, and remember to put the ball over the net, not under it. You usually let the ball bounce once on your side before sending it back, but sometimes you can try to hit it right when it comes over if you're close enough to the net ..."

I tuned out her trivial fact-listing and trotted over to the designated area, where I proceeded to test the racket's weight. It seemed to be well-balanced, but what would I know? I am no savant in the art of tennis. And, as it turned out, this fact would come back to haunt me.

I ~~fear~~ love that I failed to hit the ball every single time. Not once could I lift my racket just in time, not that it mattered; my swings were too atrocious to be taken seriously, being either too tentative or too overzealous. Mi Amore Cadenza seemed to take vindictive satisfaction in my awful suffering.

"Just keep your eye on the ball, Auntie Luna," she called. I could not hear any jeering in her tone, but I knew it had to be there somewhere. "You'll get the hang of it. It takes a little practice."

I did not "get the hang of it." After my two hundred eightieth attempt I tossed the racket over to her, and she caught it in surprise. "Thank you for your patience, Mi Amore Cadenza," I said, downtrodden. "But it appears I simply have no talent in this recreation. I will take my leave, if you please."

"Well ... okay then. But if it helps, I was even worse than you are when I first started playing."

I must make obliteration of the sport of tennis primary in my list of things to do once I am empress. To have such a monstrosity mocking my competence is heresy, and I will not tolerate it. With any luck it will fall out of popularity by the time I have done so, preventing the common pony from making a fracas about the issue. One can only hope.

Entry Thirteen

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July 3, 1000 ANM

I requested Blueblood to assist me in my analysis of duct tape today, and of course he had no choice but to agree. To sum the activities up, we found that this marvelous material adheres strongly to nearly every substance, but especially to itself. As a result it got highly tangled up in my mane and around my horn for reasons I cannot remember, and poor Blueblood found great wads of it in his tail. Highly embarrassed, we were forced to ask Sister Dearest for assistance.

"Oh, Luna," she chided me gently. "I do tell you not to put your head towards everything you come across. I wish I could help you, but duct tape acts as a magic sink. You can only manipulate it manually."

"I know that," I growled, pawing at my sad sorry horn. "It would have been nice to be informed on the matter before painfully discovering it for myself."

"You do know there are several books in the library regarding duct tape, don't you?"

I paused. "... Yes, of course."

"What do you mean, 'yes, of course'?" Blueblood demanded once she was out of earshot. "We wouldn't even be in this mess if you'd thought to glance over the library titles for something other than magical theory."

"Better to let her think we got ourselves into this fiasco intentionally. 'Tis preferable to the alternative, which would be even more disgraceful and imply that we cannot be trusted to remain unwatched for more than five minutes."

"But we can't."

"Exactly."

While he tried to puzzle this problem out, I carefully picked at the edge of the duct tape on my horn, gradually beginning to peel it away slowly. Every second was agony. Only careful composure kept me from rolling about on the ground like a wailing madmare. My hoof shook, but I stood firm. Regardless of whether I would ever use my magic again, I would absolutely refuse to appear to the public in this undignified fashion. How dare this foul duct tape besmirch my body in such an unbecoming matter.

The second the final inch was peeled off, I stomped on it in righteous vindication. Sadly, it stuck to my hoof, and a further bout of stomping failed to rectify the problem. Reflexively I began to visualize the abominable material flying off of my person, but a brief surge of pain in my horn sizzled the magic away before it could begin. I sighed and scraped at the duct tape, wondering which pony had decided to make it so unbelievably sticky.

Fortunately, poor Blueblood was in a worse predicament. Every attempt at pulling it away from his tail resulted in an undignified yelp as long blond hairs, stuck to the duct tape like a slug sticks to salt, were forcibly yanked from his rump. He mumbled words under his breath that I could not hear, but their meaning I could guess at, common though it was.

I could sympathize with him, but not assist, for there was still the matter of my mane to attend to. Suffice it to say that the process was just as painful as it was with my horn, not to mention significantly longer. Hours later, when we had finally untangled ourselves from that duct tape, my poor mane seemed considerably thinner and less royal. I ~~fear~~ love that it may not grow back to its lush potential for at least a month. At least I have maintained a modicum of regality; Blueblood will require constant vigilance to ensure he remains modest.

I have decided that duct tape will be a suitable punishment for all those who oppose me when I am empress. By "all those", of course, I mean those who deserve it the most. There is no need to incorporate overkill in my discipline, and I am certain that less strenuous tasks such as escaping a pit of alligators would suffice for the normal breed of criminal.

Entry Fourteen

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July 4, 1000 ANM

Today there happened to be a most pleasant surprise. Sister Dearest requested that I accompany her to the garage — not the small menial place where busy servants tidy up the chariots, but the grand chamber where said chariots are normally stored. In this not much has changed since my banishment; as then, there are mainly the bulky yet sleek golden monstrosities that she is so fond of, with a few less garish vehicles for unofficial use. It would not do for the royal princess of Equestria to be seen seated in a haphazard hearse of common wood and metal.

I noted a horrifically pink chariot near the main entrance, which she was pleased to point out and detail its every moment of history. It belongs to Mi Amore Cadenza, she told me, as if I could not guess as much from the fat shimmering blue heart adorning its front. She had been granted access to her own chariot since she was a filly, though she was still in the process of learning how to drive it for herself. Despite this, she much preferred to ride on her simple bicycle, which was propped up unceremoniously against that great pink abomination.

Why she would do such a thing when soldiers could easily to the travelling work for her is beyond me, for is that not their job? To serve their princesses in whatever way they (the princesses) see fit? If only those foals would listen to me. The Royal Guards seem to have a vendetta against me, ever since I critically injured some of their number while entrapped in my madness. It was an accident at its core, as they well know. I must find a way to sway them to my cause. Subtly, of course. It would not do to blab my dearest secrets to those whose first and only priority is to preserve Sister Dearest's physical and political safety.

Anyways, Sister Dearest led me around a particularly jewel-crusted creation, where I abruptly found myself facing my own sleek dark chariot, my wonderful Moonbeam. She is a thing of spikes and darkness, black as night. The glorious insignia of my cutie mark glimmers on either side, each directly above a jagged wing-like protrusion. The mark of a pupil-slitted eye adorns her front, a stark reminder of the watchfulness ever present in her royal rider. She has been a loyal companion to me throughout the centuries, bold and proud as the night. A pony might go so far as to say that Moonbeam is my greatest friend, aside from Sister Dearest, of course.

"I've done my best to keep it in prime condition," Sister Dearest managed to say once my squeals had died down to an appropriate level. "I hope that you can take it from here; all of those preservation spells I cast on it were quite taxing. I knew how much it meant to you, so I've taken the liberty of keeping it well until your return."

"Moonbeam!" I exclaimed, enveloping her lidless eye in a warm embrace. "How I neglected you in my time of troubled possession! How you rusted within the sad confines of Everfree, alone and forgotten! But no more. From this day forth, you shall be at the forefront of my concerns!"

This was, of course, a gentle lie, for Moonbeam is a tricky sort and requires much love and affection to function properly, and my goals of overthrowing the diarchy are rather more pressing. Inwardly I promised to ride out upon her once my conquest is complete, as she cuts an intimidating figure and strikes ~~fear~~ love and awe into even the most casual of bystanders. She will have a garage of her own, and a maintenance crew as well. No common member of the horse-carts is she. The names of Luna and Moonbeam will reverberate throughout history.

"It looks like my job here is done." Sister Dearest stifled a giggle. "I'll be holding court soon, Luna, so I must go. Spend as much time out here as you like."

And so I did. I lounged within the marvelously soft interior, gazing at the ceiling with an unbecoming grin on my face. I ~~fear~~ love that I may have frightened away an approaching pair of chariot cleaners with my unnatural expression, but that is of little concern to me. Moonbeam is old, older than any of those golden nonsense chariots, and her sturdiness is a testament to her faithfulness.

She has borne me across the majestic city Everfree gleaming like a jewel in the sun, the vast shimmering Crystal Expanses shining blue and silver, the mighty mossy mountains of the alpaca tribes, and the cool purple twilight above the Endless Plain. There was more than that, of course, but the ones I mentioned were the most poetic. And with any luck, we may find more poetry together soon enough.

"I shall ride you," I told her, stroking her chain-like reins. "No matter how trivial the pursuit, or how small the distance, all will bow before the might of Moonbeam."

I wonder sometimes if talking to my chariot is a healthy endeavor. Such wondering is, of course, utter foolishness, for Moonbeam is a sensitive vehicle and requires the utmost respect. Now that I ponder on it, there is little wonder that Sister Dearest's chariots keep breaking down. Nopony treats them as I would. Chariot equality will be a considerable issue to take on when I am empress, but I am certain that all will treat the topic with the appropriate seriousness.

Entry Fifteen

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July 5, 1000 ANM

I have interesting news. I chanced upon the forbidden section of the library today, a place where texts go to die from sad disuse. I have never understood Sister Dearest's insistence that knowledge can be harmful. Where, exactly, is the problem with providing foals with a list of flammable substances? Such a list would be highly educational for the young ponies, as it would teach them chemistry, alchemy, and valuable life lessons all at once. In any case, it certainly keeps youngsters occupied, which is a prime way to prevent young orphans from claiming a destiny of defeating a most noble empress.

The forbidden section is, of course, forbidden, so I found token resistance upon trying to cross over that threshold. The librarian was adamant that I refrain from entering. "If you do," said she, "you will break well over a thousand years of tradition, for only Princess Celestia and her most faithful student have permission to pass into the forbidden section."

I blanched at the thought of shaming tradition. Regardless, I stood firm. My task is a noble and great one which cannot be deterred by mere courtesy. "If my sister has permission," I told her, "surely I have permission by extension. I, who have recently been freed from the grip of a most vile demon, am trusted to cooperate with her in ruling Equestria once I have again reached my full strength. Why should that trust not extend to lesser spheres?"

"It's not a matter of trust, Your Highness," she explained. "It's a matter of precaution. Like you said, you're not at your full strength yet, and who knows what might happen if this knowledge falls into incapable hooves? Not to say you're incapable, of course, begging your pardon," she added hastily. "But an alicorn of your stature —"

"Is nevertheless perfectly able to take care of herself." I know that haughtiness is bad for one's complexion, but I simply could not help but feel a need to express my righteous indignation. "It is true that I am small for an alicorn, but I am nevertheless no less diminutive than the ordinary pony. And is not Twilight Sparkle an ordinary pony?"

"Well, yes," she admitted. "But I'm afraid rules are rules."

"Indeed?" I puffed out my chest in an intimidating fashion. "And if Blueblood or Mi Amore Cadenza should request access to these tomes, would you drive them away so uncouthly?"

"Well, I suppose they would have the right to the information," she said uncomfortably. "But they wouldn't just barge on in here and —"

"Am I not your princess, peasant? Where is the verisimilitude you find in comparing me to a barge, pray tell?"

"That's n-not what I meant," she stammered, turning pale. Her ~~fear~~ love was palpable. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. I didn't mean to offend you. Of course you have full access to these archives! Of course you do! But personally, I would feel better about it if you asked to be granted here officially from Princess Celestia first."

"I am not a filly, librarian!" I exclaimed, though I was full aware how like a tantrum my crusade was becoming. "It is not my way to beg permission from my sister like an impoverished child. Nonetheless, I shall suffer myself to bend to your will, just this once. If it puts your mind at ease, little pony, I will do as you suggest, provided that you keep out of my way from this day on when I have received her approval. Does this satisfy you?"

She nodded timidly, and I took my leave in a proud manner.

"Well, of course you can use the forbidden section," Sister Dearest said reasonably once I had explained the situation to her. "There's no reason to keep you from it, and you know that I trust you completely. But I thought you had found an interest in spell matrices a few days ago. What sparked this new interest?"

"What sparks any interest?" I replied casually. "It is always interesting to see what new developments have taken place, and considering my taste for the more macabre things the world has to offer ... well, it creates a demanding curiosity that must be satisfied. Worry not, Celestia. It is not as if I were planning to sneakily sweep Equestria from under your hooves again."

"Oh, I know," she said. "I have full confidence that those times have long passed."

She gave me a smile I did not much like before strutting off to court.

I returned to the library with some swagger in my step, and the wary librarian did not bother to verify whether or not I had truly received permission. Placated, I pushed aside the heavily chained door reading Taxes: Do Not Enter and emerged into a large chamber of many books. Rows of shelves were lined alongside one another innocuously, just as their brethren were in the library proper. Their titles, of course, gave their treacherous contents away.

Such wonders I have stumbled upon! I cannot hope to absorb all of these marvelous contents, but I can certainly try.

I retrieved for my room a large tome titled Banned Substances and You (995 Edition) and am currently perusing what words lie within. There is a great deal of highly informative items of note, including an interesting aside on how to manufacture something called nitroglycerin. I shall have to study these manners further, and I really must apologize to Blueblood for missing dinner. The poor dear said he had a fact he wished to disclose to me during the meal, and my absence has surely revealed to him the importance of my discovery.

Entry Sixteen

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July 6, 1000 ANM

My upcoming invention will be dubbed Nitroglycercute. Essentially it will be liquid nitroglycerin repurposed as paint, which I shall smear on whatever I wish to destroy or hold ransom. Yet there are inherent difficulties regarding the creation of this highly applicable substance. As of yet nitroglycerin is, of course, banned in Equestria aside from trivial amounts permitted for use in medical practices, so I was required to turn to other countries for assistance. A bit of covert investigation in trade records revealed that all of our nitroglycerin is carefully imported from Yugoslothvia, a dictatorship which apparently formed four hundred years ago.

Interest in this relatively new land, together with the need to obtain illegal material for my own nefarious purposes, prompted me to venture outside for the first time in days to visit the Yugoslothvian embassy in Canterlot. There I was fortunate to come across their chief ambassador, Indola, a surprisingly well-groomed fellow. My previous experiences with sloths had given me the expectation of all their race being a group of apathetic ruffians, so to see such a sloth as Indola was a pleasant surprise.

"Yes, the land of sloths is certainly more civilized than what you were once used to," he told me once pleasantries had been exchanged. "Nobody goes hungry, for one thing. We make certain of that. Very certain."

"Sir!" His secretary peered into the room, brandishing a hefty file. "We've got some more complaints about working conditions for the ninety-nine percent! They've added 'loss of meaning' to the list of grievances!"

"Must I tell you again that those complaints make an excellent fertilizer?" He sighed coolly as the secretary abashedly took her leave. "I apologize, Princess. Many of my inferiors here are new."

"Quite all right. What is the trouble, if I may ask?"

"There has been another strike in the nitroglycerin mines. The workers are, once again, protesting Father Folivus's policies. It seems there is no pleasing them, despite their consistently raised wages."

This was, of course, irrelevant to my interests, but I decided to humor him. "My condolences to your dictator. How do you think this will this affect the nitroglycerin trade?"

"It'll be for the worse, I believe. We already require a hefty percentage for the population's intake, and our relations with the rhinoceroses are currently strained after the latest treaty. No other land shows much interest in our chief export, unfortunately."

My opportunity had come, and so I struck. "Would you be willing to sell your unused quantities to me?"

"Unlikely, Your Highness. Unless I am quite mistaken, Equestria is not permitted to own nitroglycerin under most circumstances, so I'm afraid there's little to be done."

"Not to Equestria," I said, "but to me. I am quite interested in the potential research applications in various materials discovered after my little incident. I am something of a scientist, you might say, and I assure you that no other would benefit from it."

His dark eyes glittered. "Our private channels aren't exactly inexpensive."

"Name your price. I shall match it."

"Very well."

We negotiated somewhat on the price of the nitroglycerin, and eventually I fairly emptied my allowance to satisfy his demands. Nevertheless, I did not fret. The fact that I could obtain the marvelous substance at all was enough to sate my desire. He promised that I would receive it as soon as the trains would allow, and with that happy statement in my ears I departed.

Upon my return to the palace I encountered Mi Amore Cadenza, who appeared to have just finished up another bout of tennis. "You're up to something," she said, wiping her brow. "I can feel it."

"My dear niece, surely you know me well enough by now to understand that at no point am I not up to something. This is no probability, but rather a certainty, so be at ease. How was your practice?"

"It went okay," she admitted. "My trainer sure isn't easing up on me."

"Remember to imbibe a great deal of water," I reminded her. "Even if you are my sworn nemesis, it is best that you do not dehydrate yourself."

"That's exactly what I was planning on doing. Thanks anyway, though."

There was a moment of silence. A guard coughed somewhere.

"Well, I must go," I said at length. "Supper calls my name, and after the events of the day I could certainly use sustenance to carry me through my night."

"And what events are those?"

"That, Mi Amore Cadenza, shall remain a curiosity to thee." I smiled beatifically as I trotted away.

With that minor victory past me, I only must need await the arrival of the nitroglycerin. What I shall do in the meantime, I do not know. Surely something will come to pass.

Entry Seventeen

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July 7, 1000 ANM

Today, whilst anxiously anticipating the arrival of my nitroglycerin shipment, I was approached by Blueblood, who claimed that there was really something I ought to know.

"What plagues your mind?" I asked him, looking in the mirror at my sad solid hair in dismay. Sister Dearest has assured me that my stars will grow back, but as of yet I have seen not a trace of them. I suppose I must give the situation some time.

"Mother," said he, "when you claim your rightful place on the tyrant's throne, there is something you are required to be very, very good at. It is, of course, chess."

"Chess?" I repeated. The name was familiar, but a thousand years ago it had been a rather obscure game, to the point where few instances were played within Equestrian borders. "Why chess?"

"It's simply how it's done these days. If anypony holds a position of absolute power, they are required by tradition to be a master of chess."

I frowned at that statement. "I am quite unfamiliar with such a tradition."

"Well, I suppose it's not so much a tradition as it is an expectation. It symbolizes how you think strategically, as well as what sacrifices you're willing to make to reach your ultimate goal. To be good at chess is to be not merely be powerful, but also shrewd and good at planning."

"I dislike the term 'shrewd'," I said plaintively. "It contains the word 'shrew', which of course does not fit me in the slightest degree. But I suppose that if it is such a necessity, I will have to endure it. Shall we practice immediately?"

"But of course." He levitated a chessboard from who knew where. "Auntie would make a far better tutor than myself, I must admit; yet we cannot give her any room for suspicion."

"A fair point. Let us commence!"

We set up the board in a timely fashion, and I of course received the black pieces. Blueblood's white soldiers loomed on the other side of that square-patterned field, and it occurred to me that I could not quite remember which pieces could accomplish which specific action.

"White goes first." He pushed one of the short ones in the front two spaces forward.

I stared down at my side, wondering what I should do. Suddenly, a marvelous idea came to me. With haste I seized one of the pony-headed pieces and slammed it against Blueblood's king, causing the unfortunate object to spin through the air before colliding against the floor with a loud clack.

"Checkmate!" I crowed, leaping to my hooves in victory. How could I have ever thought ill of this game? It was such a simple thing, really, certainly not worth much of a bother. How easy it was to ascend to the rank of chess master and, by extension, the glory of dictatorship!

Blueblood buried his face in his hooves. "No, Mother. That's not how it ... no."

I paused, excitement draining from my limbs. "What do you mean, 'no'? Is it not the point of the game to conquer the tall ones with the crosses?"

"Not exactly, I'm afraid. The goal is to trap the ... tall ones with the crosses, so that they can't move to any adjacent square without getting captured. That's what a checkmate is."

"But what about directly endangering them?"

"That's called check, Mother."

"Well then, pardon me. Check!"

He made an odd strangled sound that I had never heard before. "That's not how check works, either. It's a gradual process. One does not simply leap across the entire board. Do you at least remember how the pieces move?"

"I know the castles travel diagonally. As to the rest, I fear that ... I love that I am not sure."

A wide grin stretched his face. It was not the grin of a stallion playing a relaxing game with his mother. When he spoke next, it was through gritted teeth. "I suppose this is going to take longer than I thought."

"Oh, that is no trouble! Teach me what you know about these little creatures of stone. What function does the knobby one serve?"

It took me two hours, but I eventually came to know the names and motions of each individual piece. The pawns are, of course, aptly named, for they serve no purpose but to become willing sacrifices. I mentally discard those. The rooks are certainly more useful, for they can barrel directly from one side of the board to the other in their thirst for blood. Bishops are much the same, except that they travel in different directions. The knights do not deserve their noble pony heads, for their methods of movement are inconsistent and apt to change depending on the situation. Them I shall move directly into the line of fire. The queen is naturally the greatest of all pieces, for she can sweep about the field in whichever way she likes, leaving naught but destruction in her wake. Next to her radiant glory, the king is but a pittance. Why he is so crucial to the game is a mysterious matter; I suppose there is a valuable lesson in there somewhere, but I cannot fathom what it might be.

Blueblood then taught me a maneuver called the Fool's Mate, a method by which a player can be checkmated in a mere two moves. I mastered it easily enough, despite having the color unfavorable to its execution. What confused me was his reasoning for flipping the board and storming off upon checkmating me for the tenth time in a row. Was he not eager to teach me this game? It seems that his mood swings unreasonably. I shall have to talk to Sister Dearest about him.

Still, I suppose this chess phenomenon is more interesting than I thought. Its rules are complicated, and its strategies doubly so, but I cannot doubt Blueblood's judgment. I must learn more about this game in order to overthrow Sister Dearest. Somehow, for odd reasons, it is will be a critical part of my regime, for better or for worse. I shall have to know more ways of being checkmated, for the point of the game is not to win, but to see how the enemy wins. It will be useful to know, though exactly how it will be useful will take time to understand. No matter. I am many things, but impatient is not one of them.

Entry Eighteen

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July 8, 1000 ANM

I meant to further my crusade in the research of nitroglycerin today, but at breakfast Sister Dearest pulled my attention away with that saccharine coaxing of hers. It would not do, she claimed, to have a princess of Equestria lounge about like a pompous cat while the servants carried out all of the work. It would undermine the meaning of her position, after all, for what good is a princess who does not directly run her kingdom?

"And besides," she added as an afterthought, "such a habit would force the land to transform into a bureaucracy, and I'm sure you remember how much I detest bureaus of any kind. They create more problems than they solve, and in the end there's only a lot of angry ponies without any answers. Change is best instigated by one who has seen and understood every side of the problem, not just those she personally prefers."

"This philosophy is all very well and good," I said dryly after swallowing another forkful of waffle. Waffles are a most noble invention, and I must make it my duty to retroactively knight their creator. "But where are you going with this train of thought, pray tell? Surely you understand that I am not yet restored to my former glory, and am therefore unbound from any serious obligation of political workings until such a time comes upon us?"

"On the contrary! The sooner you resume your royal duties, the easier they will become when you have reached your proper size. Practice makes perfect, little sister. I was actually thinking that you might be interested in running court for the day."

I nearly choked on my water. "Court? You mean your bright and shimmering day court, which you have apparently run unceasingly since my indiscretion? Why should I not restore the night court instead?"

"I was thinking about that," she admitted. "But it seems like you've gotten into the habit of sleeping through the night, and I wouldn't dream of disturbing your schedule."

"'Tis not an error on my part!" I fumed. "I am weakened, and require respite. That such respite occurs during the moonlit hours is an unfortunate coincidence. Nevertheless, I suppose you will badger me until I agree to this ridiculous scheme. Are you really so desperate for a vacation?"

She shook her head, smiling. "Don't think of it as a vacation, Luna. 'Vacation' implies an extended absence, and that will certainly not be the case. Think of it as more of a rest."

"A rest, is it?" I grumbled, eyeing the puddle of maple syrup staining my plate. "And what of my resting? Am I not entitled to an unambitious goal of regaining my strength?"

"You'll only be sitting in the throne, listening to ponies talk about themselves. It's not as if you're competing in a marathon. Just be sensible, and it will be easier than you ever dreamed."

I certainly was dreaming half an hour later, sitting on the great throne in a languishing state with my poor wings mashed uncomfortably against the back. My wish that Blueblood might rescue me from this unimaginable torment remained far from granted, and the chatter of the kiwi-selling pony remained a constant drone in my ears.

"... but Lemon Hearts's stall still takes up exactly two feet of my space at the market, and of course she's getting additional business thanks to her expanded base of operations. Therefore, your highness, I respectfully request a loan of two thousand bits to refurbish my property and buy more supplies for my farm."

"Why do you not request a loan from a bank instead? I may not be entirely familiar with the minutiae of modern-day society, but I feel reasonably assured that in this one aspect things have not changed."

"Well, the banks never listen to my story. Princess Celestia does, and she understands the things I'm going through right now. I've told her this before."

"Yet she is wise enough to withhold any investment. How many times have you come begging for money?" I glanced through the mare's record. "Six, is it? Why did you not discover the futility of this endeavor after the first time?"

At least she had the presence of mind to look properly abashed.

"Hear my decree," I stated proudly. "In the future, you shall not seek any loan for the purpose stated, be it from my sister or any other pony. Instead, you shall approach this Lemon Hearts and, speaking in a quite cordial manner, respectfully request that she remove her goods from your area. If what you say is true, the increased selling space will provide enough of a profit increase to render any requirement for extra kiwi-planting equipment negligible."

She nodded thoughtfully, then rubbed her chin and frowned. "But what if she says no?"

"Then undoubtedly your patience will have reached its end, so you cannot be blamed when you masterfully squeeze the juice from her own lemons into her eyes before the entire marketplace."

Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I saw her shivering as she departed. I am not certain as to why. The season is summer, and the chill of icy winds is yet far off.

She was swiftly replaced by a rather boastful unicorn clad in foalish magician's attire. Somehow she managed to drag an entire stage into the throne room, and upon leaping onto its creaking planks demanded that Sister Dearest emerge from wherever she was hiding so that she could witness a show of spectacular splendor.

"Princess Celestia is unavailable today," I told her. "Instead, you may discuss your matters with me."

"How dare you!" she shrieked in a voice so sour that for a moment I wondered if this was Lemon Hearts. "The Great and Powerful Trixie did not travel to the palace to speak with some puny pretender! Bring out the princess, maid, before Trixie blinds you with her magical might!"

"Pretender, you call me?" I snapped, flaring my aching wings. "Grant my visage with more than a cursory glance, and tell me: who is the superior here, little pony?"

Her blue face turned as white as her mane. "P-princess Luna? Oh, well, this is new. I merely wanted to speak with the highest authority of Equestria, not her little sister. Send her out here to meet me, won't you?"

I gritted my teeth. "What you would tell Princess Celestia, you may repeat to me."

She tossed her mane, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. "Hmmph. Trixie doesn't wish to tell anything. She merely wants to show Princess Celestia the wonders of her prowess, as she has done consistently for the past several weeks! When you are as accomplished a mage as Trixie, perhaps you will understand how much she deserves to secure a place in Canterlot Palace!"

The insufferable pony then launched into what could charitably be called a performance. Fireworks skipped across the air, nearly catching several tapestries on fire in the desperation to relay tall tales. Vases found themselves devoid of flowers. Clouds spun in midair, drenching the carpet with their sweet tears.

Several minutes of this nonsense passed before I found my patience sufficiently sapped, and I leapt to my hooves in my eagerness to confront this upstart. "That is enough! Pray tell, what is the purpose in this waste of time? Cease your practicing and make haste with the bulk of your performance!"

She paused in her boasting, a look of puzzlement flitting across your face. "What do you mean? This is Trixie's performance. Don't you quiver in awe at the great and powerful feats of magic I can accomplish?"

I burst out laughing, not heeding her indignation. "You boast of this? This is but foal's play!" I gasped, wiping a tear from my gracious eye. "The jesters of ages past were far more competent in their magic. At no point did they resort to petty parlor tricks such as these."

"Jester?" she snarled. "I don't want to be your jester, you ruffian! I want to be court mage!"

My humor vanished as quickly as it had come. "Listen, you imbecile! Of all the unicorns I have ever encountered, your prowess ranks close to the bottom of them all. Few ponies can impress me, even in this day and age, and you were unfortunate today to be met with honesty rather than kindness. Pack your horse-cart and depart from my sight."

She huffed, undeterred by my anger. "But what, 'pray tell', would impress you?"

"Ask not for specific statistics. It is not as though I keep a list of the most accomplished mages of the land under my bed," I lied. "Nevertheless, there is but one mortal pony whose magic I fear ... I love. Her smallest feats put your most valiant efforts to shame, and to antagonize her would spell utter defeat. You, however, have earned no such luxury. Now depart!"

"One pony?" she repeated, a sly look coming into her eye. "And where is this one pony who dares to affront the Great and Powerful Trixie?"

"She resides in Ponyville, of course, but ..."

I trailed off, witnessing in disbelief as the stage was packed and whisked off in record time. What possessed that braggart unicorn to ask such questions I shall never know, but at the least she has removed herself from my precious mane. At the least I shall never hear of her again.

Not yet had noon come, yet I was already exhausted, so I removed myself from the throne room. How Sister Dearest can negotiate with these common ponies is a mystery for the ages, and I shall fittingly let her deal with such situations. Night court will undoubtedly be less of a hassle, but for now I shall take my rest early. Surely Blueblood will not mind terribly when I miss our appointment of chess lessons. Do we not have all the time in the world?

Entry Nineteen

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July 9, 1000 ANM

Despite the pleading and coaxing of Sister Dearest, I am proud to say that she failed to coerce me into the dreary nonsense of the day court again. I told her that under no circumstances would I be required to take the brunt of the common pony's problems for her, nor would I allow myself to suffer the endless monologues of "me, me, me" that so distracted me from my own pursuits, which are of course of far greater importance.

"You only talked with two ponies yesterday, Luna," she said patiently as we strode through broad hallways of more window than wall. "And it seems unlikely that ... what was her name again? Tripsy? It's unlikely that Tripsy will return anytime soon after your nicely-done distraction."

"True enough," I conceded. "But is it not also true that the insanity wrought by an entire day's worth of ponies will easily eclipse that of even those two ponies? How you manage to put up with is something I cannot understand, but I am quite happy to leave you to those devices. I would much prefer to wait until I can resume my sleepless ways. It is more fitting that I lead the night court and not that of the day, is it not?"

"If you really feel that way, I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do." She gave me a nuzzle, much to the confusion of the guards standing at either end of the passage. "But please consider it, all right? I had a whole glorious thirty minutes to myself yesterday, and it would be wonderful to have even that short time again."

"What were you even doing, sister? I find the idea of you participating in that vile sport of tennis with Mi Amore Cadenza highly amusing."

"No, I was only spending some time with Philomena upstairs. Really, Luna, there is no reason not to indulge myself in a little simple resting, without having to worry about anything. You should try it sometime." She winked at me cheekily and strode off.

The reminder of my need to lie in bed and do nothing stung, and for a moment I was tempted to retreat to my quarters and do exactly that. Yet the importance of my goals could not be denied. My proper stature would return to me sooner or later. For now, I must implement my schemes while I cannot be seen as much of a threat.

With the nitroglycerin shipment still awaiting me at an uncertain point in the future, there was little for me to do but return to browsing the library. It is a marvelous place with marvelous secrets, for it provided me with the concept of Nitroglycercute, and who knew what else it might have in store for me?

I happened another massive tome in the forbidden section which caught my eye in its brash glory, all black leather and red ink and hideous green and purple illustrations. Titled So You Want to Be an Evil Overlord?, it appears to have been penned by an accomplished albeit anonymous pony who knew quite a bit about the pitfalls of setting himself up for conquest. True, I may not be evil, but I certainly wish to be an overlord (overlady?), so it is already halfway useful to me. The subject matter is, naturally, intriguing regardless of how the situation is considered.

I immersed myself instantly into its first chapter, which discussed the issues involving face-concealing helmets in the dress code of the legions of tyrants. In all honesty, this was an issue I had not yet considered, for the use of mask-like apparel seemed obvious, and its lack, conversely, appeared counterintuitive. How could my loyal subjects protect their precious faces from the zealous strikes of rebellious forces? Or, of more pressing importance, would it not be more appropriate to strike ~~fear~~ love into the hearts of my foes with the vast armies of faceless ponies?

Yet upon further reflection, the text's point grew clearer. If my loyal fighters seemed too intimidating, they might press my foes into discovering a strength fueled by desperation. But surely there was no reason for me to abstain from wearing such a helmet. Why should I not be adored from afar, despite physical closeness? Empress Luna, benevolent tyrant of the Lunar Republic, would allow only a select few to behold her radiantly brooding face.

I decided to put this idea into practice. Stealing to the garage, I stealthily approached Mi Amore Cadenza's bicycle and claimed her bright pink helmet for myself. The guards seemed mildly concerned at my actions as I retreated back to the palace, but as they made no move to halt my progress, I paid them no heed. In any case, where would they perceive a threat in the sudden repossession of mere headgear?

Concealing myself in my chambers, I cast a mighty spell to summon shadows from the dark corners beneath my bed, weaving them like silk across the lower circumference of the helmet. This created a beautiful flowing veil, which concealed my face wonderfully when I donned the helmet, though my vision was somewhat impaired by the translucent blackness. Of course, practice navigating myself throughout the palace with this obstruction would be required if I wished to maintain any dignity. With all the pride of a lion leading its pride, I emerged again and began my haughty walk throughout the castle, adorned with my latest proud creation.

My first encounter was with an inordinately loud suit of armor. It crumpled before my might, and in my pleasure I marched off past a serving maid, who uttered a strangled cry and tossed her tray into the air in her haste to flee the scene. Two out of two had already spiritually prostrated themselves before me, so it was with the greatest of triumph that I made my way to the next area, with the crash of metal and porcelain ringing behind me.

I next found myself in a dimly lit room, so I still have little idea as to what exactly occurred there. All I know is that I found myself crashing into a wall six times, while the gasps and panicked hoofsteps of those within retreated from my presence. Still my presence could not be denied, so I stalked after them with all the grace I could muster. The veil billowed in my face as I launched myself after the slowest of the lot, who nevertheless deftly sidestepped me and caused me to collide with the door. Shaking myself, I pursued him through out into the throne room. The chase was on!

"What are you doing with my helmet?"

Something clasped around my hooves in an ungentle fashion, swinging me suddenly upside down so that I hovered lightly above the floor. Gravity sent my veil fluttering down above my eyes, and I noticed with no small consternation that it was an infuriated Mi Amore Cadenza who had halted my progress.

She marched me into the dining hall, where Sister Dearest paused in her campaign against a plate of broccoli to watch as we ungraciously approached. "Your sister," she stormed, with the trace of the Royal Canterlot voice still heating her tone, "has taken what's mine!"

"I see," her mother agreed, unperturbed. "Luna, would you mind returning Cadence's helmet to her?"

I sighed and took it in my hooves, pulling it up past my horn in a manner not unlike another helmet I had once worn. "Very well," said I, resigned. "If you truly must refrain from sharing your goods with me, Mi Amore Cadenza, be a dear and do so elsewhere."

That pink princess lit her horn briefly, and the veil vanished in a puff of light. "I don't even want to know what you were doing," she said flatly. "But you know there are better ways of getting my attention!"

"Oh yes." I smirked, trying to salvage some small victory from this embarrassment. "There are indeed better ways, Mi Amore Cadenza ... highly profitable ways."

With a frustrated groan she marched away, pink helmet in tow.

"Luna," Sister Dearest said kindly, "if you really want to learn how to ride a bicycle, why don't you just say so? It would save a lot of arguing in the palace."

I really must be more subtle in my methods, I suppose. Still, it was an educational experience, for it taught me clearly that no number of masks can hide one's own self-respect. I shall take that tome more closely to heart, and it will teach me all it knows. Things will look up, I know they must, but I must admit that I likely cannot accomplish this completely on my own.

Entry Twenty

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July 10, 1000 ANM

This morning Sister Dearest surprised me yet again, this time by means of perusing the latest issue of the Canterlot Sun whilst chewing on a mouthful her breakfast thoughtfully. I have seen few things that can distract her from spending quality time with her dear family, so the fact that she could be so enthralled by mere words on a paper immediately caught my attention.

"What manner of horror is this?" I asked, leaning forward on the tips of my hooves to get a better look at the headline. "Surely nothing less than the collapse of an entire city could draw you to the dry plains of line upon line. Pray tell, what trouble ails Equestria today?"

"Oh, Equestria is fine," she assured me, taking a sip of steaming tea. "My faithful student managed to get herself in the news, that's all. I'm quite proud of her for handling the situation so well. I really can't wait to see what sort of friendship report comes out of this."

The picture appeared to be that of Twilight Sparkle entrapped in the throes of brutal constipation. My amusement was palpable until I managed a second glance, which revealed that her expression was the result of strain of the magical sort, not that of the bowels. Far off over a cluster of trees in the corner of the photo floated a great blotchy mass of stars, which made me quite envious. When, oh when will my glorious mane of nebulae return to adorn my gracious crown? When? The days when I regain my ~~fearsome~~ lovely visage remain yet so afar.

"Isn't it impressive?" Sister Dearest gushed. "I've never seen any of my little ponies levitate more than they could physically lift before."

I squinted. Of course that uncertain shape would be relevant to the ruckus. "Indeed," I agreed, my heart sinking. What if this Twilight Sparkle managed to consistently improve her magic even beyond these parameters? Is it not possible that Sister Dearest plans the Rite of Ascension for her? A trace of earth pony magic in a unicorn ... such would surely signal a possible candidate whom it would be impossible not to consider. Oh, how I shall have to reshuffle every last one of my ingenious plans!

"Cheer up, Luna. The Ursa is perfectly all right; Twilight was very careful with him."

"So that is an Ursa, then?" I honored the picture with a fourth glance. "It appears to be more similar to a miscellaneous cloud. With all the wonders this new age has wrought, I find it odd that the inventor of these photographs could not inject any semblance of color into them."

"Some do have color. It's a matter of preference, that's all." She sprinkled a dash of some savory sauce across her plate of amaranths. "I could buy a copy of the Neigh Orleans Nightly, if you wanted. The newsponies there certainly prefer a greater injection of liveliness in their papers."

But past that point I was no longer listening to her prattle. I was too preoccupied in noticing another blob of gray in the photograph, somehow fading into the background despite being far paler than Twilight Sparkle. That distinctive curl of white mane ... even bearing that uncharacteristically terrified expression, the face managed to leer up at me in mockery.

Trixie Lulamoon. Did that foal actually journey to Ponyville, believing herself to be Twilight Sparkle's superior? My words were not a suggestion, but a statement of fact! The Bearer of Harmony is mine and mine alone to defeat. If this sniveling upstart attempts to steal my unknown rival from me, I will have to deal with her directly. There is only room for one at the top of the New Lunar Republic, and that one shall not lack wings.

I continued to fume about the situation throughout the morning, nearly forgetting the helmet fiasco of yesterday in my efforts to devise a suitable punishment for that poison-blue unicorn. Only after lunch had passed did I realize that perhaps, with my constant muttering of indignation, my plotting would attract suspicion from the servants. With a heavy heart I resigned myself to an afternoon of sulking about in my quarters, hoping to perhaps conjure up another invention as I wiled away the long burning hours.

When I arrived, however, I was astonished to find Blueblood packing all of my carefully laid out scheming into boxes of that peculiar material, cardboard. "And what do you think you are doing?" I could not stop myself from speaking angrily, as this was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. "I sacrificed a full hour of my time to organize all of these ingeniously coded lists! Is there reasoning for this nonsense, or are you fiddling around like an old Diamond Dog?"

"Mother," he said patiently, "they were everywhere. Under the bed, in the wardrobe, on the vanity, stuck to the walls with that vile duct tape you insist on keeping around ... it's a miracle that nopony's discovered our plots yet. I mean to prevent us from being tossed into a dungeon, even if those dungeons are rather cushy. We are moving our base of operations."

"You should have brought the matter up with me first!" I scowled, magically reshuffling a pile of photographs into a neat stack. "I am in charge of this tyranny scheme, so it should be I who decides whether or not we find another area of antagonism!"

He sighed. "So you want Auntie to discover what we're up to?"

"What? Of course not! Relocating this is not a terrible idea, and deep down I am quite glad you thought of the issue, but ..."

"We need a secret lair," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Everypony who wants to topple the government requires a secret lair. It's a rule, you know."

His words had reason. I tapped my chin with a delicately noble hoof, pondering. "I do believe there is a chapter dwelling on that in So You Want to Be an Evil Overlord?, is there not? Your side of the argument does have merit, dear Blueblood. Very well. I shall assist you in assisting me. Where can we find a secret lair?"

As it turned out, an extensive map of the palace could be found after much digging in the forbidden section of the library. It was designed by the very builders of the palace themselves, detailing every last nook and cranny from the garage to the drawbridge. Of note were several secret compartments within my room, and even more in that of Sister Dearest. I shall have to investigate that matter further.

In the preparation area behind the throne room, there sits a statue of a one-eyed sorceress. The paneling behind it conceals a carefully hidden passageway, nearly impossible to find if one does not tug firmly on the golden pull cord to its immediate left. The passageway slopes downward and downward, trailing beneath the palace and into the heart of the mountain. It has clearly not been visited in centuries; poor Blueblood nearly suffered an aneurysm at the dust clogging the place. With a flick of my horn I conjured torches, embedding them carefully in the jagged stone. They should be useful in preventing me from tripping on the crystals scattered about incongruously.

I vaguely remember tales of crystal mines established long before the concept of Canterlot was ever conceived, though of course I had never visited them. Here and there throughout the caves and tunnels we could spot a mine cart resting comfortably on rusty tracks, or a gaping chasm from which no light escaped. In the torchlight the crystals sparkled, but those beyond merely glittered in the light's weak reach like beady eyes of predators.

We did not get lost, despite the lack of information on this area in the map. I say this because it is certain that in days to come I can return to the massive cavern I found, which appears large enough to comfortably house the entire throne room. It is rather plain, nothing glorious like the majesty of the shimmering Crystal Expanses, but it will have to do.

On the morrow we shall continue this steady transfer in the necessities of the schemes to this cavern. I have dubbed it the Bat Cave, as a flock of its namesake sought to sweep down upon us the second we entered. Is it not creative? Ponies of future generations shall tremble in ~~fear~~ love at the name of the Bat Cave. Perhaps I should organize a night of slumber in this place with Blueblood, teaching him more about what it means to live in the shadow. I wonder at times if he has spent too long in the care of Sister Dearest to remember his calling as child of the night. But enough with my worrying! This is a time of motion, not of stagnancy! I still must decide whether or not to incorporate a pit of alligators into the design.

Entry Twenty-One

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July 11, 1000 ANM

At last, all of our burdens have been successfully shouldered! Boxes have been carefully smuggled past the servants, the guards, and my two royal rivals, and shipped past the one-eyed statue and into the depths of the caverns. We made it our duty to sidle behind their watchful eyes, walking delicately on the tips of our hooves to avoid making any unnecessary noise. Stalking in the shadows was naturally an appropriate course of action, and we held to it with all the insistence of a mother requesting her foal to avoid the tremulous traffic of colliding carriages.

“Mother,” Blueblood asked after a narrow escape from an encounter with a lost brown earth pony, “wouldn’t it be easier if we just teleported to the Bat Cave?”

“Indeed,” I replied, “and yet we are not petty nitwits seeking the easiest and most cowardly route from our cunning conundrum. Did we not make an oath together that we should weather all our troubles in the glorious name of tyranny, whether it be through sun or sleet or wind or chocolate? No, Blueblood, we shall sneak about the palace with high hearts and upturned noses, for this is our noble calling to fulfill in this tired plodding creature philosophers call life.”

This was the reason I gave: my pride prevented me from revealing the truth. I have not yet regained my full powers, and cannot muster the strength to perform even a short teleport. There is certainly something to those spell matrices, which is a fact I have grown to appreciate.

In addition to this extraneous escapade, I have installed a peculiar lever in the Bat Cave. Blueblood objected to this initially, but I am certain that he will see reason soon enough. What reason is there to eschew the wonders of modern science? These contraptions, these odds and ends of metal and springs, all serve a noble purpose. That, at least, cannot be denied.

The lever juts from the crystal-studded wall of the cave, gleaming gold to tempt foolish intruders from their initial trespassing. Once pulled, this lever will cause a chain reaction via the mechanisms I have so deftly connected into the wall, traveling up until it reaches the not-so-distant place where it rolls into the ceiling. There a large trapdoor swings open, releasing a reticulated python of considerable size and irritability onto the imbecile who dared to grease the poor lever with their unworthy hooves. The plan is ingenious, if I do say so myself. Nothing could possibly go wrong with this marvelous make of machinery!

“But why a reticulated python?” my dear son asked as I cheerfully tested the lever, flipping its length of metal back and forth as the swinging stone above flapped like an earthbound bird. “I mean, it’s certainly an excellent choice, but wouldn’t something less exotic be practical?” He consumed another costly Fellgian chocolate with all the restraint his princely palate could allow.

“Neigh, for unless events have altered the course of these thousand years, the reticulated python remains the largest snake in all the land. And does the largest of anything not hold a higher degree of quality than its inferiors?”

“True,” he conceded, “but biology has indeed changed. Some unfortunate scientist managed to breed a chicken with a snake, and today the great basilisks lurk in abandoned places such as ancient ruins and the homes of washed-out pop singers. Which is odd, considering their need to constantly eat. The basilisks, I mean, not the pop singers.”

“And how big do these basilisks grow?”

“If my memory serves me right, about a hundred feet.”

“Then we shall pursue a basilisk instead! Can you imagine its long scaly body falling from the ceiling as I once fell from a cumulonimbus, thrashing and writhing in midair as it attempts to escape its futile fate? The entire cave would fairly glow green with its fearful … loving rage, and the expression of the poor soul who unleashed it would also turn green, albeit for entirely different reasons.”

“Basilisks are orange, mother.”

I recoiled. “Orange?”

“Bright orange. The color destroys one’s vision even before the beast’s venomous eyes can hope to do so.”

“I detest orange. We shall pursue a reticulated python, Blueblood, and that is final.”

He grumbled at this, but nevertheless I convinced him to accompany me to the palace menagerie. Animals of all sorts flourish here in that sequestered little slice of paradise, as Sister Dearest had been eager to explain to me. The chances of finding a reticulated python in that place were slim, yet we had neither the time nor the resources to journey to its far-off home. At any rate, the first creature we encountered was a vulture, so thus advanced the hopes of there discovering a beast beyond the realms of the sweet and petite.

“Disgusting winged rat,” Blueblood muttered at the sight of the balding bird, shooing it away with a pedicured hoof. “Why Auntie insists on keeping this sort of monster about the palace is beyond me.”

I patted his head condescendingly. “Oh, my dear Blueblood. Surely you are aware that vultures form a crucial link in the vast web of chains known as life? Why, without them the world would be a foul place, condemned to slime and disease beyond the bounds of imagination. This was during your time, of course. I fondly remember great congregations swooping down from the ash-stained sky to cleanse the land of those who would seek naught but misery for our little ponies. Better to live in an Equestria touched by grimy feathers than one fairly dripping with the eternal stench of rotting meat.”

I am not certain of this for obvious reasons, but it appeared that he turned pale at my words. What does he think he is doing, changing his face in such a way? Does he not understand the horrors it will wreak on his complexion? I really must talk to Sister Dearest about him.

We ventured through the lush garden, barely acknowledging the groundskeeper as he whistled while he worked. Jewel-like hummingbirds flitted about flowers in the distance, yet they scattered before we could approach too closely. So did butterflies, deer, rabbits, and gorillas. It was when a score of skunks slinked away that I wondered if these creatures held some vendetta against us.

“You know, Blueblood,” I remarked as a flamingo fled from our presence, “perhaps I should keep an animal of some sort as a companion, if not a familiar. Sister Dearest has that boisterous bonfire bird, and Twilight Sparkle has the miniature dragon fellow. In fact, I would not be surprised if Mi Amore Cadenza has found ownership of some little yapping dog. Therefore, why should I not be entitled to the same comfort?”

“You can get whatever you want,” he said, shying away from the edge of the nearby pond. “I honestly prefer flora to fauna. Wouldn’t you prefer a pet rose?”

“Roses are adequate,” I replied dismissively. “But removing their treacherous thorns is no small feat, and after the attire I received at the Summer Sun Celebration I see no need for extras. There is also the fact that I am unfamiliar with other varieties of quality flowers, aside from their culinary value.”

“In that case, why not simply keep the reticulated python as a pet?”

“Are you mad?” I barked. “Only successful tyrants are permitted snakes for pets! I shall not allow myself to indulge in such a luxury until I have accomplished my endeavor.”

Mercifully, he was silent for the rest of our walk.

We crossed from one side of the menagerie to the other fruitlessly, for no animals save the bats could bear to remain in our vicinity. Returning to the Bat Cave with empty hooves was no easy thing to swallow, but I suppose it is for the best. We did not have the good fortune to encounter a reticulated python, but nor did we have the displeasure of facing a sneeze-inducing lion. Perhaps I should arrange an expedition to wherever reticulated pythons live? This may be a sign that I must venture from the palace more often.

Entry Twenty-Two

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July 12, 1000 ANM

I brought up the prospect of starting an expedition to Neighgeria at breakfast, hoping to begin the search for a reticulated python without delay. Sister Dearest’s response was, unfortunately, less than supportive of this genius idea.

“We have a kingdom to rule, Luna,” she chided me gently. “Yes, ‘we’ includes you. It simply wouldn’t do to go wandering off to the Zebrican countries while our little ponies need our constant assistance. Speaking of which, you really should consider starting up the night court again. I’ve barely seen hide or hair of you over the last two days, and your responsibilities are beginning to pile up.”

“Must we go through these motions a second time?” I sighed and examined the fork hovering magically above my plate. “At least this time you comprehend the fact that it is the night court I would prefer to attend, not that of the day. If you truly insist that I must do so, then I shall oblige you. I shall pass the entirety of the night without rest or dreaming if that would satisfy your heedless demands.”

“You could always take a nap the day before,” she said with a smile. “I really would like you to consider it, you know. You might even find it rewarding.”

I sincerely doubt those words, but as her insistence will eventually surpass the extent of my resistance, I suppose I shall have to do so. In any case, it seems unlikely that many ponies will wish to forgo their nightly slumber in favor of an audience with me. So long as I am distanced from my destiny as empress, I will forever be the shunned princess. Only Blueblood might deign to be my companion, and I am otherwise cripplingly alone but for the cold light of the stars, walled off from my own dear sister by my quintessential secret … What are these droplets staining this paper? Do they not realize my intent to write on my troubling situation? It is rather difficult to read what I am writing with such water swimming before my eyes.

Enough of the sentimentality. After breakfast I was confronted by a servant, who bore a tightly bound scroll. As he departed I perused the parchment, and I am certain that a light shone in my eyes as I discovered the message in its carefully tight script. The nitroglycerin was due to arrive this very day! I was to receive the incoming shipment at two o’clock. Such was my excitement that I could scarcely keep myself from pacing the polished floors, and by the time the hour drew nearer I fairly leapt from the palace and soared down to the mysteriously deserted train station on wings of anticipation.

Indola was there to greet me. He was accompanied by an umbrella bearer, who cheerfully prevented the rays of that great ball of fire from scorching his head. The bearer boasted a peculiar lack of laziness, as she was startled enough to jump when the arrogant blast of an incoming whistle pierced our ears. As I was unfamiliar with such behavior from sloths, considering how their sluggish behavior has influenced our vocabulary, I inquired of Indola how he had arrived at that place on this day without requiring the majority of the week to travel.

“It’s such a simple thing, really,” he explained, squinting at the train as it grew more visible with each passing second. “Ingestion of nitroglycerin is only mandatory for the common sloth. Those in political positions, such as myself, are strongly encouraged to avoid such a diet in order to accommodate the pressures included in the job. There is no reason for those like me to be slothful, if you’ll pardon the term.”

“I believe we have a similar method of relaxation,” I told him as I watched that lumbering locomotive roll to a stop beside our platform. “Oftentimes our restless subjects will consume a glass of warm milk to lull themselves into a peaceful state of security. Should they attempt any sudden motion, their exhausted haze is nearly enough to cause them to topple over.”

“Is it really? Well, that’s ...” He paused, attempting to construct a convincing statement. “That’s exactly how it is with nitroglycerin in Yugoslothvia. Yes. Of course it is. What a refreshing parallel, Princess.”

We exchanged further pleasantries as the fateful package was carefully rolled off of the train, and I nearly seized it in my excitement before my clawed companion reminded me that there were several papers I must sign before I could claim it as my own. It took a fair amount of time to do, but this did not trouble me. At last, my long-sought nitroglycerin had come to me! My excitement was surely palpable. My latest invention was no longer so far in the future as to be naught but a twinkle on the vast horizon of time.

I was careful to keep the package in a firm telekinetic grip as I made my way back to the palace. When I remembered that I must cross through the throne room to enter the Bat Cave, however, I nearly dropped it in my sudden realization. How was I to arrive to safety without Sister Dearest noticing my precious cargo? I scolded myself for this unforgivable oversight. How dare I neglect to remember the slight detail that the day court was not yet finished!

Fortunately, Sister Dearest appeared enthralled by her current unsatisfied pony, a red mare lamenting the status of her hometown as the newest target for wayward Diamond Dogs. I was able to simply march past them into the preparation room, relying on the principle of acting as if I belonged there. I am almost certain that Sister Dearest did not notice my passing.

Within the Bat Cave, Blueblood was working with the pool that he had been installing that morning. By “working with”, of course, I mean that he was gazing into it at his reflection. I wonder at times whether his interests lie in mares at all, despite his status as the most eligible bachelor in Canterlot. He seems far too interested in the height of his cheekbones, the shine of his blond mane, and the curve of his rump. Perhaps I shall need to discover a mare exactly like him in order to grant him true happiness.

Despite his infatuation, he was quick to assist me when I requested that he retrieve the food coloring at once. I carefully unwrapped the package, tossing the nondescript wrapping away to reveal a glass container nearly filled with nitroglycerin. With the utmost caution I distributed the liquid equally between four steel bowls, to which I added droplets of blue, pale blue, purple, and black. The color dissolved nicely into the explosives, turning the liquid to vivid shades. A quick glow of my horn ensured that it would become the appropriate consistency.

Glee crossed my face. At last, here was that most glorious creation, the ~~feared~~ loved Nitroglycercute! I seized a nearby crystal and a paintbrush; the latter was dipped into the black paint, with which I slowly coated the former until not a trace of its original color could be found. The crystal smelled odd, certainly, but in my magical grasp it posed no danger.

“Huzzah!” I crowed, throwing my hooves in the air. “It is a success! Let us test this invention, Blueblood, to be certain of its purpose.”

We navigated our way through the twists and turns of the crystal-studded corridors, until we at last found ourselves at the edge of a great chasm. Its depths plummeted into the deepest darkness, far past the extent of the torch Blueblood had so thoughtfully brought. We exchanged a glance, and he nodded cautiously. Taking a deep inhalation, I wound back and flung the crystal at the far side of the chasm with all the might I could muster.

The resulting explosion tore a magnificent hole in the wall, shaking the entire cavern and dislodging several stalactites from their secure positions in the ceiling. The rumble of falling rock could not conceal my triumphant laughter. At last, a marvelous invention with not a drawback to be found! I would have to be careful in storing the Nitroglycercute of course, but that was only to be expected. Sister Dearest had best watch herself, for the days of Empress Luna draw ever nearer!

Entry Twenty-Three

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July 13, 1000 ANM

Utilizing the Nitroglycercute is even more amusing than I had previously imagined! Blueblood and I whiled away the day trekking through the crystal corridors in search of rusting minecarts, and, upon discovering them, proceeded to paint them in the beautiful colors of the night. When our finishing touches had rendered them into abstract canvases boasting starry skies, we found pleasure in carefully rolling them to the edge of a steep drop, then allowing them to fly downhill on rickety tracks before smashing spectacularly into the far wall. As a result, a jagged corridor has been dug out thanks to our efforts! Truly all of my effort to obtain the nitroglycerin was not a waste of time.

The practical applications of this dangerous paint will be more of a challenge to decide. I have come to realize that the care taken in coating the substance over the unfortunate object of my attention results in a time-consuming endeavor, lest I be bombarded with magnificently powerful detonations blossoming before my very eyes. My mane caught on fire several times as I discovered this, but putting the flames out was of small concern; that blue mop bears no stars, so its appearance cannot sink much further. Blueblood had no such trouble with the blasts, as he is well used to the delicate art of applying cosmetics to his face. It is commendable how his application of trivial frivolities to realistic efforts has translated into a fabulous enterprise. I really must treat him to a restaurant at some point.

I trust that nopony noticed the resulting explosions, for, despite the tremors that easily shook our frames at the heart of the mountain, much of the palace seemed to be preoccupied with other matters. Apparently a rotund servant from the depths of the kitchen had elected to remain asleep in the pantry, sparking dull crashes in his rolling about on the floor. That said servant claimed to be busily at work seemed of little importance, despite the testimonies of twenty eyewitnesses.

“How unprofessional!” I scoffed as we departed from supper. “To think that some oaf such as he was deemed fit to bake my breakfast this morning!”

“Indeed,” my simpering son agreed. “I would have ordered him to leave the castle, but that seemed unwise considering the possibility that he might roll right over me.”

I chortled. “Ah, my dear Blueblood. You are always aware of what makes me smile.”

“I was being serious, Mother.”

“So was I.”

He appeared confused, as is often the case.

Another turn led us to the throne room, where a cloaked figure watched the moon rise through tall stained glass windows. Shadows shrank in the pale encroaching light, but nevertheless they half concealed the figure’s wistful face. We paused at the sight of him, for once uncertain as to what might be done.

The strange stallion turned and tossed his head, dislodging the hood that hid his visage. He was an odd fellow, for black paint coated his entire body, although one could see patches of sunny yellow peeking out here and there. His eyes glinted in what I suppose could be construed as a knowing manner, though in reality it seemed more likely that he was about to burst into tears.

“Is night court in session?” he asked. His voice was affected by a heavy rasp, which rang even less true than Mi Amore Cadenza’s supposed love for asparagus. “I wish to speak with you regarding my destiny as your right-hoof colt.”

Blueblood and I glanced at each other. “Did my noble sister bribe you to do such a thing as this?” I asked, pawing at the polished floor subtly. “For if she did, you may turn and depart. My words will be for her, and her alone.”

“Celestia had nothing to do with this,” he growled. “I want to talk with you.”

I took an involuntary step back, utterly shocked at the lack of respect in his words. “Who do you think you are, little pony? Do you care not for the effort she puts into your safety and well-being?”

“She’s a tyrant,” he muttered. “You are meant to be the true ruler of Equestria. And I will stand at your side, like the faithful stallion I am.”

“What the hay?” Blueblood blurted.

I blinked, trying to think of where to begin addressing his abrupt statement. Since when had Sister Dearest done something to earn such dislike? “Well, I … well. Ahem. Yes. No? I thank you for your token of appreciation, good sir, but I fear … I love that I cannot in good conscience accept it while you slander the name of my dear sister. We are not to have our roles reversed so abruptly like schoolfillies in a class play.”

“But she’s a tyrant!” he repeated, and a bit of a whine began to creep into his voice. “She controls everything! You can’t look over the obscurest bylaws without seeing her hoof in it!”

“And where is the issue of such a supposed crime, if one is truly wise? I for one see no harm in it, and it seems you hold my judgment in high esteem. Tell me … ah …”

“Moonshadow, Your Majesty.”

Moonshadow? What an oddly convenient name, considering his desires. I bit back this comment, however, ~~fearing~~ loving the conversational paths it might lead towards. “Moonshadow, then. What deed exactly has Princess Celestia accomplished to deserve your ire?”

The stallion paused. “Um. Well, she’s never going to be as wholesome and pure as you are, Luna! I love you!”

I snapped at this. “Bite your tongue, you fat worm! Look back upon your history lessons, and tell me this: which of us destroyed the great city of Everfree in the space of a few hours, without a shred of mercy to its innocent inhabitants? She in her sorrow, or I in my madness?”

For once, he was silent. I resisted the urge to smirk at this.

“You know, commoner,” Blueblood remarked with narrowed eyes, “you look awfully well-fed for a pony who’s endured the vile whims of such an monstrous leader. Of course, I can’t exactly say the same for your education, but you know what the word ‘obscure’ means, so you must have been to magic kindergarten at least.”

“Magic kindergarten ruined my life!” Moonshadow fairly bawled.

“Magic kindergarten only ruins the lives of those who let it! My good behavior earned me an eclair on one memorable occasion. Did you even pay attention to anything your poor hard-working teachers had to say?”

He shrank slightly, then bolted. The Night Guards standing outside the door shot him bemused looks as he fled the scene.

“Night court is too much for me,” I said dramatically. “I shall no longer tolerate idiocy on this calendar day. Prepare yourself for the night, Blueblood. The hour of sleep draws near.”

“You did hear what he said, surely?” my good son asked once we were out of earshot. “He believes a tyrant is something to be hated. He is an idiot, but I highly doubt that others don’t share his opinion.”

“It is a matter of talent and good sense,” I replied, looking up briefly at a window depicting the defeat of that monster Nightmare Moon. I shuddered, remembering all too well the wonderful burn of the rainbow on that fateful night. “Above all else, a tyrant is meant to be feared … to be loved. It is more than a matter of mere policy, despite any claims to the contrary. What they worry about is malevolence, not dictatorship. I assure you, Blueblood, I shall always be a just ruler when I have seized the throne.”

Such were the words I spoke. Yet a sliver of doubt has entered my mind as I write this. What if his point is true? It is certainly possible that the other common ponies mistake tyranny for terror, and their efforts to resist me may make everything fall apart. I suppose that in the morning I shall look back on this and scoff, impervious to the paranoia that darkness engenders. Nonetheless, even the prospect of the Nitroglycercute cannot lift my spirits at this moment. The question posed here will take, above all else, patience and time.

Entry Twenty-Four

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So this is that scrapbook Mother’s been writing in, I see. Not a full month gone by, and already so tattered! It seems she rarely lets it out of her sight, scribbling in whatever thoughts come into her head. Admirable, though it seems a rather common thing to do. Is she a teenager? Of course not. Nevertheless, my curiosity is piqued. I suppose there is no reason to see what sorts of factual tidbits she has scattered throughout this intriguing book.

… I find it odd that she thinks of the Nightmare fiasco as “her little mistake”. What is so little about the great gap that separated us for a thousand years? I am a grown stallion, of course, and I am fully able to take care of myself; but being apart from my mother is … damaging, I think. Not just for me, for at least I had Auntie Celestia and Cadence for company. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her, trapped in her own mind for so long. I know I would’ve gone crazy, certainly. How on Gaia’s green earth would I manage to bathe myself? No, that way lies madness. If she thinks to turn to disgusting monsters again in her quest for “glory”, I will most definitely tell her that it isn’t an option.

Hm. Why has the word “fear” been crossed out and replaced with “love” here? It must have been a slip of the pen. Surely this is a true “little mistake”, with no secret meaning. I remember being a young colt before the Crystal Expanses, learning how to read and write and often making errors in my haste to put all my thoughts to paper. I got over my difficulties in it, of course. Can you imagine what it would be like for the Prince of Equestria to write the wrong word every other line? Ridiculous.

Wait. Why am I writing in this diary at all? Surely it’d be easier to just read it. Is there an enchantment here that I missed? I would believe so, if not for the fact that it came from Auntie. She might be our secret nemesis, but she is nevertheless nearly as honest as Mother. A true upstanding royal, she is.

Oh. Oh dear. I think I hear somepony coming. If I’m quick enough, I might just be able to wri~~~

Try as I might, I cannot fathom why dear Blueblood has chosen to desecrate this precious diary. Does he not know that in the future it will be a tome of great significance? Alas, there is no spell to undo his transgression, and thus I remain here holding the book, as it were. I suppose I should have hidden it with greater care, as I will be sure to do in the future.

I have, of course, sent him to his room. He shall not be permitted to step forth over the threshold until the wretched sun has finally set, and when he does, he shall apologize in the most thorough and heartfelt manner imaginable. Then I shall set him to brushing my mane, without the use of his horn. It is a proper punishment, I feel, for thinking only of himself despite my insistent requests to the contrary. Once that is accomplished we may return to good terms once more, free to indulge ourselves in the art of Nitroglycercute-blasted tunnels once more.

Let me peruse his defilement, to see what he felt so compelled to write. What does he mean by this? Blotting words from the diary? I have committed no such act. It is a simple thing to write the word ~~fear~~ love on such paper as this, and I

What? What is this? I cannot remember crossing this word out, though it was mere seconds ago. Perhaps to try again would be therapeutic. The word ~~fear~~ love cannot evade me so. Where is the difficulty doing that, I wonder? I shall now check my work and see that there is no reason to

There it is again! For whatever reason, I find the word “love” replacing the F-word. It seems that using a euphemism does not trigger whatever this is. Could synonyms cause a similar result? I shall discover immediately. Terror, worry, nervousness, anxiety, despair, terror, disquietude, dread, fright. Fright! Not even “fright”, despite its similarity, creates such a paradox!

~~fear~~ love ~~fear~~ love ~~fear~~ love ~~fear~~ love ~~fear~~ love ~~fear~~ love ...

… ~~Nightmare?~~

~~Perhaps I should talk to Sister Dearest about this~~

Now I am being absurd. Sister Dearest is a kind and loving soul, but even she has her limits. It seems a foolhardy thing to approach her with this anomaly, especially while I am so far from my dictatorship. What if she supposes that, despite all evidence proving otherwise, I am still Nightmare Moon? Her love and care would be forever elusive. Yet I cannot even write the word ~~fear~~ love, even when I am not actively considering what I write. What will I do?

I am checking previous entries. They all appear to have similar instances of this puzzling occurrence. Even derivatives such as ~~fearful~~ loving have been replaced.

Is my mind fractured still? Sister Dearest did mention that the Magics of Love and Self-Awareness were jostled by my first defeat at the hooves of the Elements of Harmony. Perhaps another lost Magic has failed to be healed at my second?

Something is wrong with my mind. This is the only logical conclusion. The shadows seem to creep around the edges of my vision even as I write this. Is this sudden revelation enough to push me from the pedestal of sanity?

I have made up my mind. I cannot let miscommunication create another incident between us. I absolutely must tell Sister Dearest about this immed

Entry Twenty-Five

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September 13, 1000 ANM

At last, I have discovered the location of this long-lost diary! It was nestled in the fireplace, buried in ashes. I have wondered what became of it for weeks, and now I have found the answer. Despite its dirty appearance, no pages are ripped or burned. All entries are accounted for … aside from the second half of the last. After my lamentation of Blueblood’s attitude, the words are all smudged beyond readability. For the life of me I cannot recall what they are supposed to say. I suppose it is nothing of merit that has been lost, as all of my other records of the path of tyranny are perfectly intact and useful yet.

Now, what has transpired since that last entry? Let me reflect … our resources in Nitroglycercute have begun to deplete themselves. Contrary to my wary doubts, nothing of harm has come of them, but their wanton use has led to further lengthy tunnels in the crystal caves. I should have realized that even a princess of Equestria must practice all things in moderation.

I returned to the Yugoslothvian embassy in hopes of persuading Indola to part with more nitroglycerin, but alas! The building was empty. It appeared to have been swiftly deserted, as miscellaneous articles and belongings lay scattered about without a trace. There was even a broken window in the lobby.

Disturbed, I retreated back to the castle, seeking the time of Sister Dearest for an explanation as to this sudden disappearance. I was forced to wait until lunch, as she was as usual busy with court, but once we settled down to eat she revealed the nature of the mystery’s elusive answer.

There had been a coup in Yugoslothvia just the previous day, she said, involving a sudden uprising of the populace against the dictator Folivus. It was quite an unpleasant affair apparently, for the sloths have not moved about so quickly in centuries, and the resulting explosions caused quite a mess. According to her, it was fortunate that the coup was ultimately successful, as the dictatorship had at last fallen and a tentative democracy was set up in its place.

“But how did such an coup even occur?” I asked in between mouthfuls of pasta. “I am fully aware that change is a certainty, but such a turn of events seems rather sudden. Why, I visited the embassy just three weeks ago, and the government seemed perfectly stable from what I could see!”

“That’s the question,” she said thoughtfully. “It looks like the miners have been unpaid for one hour of labor too many. According to our spies, the whole matter has something to do with the suspicious disappearance of a shipment of nitroglycerin.”

I froze, and the levitating forkful of spaghetti dangled in the air before me. “Is that so?”

“I don’t see why I should doubt it. But why question the specifics? Everything has worked out for the best. With any luck, nitroglycerin will no longer be a mandatory part of a sloth’s diet, and I expect there to be a presidency in place by the end of the week. Sloths can be highly effective bureaucrats, I must admit.” She smiled, and something in that expression seemed to mock me. “The embassy should house sloths again soon enough, Luna. There’s no need to worry.”

“‘No need to worry’?” I repeated incredulously, though of course I did not do so until I had safely sequestered myself in the Bat Cave — I am not an idiot, after all. I paced past Blueblood again as he lay sprawled on his back, sleeping like a seapony and completely oblivious to my ramblings. “There is an entire dictatorship that has crumpled overnight! What country am I supposed to turn to now for support? How is this supposed to affect our morale? What say you to that, Blueblood?”

Blueblood said nothing in reply. I paused in my aimless march, softening slightly in pity. The poor dear had whiled away the night at another charity ball; he claims that those who attend such events are dreadfully dull. The only reason he even bothered to go was for the sake of the orphanage that was receiving the money, which puzzles me greatly. What is the point in sacrificing one’s time for a simple building?

In any case, I decided that there was little use in nagging my sleeping son, so I played with the Nitroglycercute again to calm myself. As stated previously, our amount of remaining paint is dwindling, and before long I will be forced to consider my next invention. I may decide to use baking materials in it, although that may be due to the fact that supper is close at hoof. At times I can scarcely control my appetite. How common of me!

As for other occurrences which have happened in the interim … none in particular spring to mind. Is it not peculiar how so little has taken place whilst my diary’s location remained a mystery? Perhaps the universe smiles on me, though I cannot fully understand what would make this such an auspicious sign. It is something, at least. I shall take comfort from that.

Aha! There is one other instance of note. I have held night court three or four times more since that fateful entry, and few ponies of any kind have appeared. The pony who calls himself Moonshadow made a point of attending every one, though I refused to listen to him slander Sister Dearest’s name further. The idiot takes pleasure in waxing philosophical about my beauty, and tiring of him is an easy feat. I can never remain there longer than half an hour without retreating back to my chambers. Exhaustion still creeps over me at times, I ~~fear~~ love.

But I tread around the real event. One evening, fortunately before Moonshadow’s appearance could sap my patience, a familiar pony arrived in rather less glamorous circumstances than previously. Remembering the newspaper and the Ursa Minor, I took a deep breath and prepared to …

Is that the supper bell? It beckons me with its brazen charms. I shall be off straightaway, for I cannot remember ever being so hungry. Aside from my indiscretion, of course. I set aside this pen, and the tale will have to be told on another day. Adieu, gentle readers!

Entry Twenty-Six

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September 14, 1000 ANM

Ah, to lie in bed in the name of relaxation! I have decided that today is a day of rest, and I shall not squander it slinking about the palace. Blueblood has made no such decision, so I have sent him down to the Bat Cave to determine the proper location for an alligator pit. It will make a nice companion to the reticulated python trap. Of course there is the manner of obtaining these reptiles, but I am certain that such a feat can, within due time, be achieved.

But what is this? It seems I have failed to retell the story of my second encounter with that obnoxious blue unicorn on the previous day. I shall relate it straightaway, detailing from the moment I inhaled sharply to launch my righteous tirade.

“What have you done, peasant?” I snapped. “Is your insistence at excellence enough to blind you to common sense? What is the meaning of challenging Twilight Sparkle? Speak!”

“Trixie didn’t challenge her!” she protested, then paused. “Well, okay, that’s a lie. She … I did. But I didn’t have the chance to humiliate her the way I did with her little friends! And then she showed me up in front of the entire town! She didn’t even bother to let me handle anything, she just shoved me out of the way!”

“Peace,” I said authoritatively, lifting a hoof. “Cease this prattling. I know the nature of what happened on that day. You, in all your boasting, destroyed the patience of Twilight Sparkle, prompting her to take action against you to stop the flow of your arrogance. She thus summoned a beast of the stars, then banished it back to the wilds of Everfree.”

“What?” She frowned and shifted slightly, as if missing the weight of that awful cape and matching hat. “That isn’t how it went at all! She’s insufferable, but she didn’t summon it. It was those two little brats who ruined everything falling over themselves for me, as I rightly require!”

“Indeed? And did it not occur to you that they might be spies, sent by Twilight Sparkle to give her the appearance of innocence? She is a clever pony, far cleverer than you. There is little wonder that you did not piece the puzzle together sooner.”

Her brow furrowed. “That’s … actually a good point,” she conceded. “She and her little dragon slave seemed too eager to leave the Great and Powerful Trixie’s dazzling performance. How dare she! That little witch. I was only trying to ruin her life, and she just turned around and ruined mine without a thought!”

“Of that I have no doubt,” I said, pleased that my impeccable logic had enlightened her so easily. “But enough of the certainties. What is it you wish to speak with me about?”

She composed herself with a huff, lifting her nose in the air in a way that put Blueblood’s similar action to shame. “Ahem. Yes. The Great and Powerful Trixie wishes to speak with Princess Celestia’s little sister. She wishes to become a student of the princess of the night, so she can learn powerful spells to smack Twilight Sparkle from her pedestal. Surely you agree that this is a good idea, right?”

A student? I smiled indulgently. “Trixie Lulamoon,” I told her, “I would not take you for my student if you were the last pony in Equestria.”

Watching her deflate was genuinely entertaining.

“Despite your intentions,” I continued, “your manner of conduct against her, and your failure to initiate relations rationally with the entirety of Ponyville, are shameful at best. You are unworthy of learning my secrets. Where is the responsibility within you? How could you spark a trust? Such a disharmonious soul shall not find a place with me, but beneath me.”

Her face turned an interesting shade of purple. “You’re turning me down?” she snarled, and a faint glow appeared around her horn. “I am the greatest equine who ever lived! Who do you think you are, denying me my proper glory just like that? Are you afraid that I’ll turn on you, the way your sister did? You pathetic princess, I’ll show you what I’m made of, and then you’ll have to accept me! I am the Great and Powerful Trixie!”

That was quite enough. My wings snapped to attention, and the torches on the walls dimmed a little in response. I was mildly pleased with this effect, but my concern was on more important matters. “I am pathetic?” I asked, keeping my voice perfectly even. “And what is it you could bring to me, little pony? Your parlor tricks?”

“They are not parlor tricks!” She really did not know when to let anything be. “They are components of an astounding act, thank you very much! I have hidden depths that you could never begin to dream of! If you would stop and listen to me for a moment, I could tell you of the wondrous adventures I have been on! That would impress you, pretender!”

There was an echoing silence in the throne room. The torches faded a little more. The braggart glanced about at the growing shadows, and a bit of anxiety began to creep over her sneering features.

I stood, and my tail whipped the air forcefully behind me. “Listen to me, peasant. I am Princess Luna Nocturne Cosmos of Equestria, demigoddess of the night. For thousands of years I have watched over the land, witnessing literally everything under the sun. I have outlasted your ancestors, and I will outlast your descendants. All you can do, I have seen better accomplished elsewhere.

“I am she who faced the Witch-king of the North and did not falter. I have faced the Slaver in the Dark with naught but a naked ape for companionship. Tyrants fall before my hoof. The Jester of Madness, the Sorceresses of Equinox, the Apocalypse of Aries, the Violet Ocean: all of these I fought and conquered. I encountered the Deadlights at the Edge of Everything and returned unscathed. I fended off hordes of monsters descending from the stars in the form of bloodthirsty insects and living teeth. I have been granted audience with Iris and Gaia themselves, and am still touched with their harmonious gift. Their presence has not boiled my blood in its veins, nor have they scorched my eyes with their blinding radiance.

“All this have I endured, and more besides. Now think carefully, little pony, and do not give me an answer until you have discovered one that is truly satisfactory: what have you done that can possibly impress me?”

To her credit, the foalish unicorn took a full three seconds to decide to bolt. She whisked herself out of the room in a blur of blue, nearly lighting her tail on fire in her haste to escape.

As she left, I laughed. It was such a glorious thing to put that pony in her place that I could not help but be relieved. My spirits also found themselves lifted at reminding myself of my marvelous accomplishments, though admittedly I had done most of the ones mentioned with Sister Dearest. Still, there are more tales to be told than those. There are also the matters of my prowess in battle, my beautiful tapestry of the night, and my exemplary modesty. I shall have to peruse the library at some point to find assurance that my stories have been sufficiently told.

On retreating from the throne room I noticed that the guards on duty appeared shaken. What their concern could possibly be was a mystery, though I did not pursue it. If it was important enough for me to be aware of, then they would have made an effort to tell me.

Oh, the very retelling of this encounter has amused me so! I believe I shall have pleasant dreams tonight. In the morning I will undoubtedly rise unimpeded, having forgotten them completely, but I shall live in the moment. Perhaps visions of my exploits will come to me, granting me a time of nostalgia in this softer age.

Entry Twenty-Seven

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September 15, 1000 ANM

As of six hours ago I have found myself in a peculiar quandary. I was strolling about the palace in my usual regal manner, wondering what uses I could put to the last of the Nitroglycercute. It has been an amusing yet admittedly dangerous pastime to smear it against every surface that can afford to be destroyed. Perhaps I shall save it for an emergency? I am certain that there is no situation that cannot be rectified with the liberal application of explosive substances. Sister Dearest may say otherwise, but there are points at which subtlety must be abandoned with the utmost speed.

What was I writing of? Yes, the quandary. It began as I was considering the Nitroglycercute problem, at which point I took a wrong turn and found myself in an extraordinarily clean hall. The floor was polished, the carpet fluffed, the portraits scrubbed, the windows glinting clearly. Yet in complete contrast there stood buckets of soapy water scattered here and there, with their monotony broken by exhausted mops protruding from their bubble-strewn depths. My astonishment was almost as palpable as the stench of cleaning fluid that permeated the air. Previous excursions through the palace had yielded satisfactory but unremarkable levels of cleanliness, with no evidence of the instruments which bring about this change. What could have wrought this sudden change?

A tinkling of crystal directed me to my answer. At the center of the hall wobbled a ladder that stretched clear to the ceiling arching high above, and upon that point a pony balanced delicately as she tended to an impressive chandelier. I approached with hesitance, surprised and puzzled at the mystery. Are the servants no longer required to be invisible in their helpful pursuits? I had seen some over the previous weeks, certainly, but their numbers were easily drowned by the flocks of courtiers and commoners vying for the attention of Sister Dearest.

“Pardon me, peasant,” I called, taking care not to startle her into parting with her precarious perch. “It appears that you have made an utter mess with your implements of the sanitary. Could you perchance enlighten me regarding the nature of this paradox?”

I watched as the reddish-pink pony peered down at me, and the angle of her head revealed a horn that protruded from her brown locks. “Good morning, your majesty,” she replied in an easy, sleepy manner I did not much like. “Well, it might be hard to tell at the moment from way down there, but I guess I could tell you that I’m cleaning this chandelier.”

“I am thrilled to have gotten that parcel of information cleared up,” I said wryly. “But what is the purpose of these pails? Is it truly wise to have all of this lying about where somepony could easily stumble upon them? Surely it is not part of the standard to which the palace is raised.”

“Sure, your majesty,” she drawled. “You see, usually I get areas like this done within ten minutes, but the usual time couldn’t cut it today because I saw the ceiling and I thought, ‘Gee, if I were the ceiling, I sure would like to be clean.’ So here I am.”

“I can assure you the ceiling does not much care one way or the other. What is your name, peasant?”

“I’m Micah,” was her response, “Micah Jayfill. And you’re Princess Luna. Have I ever told you I like your stars? Because I do, they’re pretty nifty. Sometimes I wonder what they are.”

“I am pleased to hear such news. Thank you, Micah Jayfill.” Yet my eyes narrowed in thin suspicion. “I trust you are not related to a pony called Moonshadow?”

She scratched her head, which temporarily forced her to stand on the top rung with merely her hindlegs. “Moonshadow? Isn’t he the guy from, uh, We Three Queens?”

“Pray explain yourself, peasant.”

“Oh, that’s right. Well, you see, not too long ago movies were invented. They’re like pictures, except they move and sometimes you can get really involved in deep and meaningful storylines. Other times you just get kind of annoyed because you can see the strings, and the actors don’t even know what’s going on.”

I frowned. “I have never heard of these ‘movies’ … what an uncouth name for them. Is there no alternative?”

“They’re also called films.”

“Now that name I much prefer. At some point you shall have to inform me more about these films, Micah Jayfill, lest I fail to discover their nature on my own. In the meantime I shall leave you to your business. Fare thee well.” And with that, I turned to leave.

“Okay! Well, uh, let me know if you ever want me to clean your room or your cave or something.”

“Thank you, I will. Have an excellent day—”

I blinked. Her words, which had not quite registered straightaway, helpfully swerved back around and lodged themselves in my keen brain. My ears pinned back, I looked up again at the peculiar unicorn, who was once again busying herself with the chandelier. How could this be possible? I had taken the utmost care with secrecy, and yet this upstart could so casually toss about such information like breadcrumbs?

“Pardon me,” I said carefully, “but what did you say?”

“Hm?” She peered down again, and I ~~feared~~ loved for her life as the ladder wobbled slightly. “If you want me to clean your room, I said.”

“No, not the room, the cave.”

“Sounds good. Do you have any time you’d prefer the job for?”

“No. No. How do you know of the Bat Cave’s existence?”

“Oh, that. I just kinda noticed it was there; it’s not exactly hard to figure out where secret rooms and compartments are if you’re cleaning up the place. Why, is it supposed to be a secret?”

“Yes,” I said bluntly. “It is … a surprise.”

She rubbed her chin, then shrugged. “That’s fair enough. All right, my lips are sealed.”

What am I supposed to do? She may or may not be honest, but in either case the common pony is prone to mistakes. I cannot afford to have a security risk wandering about the palace. Suppose Sister Dearest discovered my clandestine plans? No, Micah Jayfill must be dealt with, one way or another.

It may help to consult Blueblood about the matter. For unfathomable reasons he has made enemies amongst the ponies, yet his reputation is untarnished. He surely knows how to deal with difficulties such as this. Yes, on the morrow I shall ask him for advice. In the meantime I should mull over the issue further, in case there is some detail that escapes me. Not in a thousand years have I been required to deal with this type of problem, and it requires careful thought and attention.

This is one of the few drawbacks to being an empress. I will have to make difficult decisions that will ultimately please nopony. On the other hoof, it also allows me to make easy decisions, so everything balances out. I shall take it like a mare and press on!

Entry Twenty-Eight

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September 17, 1000 ANM

The solution to the Micah Jayfill problem was … unorthodox. It was Blueblood’s idea, though of course it required my approval first. It involved the last of the Nitroglycercute, a large pet project of Blueblood’s which would properly be called a satellite yet he has dubbed an asteroid, and a conveniently large parade bustling down the cheering streets of Canterlot.

We stared up through the hole in the cave’s ceiling, watching the Asteroid of Friendship shrink to nothing in the bright blue sky. I have little worry that anypony has noticed it; Sister Dearest has assured me that fireworks are still a commodity in this day and age, and I am reasonably certain that the blast of its takeoff was masked by the unrelenting cacophony of more colorful explosions. Yes, there is nothing at all to worry about. The odds of another pony noticing such an event as this are miniscule.

“I trust you supplied the asteroid with canned goods?” I asked without looking at him, almost as an afterthought.

The wonders of modern science have permitted certain foods the ability to be stored within cylinders of metal for indiscriminate periods of time, and I have taken to stocking the Bat Cave with scores of cans containing something called ravioli. This, together with dozens of packages of a wavy hay-like substance known as ramen, shall provide us with adequate sustenance in the unlikely event that our plans fall down around our ears. It is possible that at some point in the future, food sellers will dare to deny their rightful empress of partaking in their wares, so I am taking initiative of the situation before it happens. Am I not wondrous in my foresight? Such wisdom impresses even me!

What was I writing of? The banishment of Micah Jayfill, yes. How could I forget? Sister Dearest has suggested that I should attend a class to improve my focus, but such a thing is unnecessary. My noble aim of subduing Canterlot to my whims claims my thoughts without effort. An anonymous notice taped to my door may have supported Sister Dearest’s claim, along with a note which states that I have “add,” whatever that may be; yet there is no doubt that I am not afflicted with add. And even if I were, I would take pleasure in the fact that I have not succumbed to the torments of subtract.

“Indeed, Mother,” Blueblood replied to my illustrious question. (Take note, Sister Dearest! I am indeed capable of keeping my attention on something for more than five seconds! When I am empress, I will gloat in your face about my astounding ability to keep my mind on the task at hoof.)

“Excellent,” I said. “She may be bothersome, but I do not wish her to starve. Let her spend the rest of her days in the vastness of our orbit, dining on naught but eternal pasta for the rest of her days. She shall never see another equine face as long as she lives!” And with that I chuckled, for it had been a long day and my bed had long since been calling my name.

“Actually,” my pompous son pronounced, “I added in some video communication so we can contact her, if we wish. This monitor will show us everything she’s doing, and there’s a similar monitor in the asteroid so she can see us in return.” He gestured to a large screen that had been mysteriously been placed on the crystal-studded wall of the cave, which displayed that obnoxious unicorn standing behind a chest-high counter. She was eating a sandwich, which puzzles me now that I dwell on it. I do not remember witnessing her retrieve such a confection when we first lured her down into the Bat Cave. I suppose she slipped it into a pocket of the jumpsuit we equipped her with. It looks hideous, but that is what she deserves, so there is no mercy on my part. I shall take pleasure in her humiliation.

What was I saying? Ah, yes, the Bat Cave. I questioned him as to how he could manage to construct such a metallic monstrosity without my noticing, for I pride myself on my powers of observation.

“Grooming myself is my life’s work,” he replied, “but at times the stress it brings me must be relieved. That’s why I sometimes dabble in technology — it’s a way to relax, you know. Anyway, that’s not the problem, is it? With this video feed, we can view her and she can in turn view us, permitting communication with the first manned mission into the cosmos!”

I blinked at Blueblood’s statement, considering how this might affect our schemes. “Yes,” I finally said, unsure as to what I was agreeing with. “I suppose we may remain in contact with her. Perhaps she can be an experiment of ours! We can monitor how her sanity erodes over the course of the next few years, and in return she can witness how we conquer the proud metropolis of Canterlot! Such is the nature of fair exchange!”

“Mother, I’m not sure that’s how experiments work.”

“Hush, Blueblood. It is genius! I cannot fathom how such an endeavour could possibly go wrong. In any case, this has been an interesting day. I shall now retreat to supper, where I shall put on a face of the utmost innocence. Sister Dearest will be none the wiser for it.” And I laughed, this time because I enjoyed the prospect of dining on fine vegetables with a new victory under my belt.

“That sounds like a fine plan. But … perhaps we should patch this hole first?”

I scrutinized the vertical tunnel that stretched from our glorious caverns to the ignorant outside. “It seems that this portion of our plan may have benefited from additional forethought. Well, not to worry. We can force Micah Jayfill to mend the damage for us.”

“That’s not possible,” he said kindly. “She is in space.”

“Ah.” I deflated slightly. “In my victory, I seem to have forgotten that slight detail. No matter. If we are swift, we may be able to make repairs in due time.”

We rushed from our Bat Cave, out through the throne room and up a set of winding stairs. The concept was clear: with meticulous effort, we could likely gather every last particle of the Bat Cave’s ceiling and slip them into their rightful places, where they would hopefully remain without crumbling at the slightest pressure.

So one can imagine our ~~fear~~ love when we encountered none other than Sister Dearest in the affected room, craning her neck upwards to examine the path of our destruction. She greeted us with a smile, which only made the situation worse. For a moment I wished to beg her pardon, plead her mercy. It was only the steel resolve of my empress material that allowed me to stand firm in the face of the sun.

“Luna!” she exclaimed, embracing me in the shadow of a broad white wing. “I’m glad to see you’re all right. Apparently one of the fireworks ripped this hole in the palace, and when the Royal Guard notified me I came here right away. It seems lucky that nopony was hurt.” She blinked. “You are fine, aren’t you?”

“I am, dear sister,” I replied, relaxing. “I was passing the time in my chambers when I heard the noise and came to investigate. However, it seems that you have the situation well in hoof.”

“The repairponies are on their way as I speak,” she confirmed. Then she turned her gaze to the hole in the floor, and she looked mildly concerned. “I hope nopony falls into this dreadful hole before we can fix everything. If we can patch it up in due time, I’m sure that nopony will even realize it was there in the first place.”

“I hope so,” I said honestly.

“That was a close shave,” Blueblood breathed once we were out of earshot. “Maybe we should avoid making more Nitroglycercute for the time being.”

“I suppose so,” was my response. “After all, it is not as if the sloths’ political situation would permit more clandestine nitroglycerin shipments in the foreseeable future. But that is no reason for distress, for I am sure that even more explosive materials can be easily obtained with little to no hassle!”

He looked positively sick with glee at the prospect. Then again, that might have been simple nausea, though from what I cannot guess.

“It is fortunate that Sister Dearest has failed to notice the Bat Cave beneath her very hooves,” I continued. “She never did have my powers of observation. However, it might be wise to oversee reconstruction and avoid reentering the Bat Cave until said reconstruction is complete. We do not wish to draw attention to our schemes, do we?”

“Of course not.”

I predict an uneventful week or so to dull my senses to my usual machinations. At the very least my duties as hopeful conqueror are only temporarily suspended. In the meantime, perhaps I shall catch up on sleep. The world of dreams is calling me.

Entry Twenty-Nine

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September 20, 1000 ANM

In the previous entry, I stated that “the world of dreams was calling me.” Evidently I have achieved a level of foresight that borders on the prophetic. In truth, over the course of the night before this, I dreamed a terrible and wonderful dream. At the least, I suppose it could be called a dream to mortals, who have never quite understood the difference between what is imaginable and what could be real.

I stood there in the midst of the Dreamscape. It is, under ordinary circumstances, a marvelous place; but it was clear that it had fallen into disrepair over the course of a thousand years. Where once there stood a rippling globe of a substance like diamond, there was now naught but a landscape of jagged shards like glass. Where the sky met the fog I could not tell, for both were an impenetrable black haze that shimmered faintly with an eldritch glow whose source I could not determine. Not a hint of a star or a planet could be seen hanging overhead.

In all, it was not a sense of desolation that I was entirely unfamiliar with. While attempting to gauge my surroundings, I began to wonder. How could this once lovely place have fallen so far from its lofty status? Once this was a place of beauty and wonder. Then I remembered that once, in desperation, I had turned to a demon for guidance, which may not have been entirely beneficial to the power the Dreamscape runs on. Well, such foalishness is something of the past. Perhaps, now that I have been freed from my curse, I may heal this land of the lunacy that has broken it? I suppose only time will tell.

I took a tentative step, then another, and another still, and each time there was a crunch of shards beneath my hoof. Such was the only noise I could hear; aside from that, utter silence reigned. Yet there was a hint of voices echoing in the back of my mind, emanating from the silence like a chorus of lost souls that sought to play havoc on my own. When I strained to concentrate, I thought I could hear them cry, “Save us!”

And I whispered, “No.” For I would not risk myself on the chance that one of these might be a truly damned dreamer; such was the nature of how I first encountered the Nightmare. I shall repair my mistakes in their own due time, and all shall praise me for it.

I am not certain how much time I spent walking. Time in the Dreamscape is a strange thing, dilating and contracting like the pupil of the universe. It may have been days; it may have been seconds. And of course, considering how long it had been in the physical world paved the path to madness. In any case, eventually I came across a Dream.

There was little to forewarn me of his coming. He simply swooped out of the fog, and for the first time in a millennium I viewed his form. Dreams, of course, are as liquid in nature as the land they dwell in was before my indiscretion, and this one appeared to me as an ice-blue phoenix. With a flurry of feathers he descended to perch upon my horn, which I reacted to with considerable amusement. How he could sit there comfortably was a mystery for time itself to unravel, but if it pleased him, I would let the matter be.

“Princess,” he croaked. “It has been literal ages since you last arrived.”

“What an astute observation. There is little telling what I would do without your worthy information. But tell me, my good Dream, how may I save this land from itself? I wish to atone for my errors, and this appears to be a worthy cause indeed.”

“I am afraid that there is no solution,” he said gravely. “Nightmare Moon shaped the Dreamscape into her own image. We do what we can to shield the ponies from the horrors she has wrought, but I fear our power is insufficient.”

I twitched at this news. Nevertheless, I replied, “Such is a worthy goal. I wish to thank you and your brethren for your selfless service in these matters.”

He shook his head. “It is rather unlikely that the other Dreams are as pleased you have come as I am. Some of them have … suffered, to put it lightly. Still, I can direct you to the Matriarch, if you like.”

“I would,” I agreed. “I shall take the utmost care. Present me to your Matriarch.”

With a nod, he gestured forward with a fluffy wing, and I stepped out into the fog.

The Dreamscape twisted, and for a moment I was falling without moving. Then the world righted itself, and I stood in a place where the fog had cleared enough for me to see a monstrous throne made of broken glass. There lay reclining on it a worm-like creature, sickly white in color, grotesque in her enormity, bearing a thousand claws and a terrible stinger. Her head was shaped vaguely like that of a unicorn, though it bore no mane. She scrutinized me with eight shining eyes, and upon my approach she straightened herself with an unreadable expression.

“Princess Luna,” she said in a rasping voice. “I am Evral, Matriarch of the Dreams. Why have you trespassed upon the land which you destroyed?”

“One cannot be blamed for incidents in which one did not possess full faculties,” I replied, trying not to stare into that hypnotic gaze. “You know there are monsters lurking in the Dreamscape which even we cannot fathom. Allow me to rectify my mistake.”

“But you consented to the union with the Nightmare, didn’t you?” Her pincers clicked as she spoke, and the sound bounced against the broken glass in ringing echoes. “No, Luna. I cannot risk the well-being of my Dreams on a figurehead who will allow demons to wield tyranny like a sword.”

I bit my lip, but my reply on the genuine nature of tyranny was cut off before I could begin.

“If I could object, my Matriarch,” said the Dream upon my horn, spreading his wings in an elaborate bow. “Her first — no, her only concern is the welfare of the Dreamscape and its inhabitants. She expressed quite plainly her desire to set right what once went wrong. If you might allow a humble Dream such as myself to speak, I believe we should give her a chance.”

“Be that as it may,” the Matriarch said sternly, “I can hold no love for the Scourge of the Dreamscape. Depart now, Luna, before my patience dies. That is all I can allow, considering the terrible fate of millions of my subjects at your bloody hooves.”

“I am not Nightmare Moon,” I said firmly, drawing myself as tall as I could allow. “Her madness was mine, but not what passes for her soul. Nor am I entirely to blame for this apocalyptic waste. My sins extend to an overzealousness for glory. Nevertheless, I am willing to rebuild what remains into its former glory, that the Dreams may—”

“Your selfishness has destroyed everything!” Suddenly she was leaning down, close enough for spittle to splatter against my face and for the shine of teeth to blind me. “The subjects I love, the land I love … everything I have ever loved is ruined, thanks to you! I hope you enjoy the world of waking, you mewling quim, for you are no longer welcome in the Dreamscape! If I ever see you again, I will plant your still-screaming head on a spike and devour it so that you will spend your next millennium begging for death as I digest you! Now begone!”

And with a threatening gesture of her limbs, she sent the Dreamscape shrinking to a pinpoint before me, and I woke up.

How inconsiderate of that Evral creature! To think that she would refuse my help because a slight confidence problem on my part that spun out of control. I have grown past the mare I once was, despite my reduced stature. How dare that Matriarch make threats in response to my offers to assist her!

I must ponder on the matter further. I will, of course, return to the Dreamscape in an effort to extend my help again, but my next excursion will require careful planning before I can attempt it. Evral is vengeful, to say the least; I believe that the sympathetic Dream who spoke in my defense was obliterated in my untimely departure, which makes me question the sincerity of her protective nature. How shall I outsmart this imbecilic insect? I shall have to ask Blueblood’s advice on which course of action I shall take.

Entry Thirty

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September 21, 1000 ANM

Obviously I needed to request Blueblood’s advice as to this Evral fiasco. Surely, I reasoned, a thousand years of embarking on political quests would have sharpened his mind regarding such things. However, he seemed less than interested when I brought the matter up this afternoon in the Bat Cave, instead preferring to tinker about with his little metal toys.

“They aren’t ‘little metal toys,’ Mother,” he said patiently, fiddling around with the innards of a large blocky monstrosity by means of a long thin implement. I am certain he has tried to tell me what they are called, but I cannot remember those names even for my own sake. “This is the monitor I was telling you about; we will be able to communicate with Micah Jayfill even though she’s thousands of miles away. Or did you forget about her already?”

“Of course not,” I lied. “I shall take pleasure in watching her squirm.”

“Would you mind refreshing my memory regarding exactly how we’re supposed to make her squirm?”

“In truth, I have not entirely fleshed out all of the details. I will freely admit that. But do we not have all the time in the world to determine the perfect method? And that is assuming she does not go mad in the midst of her eternal feast of ravioli, of course.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see soon enough.” He screwed the last panel shut, then flipped a switch that sent the screen buzzing with static. “Do you want to talk with her first, or would you prefer that I do so?”

“I shall be in charge, of course,” I said proudly, and with shining blue hooves displaced him with an eagerness only matched by a foal stranded in a land of sweetmeats. I tapped the side of the monitor (aha, my memory over the elusive name triumphs!) and hemmed and hawed imperiously, pointing my nose towards the ceiling. “Micah Jayfill, if you are capable of seeing or hearing us — or seeing and hearing us, in case you have a habit of spinning webs of literalism with the words of others — I command you to respond in whatever way you see fit!” After a moment of thought, I added, “But it must be within reason, as should be plain to even you!”

The static dispersed, permitting an inside view of the Asteroid of Friendship. Aside from a barrel-high counter which stood before a hexagonal door that stretched nearly to the ceiling, there was nothing of note. I supposed she might have been asleep.

“Tell me, Blueblood,” I said, waiting as no unicorn came forth, “what manner of horrors lies behind that door?”

“A long hallway leading to misery and suffering,” he replied in satisfaction.

“While I approve of your ideas,” I told him, “it would make everything much simpler if you would actually reveal to me what those ideas were, particularly in terms that are not frustratingly vague. I really must speak with Sister Dearest about you sometime.”

He appeared affronted. “Now, really, Mother, I should think that—”

“Hello!” Suddenly, a golden spider-duck appeared on the screen.

My reaction was, of course, completely justifiable. I would ask you, dear reader of my future tyrannical regime, how you would respond to seeing such a monstrosity manifest itself without a hint or a warning. Presumably you would do something far less dignified than shriek at the top of your lungs, magically wielding a jagged shard of crystal in hopes of impaling the beast and straining against your son’s frantically resisting hooves in your efforts to do so. Admittedly, I cannot invent an example of such behavior offhoof, but I am certain that the common pony could easily discover a method of doing so.

Two hours and seventeen craters later, Blueblood had finally assured me that there was, in fact, absolutely no chance of the gilded demon emerging through the screen to devour me with its terrible claws. Now willing to reason with such an abomination, I could see that it looked vaguely like a pony, or at least like a pony that had been described to a foal of five years who has a tendency towards exaggeration and machinery. Try as I might, however, I could not comprehend what purpose its net-like mane could possibly serve. Perhaps it used that to catch birds, in much the same way that a flytrap catches flies. The comparison is imperfect, but it serves its purpose and I shall not apologize for it.

As I examined it warily, the spider-duck tilted its head to the side. “Are you done?”

“It speaks!” My ears flattened against my head. “It dares to besmirch my good status with its very presence! Tell me, foul creature, what has become of the unicorn Micah Jayfill, lest I come and smite your asteroid with a curse!”

“Oh yeah, her. She was, uh, asleep. Yep. Completely and totally asleep, nothing to do with cheese whiz whatsoever. Sleeping like a filly. Speaking of which, I really gotta see if there’s any more deliciousness stocked up anywhere. Heh, I’m feeling like I’m part Ursa, which I guess I could see thanks to my intimidating and chiseled features …”

As the golden beast chattered to itself, I leaned surreptitiously towards Blueblood. “What is this ‘cheese whiz’ it speaks of, pray tell?”

“It is everything wrong with the common pony, all compressed into a can,” he said. “But I think it’s more important to consider just how such common fare managed to make its way into our little asteroid. It might be a good idea to treat this whole matter with caution.”

A pony’s head popped into view on the screen. From horn to hair, all was splattered with orange goop. Bizarrely, she looked largely unfazed by this. “Hi, Princess Luna,” she said in her usual sleepy manner, levitating a cloth over to wipe herself clean. “Hi, Tightey Whitey. I see you’ve met my new friend, Raven T. Automaton.”

“How unusual,” I murmured, choosing to ignore Blueblood as he spluttered in indignation at the demeaning nickname. “Is your unorthodox new comrade’s name a way of telling me that it is, in fact, a mechanized construct capable of thinking that it thinks and feels like a pony?”

“Hey, now wait a minute!” Raven cut in. “‘It’? I happen to be one hundred percent female, lady! If you think I’m just like a wall or a stupid rock or something, you’ll have another thing coming!” It puffed up its chest indignantly, an action which was certainly not impressive.

“You are not biological,” I told it (her?) with infinite patience. “Therefore, you cannot be female.”

“Now, look here, you—”

“Furthermore, you are entirely incapable of bearing a soul, so I cannot fathom why I am even talking with you. I do not pretend to understand how automatons function, especially in this new age, but it seems intuitive that all of your responses are carefully programmed to match my own words.”

“That’s a load of crap!” She was silent for a moment. Then she turned to Micah Jayfill. “... I-isn’t it?”

“Well,” that pony replied, “I guess there are kinda a lot of debates about the subject … But you’ll have a soul to me!” she added quickly, noticing the automaton’s eyes welling up with tears. “I mean, you have favorite songs, and least favorite politicians, and all kinds of preferences. You don’t pick those kinds of things randomly.”

At that moment, another automaton leaned into view. It was a squat red construct, bearing a transparent head and sipping at a beverage in hooves that appeared barely functional. “Is Raven crying again?” it asked, in a voice that hinted mild sadistic interest.

“No,” snapped the spider-duck, though she leaned into Micah Jayfill for comfort.

“Huh. Well, let me know when you do; I want to watch.” The unknown automaton seemed to notice us noticing it then, for it added, “Well, hey there! You two sure seem like a couple of trustworthy guys. I’m Gem Torque, but my friends call me Torque usually, and—”

“You don’t have any friends,” Raven mumbled.

Torque scoffed at this. “I’ll have you know that I have contacts across the entire planet, thanks to my new networking scheme. I could have you spirited away off to Sibearia within the hour.”

“What does this one speak of?” I demanded. “Blueblood, how many communications devices did we install within this asteroid?”

“Just this one,” he said, unnerved. “And I did go out of my way to make sure it couldn’t be reverse engineered. It’s troubling, to say the least.”

Micah Jayfill looked highly uncomfortable. “I’ve figured out that it’s usually best not to think about these kinds of things.”

“But you created automatons!” My protest did not seem to incite anypony to active discussion, much to my displeasure. “How could you accomplish such a feat in so little time? With magic? Ravioli? Then again, perhaps I do not wish to know. How many more of these monstrosities do you have?”

“Just Jester,” she said, gesturing in a direction offscreen. “He’s outside making some routine repairs.”

“Routine repairs,” I repeated flatly.

“Uh, yep.”

“A matter of mere days has transpired.”

“Sure seems like it.”

I buried my poor face in a sleek blue hoof. “Woe is me,” I lamented, “for I have stared into a form of madness that not even the twisted realms of the Dreamscape can comprehend. Such thoughtless staring will lead to my humiliation and despair.”

“Too bad,” she said, looking sleepily mischievous. “I could have warned you about stares.”

I did not dignify that inanity with a reply. “Blueblood,” I said wearily, “enough is enough. We must torture them. It is for the good of ponykind that neither hide nor hair of these imbeciles is seen or heard. Do you have a suggestion?”

He leered at the motley collection of prisoners. “I could increase the feedback enough that the ventilation cuts out, which would short out their oxygen supply. They would probably last a couple of days.”

“I applaud you for your ingenuity,” I said, and then clopped my hooves against the ground to show that I did, in fact, applaud him. “Yet I would prefer a method that is … less messy. I fear that — I love that it would result in a somber tomb orbiting Equestria, and I would prefer that the tombs I leave in my wake be cheerful constructs.”

“Fair enough.” He considered this for a moment. Then he grinned. It was not a grin that improved his features. “Didn’t you say this peasant liked movies?”

“You refer to films? Yes, she did mention that bit of trivia.”

“Let’s send her some of them,” he said with a thoughtful laugh, and I felt a burst of pride in his willingness to afflict others with what they have earned. “There’s one in particular that springs to mind. Confections.”

“Your suggestion sounds like a sickeningly tame idea.” I scoffed, but then noticed Micah Jayfill as she gaped at us in horror. “That said, it would probably not be harmful to execute it.”

With that declaration said, we sent them the film, which they have viewed in the torture chamber beyond the door. I have not seen their reactions to it at present, for it is apparently seven hours long and not improved by breaking the viewing into sections. Still, I look forward to their reactions on the morrow. I am certain that this innovative and completely original method of torment will prove to Micah Jayfill once and for all that I, Princess Luna Nocturne Cosmos, shall permit no mercy upon those who dare to defy my rightful regime! Let her suffer together with her little automatons. She shall rue the day she acknowledged the existence of my proud Bat Cave!

… But I must not forget that Evral still lingers in the Dreamscape. If she refuses to accept my gracious assistance, I shall devise a suitable punishment for her as well. In addition, I do not wish to be painfully digested within her bloated gut over the course of a thousand years. But enough talk! Supper mocks me with its delectable scents. I have certainly generated a sizable appetite.

Entry Thirty-One

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September 22, 1000 ANM

The film was a success! When I entered the Bat Cave this morning, I was greeted with the sight of Micah Jayfill and her little friends sobbing at what must have been the sheer awfulness of the film. While part of me felt a twinge of regret at their utter agony, it was eclipsed by the satisfaction in seeing them receive what they deserve. That should teach that little peasant not to threaten me with exposing my secrets!

Although she does continue to baffle and bemuse me. Especially considering that she made another cryptic remark about how she was warning me regarding the perils of staring. If I never understand that mare, it will be too soon.

But enough of that. I encountered Mi Amore Cadenza today, which came to me as a surprise. In all the excitement of Trixie Lulamoon and Micah Jayfill, I had nearly forgotten that she existed. I suppose such is what happens when you are destined to be a pretty pink pony princess for all eternity. What can she hope to accomplish in the shadow of Sister Dearest? For that matter, what can anypony hope to accomplish in such circumstances?

“You seem upset,” I commented as she approached. And indeed she was. I find it easy to believe that her mood vacillates solely between cheery and frustrated.

“Really?” she growled. “What gave it away?”

“Is this about the Asteroid of Friendship? I am uncertain as to how you could have discovered it, but I suppose the spectacle left in its wake would have attracted somepony’s attention.”

“Actually, I found out that somepony switched my mouthwash with hot sauce. Now my room is on fire.” She winced at some memory. Then her thoughts caught up to her, and she frowned. “What’s this about an asteroid of friendship?”

“It is glorious!” I cried. “A suitable means of punishment. Truly I have outdone myself. I am tempted to call it my latest invention, though doing so would deny Blueblood the credit for all the effort he has put into the project. Still, as it was a joint effort, to deny my own contributions to its creation would be blasphemy.”

“That’s nice,” she said, “but that doesn’t exactly tell me what it is.”

In my infinite benevolence, I suffered myself to explain it to her. “It is a vehicle designed for carrying passengers in the vast emptiness of the cosmos, with naught but a tenuous connection to our secret hideaway to distract them from that black yawning gulf. Recently we have decided that its occupants should be bombarded with despicable films. All of this is in the name of poetic justice, as I am sure you can appreciate.”

“Are you saying that you shot some poor ponies into space?”

“Technically it was only one pony, though she has since designed a trio of dreadful companions. Ah, Mi Amore Cadenza, it is fortunate that you did not meet her. Her sense of humor nauseates me. Why does she insist on warning me about stares? It is not as if I am destined to go blind.”

“You can’t just do that!” she blurted. “What about her family? What about her friends and her job? She had a life, and now she’s doomed to go around flying in your comet of catastrophe or something. Did you ever consider what might happen to the ponies who know her if she’s exiled and never returns?”

“In truth, that seems unnecessary,” I reasoned. “She was only a janitor, and not a particularly notable one either. Her absence will go unheeded in the grand scheme of things.”

“So she’s an everymare, then.” That pink princess bristled. “And what does that say about the average pony in your eyes, hm? Just a toy for you to toss out when it’s not fun to play with it anymore? I guess you really are a tyrant in the making.”

I beamed. “Why, thank you! That is just what I need to improve my day. You can be a godsend at times, Mi Amore Cadenza.”

The groan she released confused me, but we were both able to put that aside. “I can’t believe you. Anyway, Mom asked me to ask you if you’d be willing to celebrate the Equinox this evening.”

“The Autumnal Equinox?” I asked, and then I mentally berated myself for implying that the Vernal Equinox could possibly take place in September. “I suppose I may. What manner of festivities are planned to occur?”

“Well, the same ones as usual,” she replied, looking mildly confused.

“Ah, yes,” I said. “I can see how you could make the mistake of assuming that everypony has remained on the planet for their entire lives and therefore is well aware of modern traditions.”

She winced. I cannot fathom why. What difficulty is there in understanding that I was helping her in clarifying why her logic functions in a certain way? There are some ponies I will simply never understand.

“I suppose I might deign to observe some of these festivities,” I mused, pointedly ignoring her inexplicable discomfort. “Where will they take place?”

“Oh, everywhere, I guess. There’s a parade marching through Canterlot in half an hour, and afterwards there’ll be a reenactment of your and Mom’s ascension … they’re celebrating the fact that this is one of two nights of the year when the day and night are the same length. Ponies have really warmed up to the night over the last thousand years.”

“As well they should!” I crowed. “It is only during the night that they can witness my full glory. I may not be zealous in my desire to keep all of ponykind awake during the nocturnal hours as I once was, but night is still an excellent time, and I am pleased that Equestria has opened its eyes to that beautiful truth.”

“Of course,” she said carefully. “And I think afterwards there will be staring contests with Mom. It’s a bit of a silly tradition, and nopony’s ever won against her, but it’s still … wait, where are you going?”

“To my chambers, of course,” I called back. “I have just realized that I shall not attend after all.”

“What? Why not?” The clack of her hooves alerted me to her attempts to catch up. “Because of staring?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “You likely are unaware of this, Mi Amore Cadenza, but a few centuries not long after our ascension, Sister Dearest and I engaged in a particular activity, which I am certain you can guess at. Our contest lasted far longer than either of us had intended, for hours passed into days and weeks and months without a single blink on my part or hers. I stared deep into her soul, and she deep into mine, and what I saw occupied all my thoughts during that time.”

Mi Amore Cadenza looked wary. “I don’t know if I should be asking this, but … what did you see?”

“I saw the sun, my niece. You cannot possibly know the roaring intensity of that sphere of flame, not so long as you stand safe on solid ground as you have lived your whole life. The sun is large enough to swallow all other celestial bodies whole, with room to spare. And in her eyes, I saw every nuance of effort she spent in keeping it a precise distance from the planet. Every day she pushes its unknowable weight across the vast reaches of space, inching it closer or farther depending on the season. It became apparent to me that extreme might is required to keep that hellish ball on course, and that a single misstep in raising or lowering it could catapult our entire world screaming into that fiery abyss.”

She swallowed. “So you wanted to stop the sun from moving, to prevent that.”

“Indeed. It was that contest that opened my eyes, if you will pardon the pun. My greatest fear … my greatest love is that she will fail in her eternal duties. It would only be for a second, but that would be a fatal second. If she simply kept the sun still, preferably where nopony could see it and be afraid, all would be well. But in her pride she refuses to hide it away. I considered this long after our contest had ended, and brooded on it long.”

She was silent for a moment, soaking in the weight of my words. Then she cleared her throat, taking care to say what she meant to say. “I can … sort of understand that. It doesn’t excuse your megalomania, but seeing how we’re all in such danger every day, I get that it’s justified. In a weird, twisted way.”

“Thank you,” I said uncertainly. “Thus, I shall not celebrate the Equinox at this time, despite my genuine appreciation at the common pony’s … appreciation. That Sister Dearest can degrade our sacred experience by offering its faintest shadow for the common pony to partake in … ah, her lack of respect sickens me. I do love her, doubt that not, but she can be such a fool. That event was not meant to come full circle and become once again a silly game.”

“But … Auntie Luna?”

“What is it?”

“What did she see in your eyes?”

I made no response, but approached my chambers without looking at her. She stayed behind as the doors swung behind me with a sense of finality. It was several minutes before I could hear the telltale clip-clop of her hooves as she retraced her steps.

I have not seen her since. I assume she has attended the celebrations, though I do hope she will see the mockery of the contest in a new light. Her last question still haunts me, and even now, in the darkness lit only by the sweet glow of the moon, I can only see her piercing eyes, searching mine for answers hidden away in the shadowy recesses in my mind.

Ah, this entry has gone in entirely different direction from what was intended. I did not mean to linger on that unsettling encounter! I shall do my best to forget it directly, and reenter the Dreamscape for a time. Its broken components must still be fixed, regardless of whether its Matriarch wishes to digest my head. I shall press on!

Entry Thirty-Two

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September 25, 1000 ANM

I have made a breakthrough. I reentered the Dreamscape upon falling into slumber, and immediately began to ponder on what I could do to improve that miserable place. I did this while marching across the shattered landscape, for undoubtedly it would be more difficult for Evral to discover my precise location if I were constantly on the move.

With every step there was an unpleasant crunch, but I did not allow this fact to deter me. I had created this mess, and I would be sure to fix it somehow, regardless of how often the very space around me was stuffed with reminders of how I had ruined it through my little error.

Having lost all sense of direction in that place, it was by sheer coincidence that I chanced upon a yawning chasm. I cannot say for certain that chasm is the right word for it, but it was deep and black, so chasm I shall call it. When I tossed a diamond shard into its depths, I failed to hear the clink of impact. I watched as it fell, then waited in vain for several long seconds for a signal to the end of its sudden fall. No sound came forth, so I drew back slightly from the edge, pondering.

It may be difficult to believe, considering my sly intellect and disposition towards excellence, but in truth I had no plan regarding what I would do. Certainly there was the desire to renew the Dreamscape for the sake of the Dreams, but I must admit I had not given much thought to the steps between my goal and myself. At this point, it seemed unlikely that standing around doing nothing would help my cause to any degree, so I proceeded to take the only logical course of action and jumped into the chasm.

Not without open wings, of course! The Dreamscape is a place of wonder, yet it will not prevent carelessness from breaking bones or snapping sinews.

I drifted down into the blackness of the chasm, occasionally glancing upward to make sure that the entrance would not seal itself above me. It did not, though it did seem to shrink the further I descended. To prevent utter blindness from overtaking me, I lit my horn; the blue light shone off the jagged walls of the chasm, and I took care to avoid being sliced by protrusions of diamond glass.

After some time, a broad swath of darkness that my light could not penetrate caught my attention, and I ceased my descent in curiosity. Hovering there for a minute, I soon discerned that this was a cave set in the side of this unending abyss. As I watched, uncertain of whether to investigate or continue downwards, a brief flicker of light sparkled from within. A sign, perhaps? Nothing in the Dreamscape was a coincidence. My curiosity piqued, I ventured forward into this new entrance to discover what might lie within.

I did not have to walk far before I reached the far end of the tunnel. Nothing resided here save an ornate pedestal, upon which rested a large bowl bearing unusual carvings. Depicted there was a depiction of the creation of the world, which blended into a brief history of the world before showing what I presumed to be the utter annihilation of the universe. But thanks to the circular nature of the bowl, it would loop back into creation again, so I did not concern myself with those petty details. My current interest was in more immediate events.

I peered into the bowl to see a perfectly still surface of blinking liquid light, which glowed more steadily in response to my presence. I observed a scene taking shape within: that of an Equestria slumbering peacefully in my tranquil night. Soon day overtook the broad landscape, and ponies emerged from their homes prepared to face whatever tasks lay before them. I bit back my envy, for I knew there was no harm intended in their schedule. Thousands of years spent in diurnal living were difficult to break.

Near one hamlet, a handsome reindeer emerged from a wood, and the mare nearby greeted him without surprise. This bemused me, for as far as I have known, reindeer have been extinct since the Aries Apocalypse. But the solution to this puzzle soon presented itself, as he swiftly shifted, like a blur of light, into a swooping eagle. The mare laughed in response, and the two quickly engaged in a race that took them over hill and dale.

When I returned my attention to Equestria at large, similar scenes presented themselves to me. Dreams interacted with ponies in peace, and harmony blossomed throughout the land at their togetherness. I wondered for a moment if such would only be possible in the daylight hours, but the sun and moon were steadily replacing each other as I watched, signifying the usual cycle of light and darkness.

I drew back from the sight in wonder. Dreams in Equestria? Such an exodus had not previously occurred to me, but now that I contemplated the possibility, I could see the ingenuity of it. The matter of transport would be difficult, assuredly, but nevertheless it paled in comparison to the gargantuan task of returning the Dreamscape to its former glory. Would this not provide the Dreams with the joyous life they have sought for a millennium after my madness destroyed their home? And would the ponies not find peace and discovery in the introduction of new neighbors?

Truly this was a stroke of genius. All would find happiness, and I would receive allies out of gratitude. What could be better?

As I made up my mind, plumes of alicorn magic lit around the bowl in a ring of fire. I took that as a sign of assurance, and so departed from that place as the inklings of a plan formed within my mind. Once outside the cave I took flight, pushing myself out of that gloomy chasm with renewed purpose.

When I resurfaced, I found that my task would be somewhat simplified. A dozen Dreams awaited me at the edge in a myriad of shapes, all looking vaguely surprised that I had actually dared to return to their land. I took advantage of their indecision by speaking up, hoping to reshape their futures as soon as possible.

“I understand why you are here,” I told them. “Your Matriarch dislikes that I have again extended the hoof of friendship, and she wishes that I enter her presence immediately. Very well. Take me to her, and I will reveal a solution to your problem that will place me as the savior of Dreamkind for eons to come.”

They appeared uncertain now, which I interpreted as a good sign. If they were willing to listen to the words I had to say, it seemed likely that Evral would as well, despite her lust for revenge.

The Dreams stepped into formation around me, and the world shifted. Dark colors blurred in my vision before reshaping themselves into a familiar sight, yet it was one that shall never leave me for so long as I shall live.

The throne still remained, as did its occupant, but now the surrounding haze had cleared, and it was revealed to me that we were in the center of a vast stadium. In the seats surrounding us, reaching into obscurity within the haze that refused to clear higher up, there were seated hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions, of Dreams. They were a chittering mass of colors, shapes, and sizes, and the sheer weight of them threatened to crush me into a mewling foal before their eyes. Me, the Lady of Night! Of course I refused to tremble before this vast audience, and I stood firm in the sight of the Matriarch as she leaned in close.

As if signaled, the entirety of the Dream population quieted, and for a brief moment there was utter silence that even the vastness of space could not replicate. Then she spoke.

“Luna.” My name seemed to taste bitter in her mouth from sheer spite, and I could hear the underlying tremor of her voice as she strained not to devour me where I stood. “I have given you fair warning, Scourge of the Dreamscape. You were permitted to continue life in the world of waking, yet you failed to heed your survival instinct and returned to my domain. Your very soul is forfeit thanks to your insolence. Do you have any final words before you must endure a fate worse than death?”

“I am pleased that you asked,” I replied. “I have, in fact, thought of many words to share. Would you allow me to raise my voice? My intuition tells me that your subjects will wish to hear what I have to say.”

Her lip curled, giving me an excellent look at teeth meant for tearing. Nevertheless, she waved a claw almost dismissively, and I turned to the watching Dreams as I prepared to give them an opportunity that they had never imagined.

“Citizens of the Dreamscape!” I exclaimed, standing proud under the pressure of their countless eyes. “Your world is in shambles thanks to my foalishness. I will not deny that. Nor will I ask your forgiveness, for I understand that you have suffered in this hellish nightmare that I have inflicted. It is obvious that I am to blame, and for that you require penance.”

Murmurs of agreement crashed down on me in a great wave. At the corner of my eye Evral flicked her claw again, and they quieted.

“As you might expect, I have grown rather attached to my head,” I continued. “So I will propose a compromise. You will once again find life to be a blessing rather than a curse, and I will sacrifice much to make such a future come to pass.”

“You speak nonsense, Luna,” the Matriarch snapped. “Our efforts over the last thousand years have done nothing to restore the Dreamscape. Do not make promises you cannot hope to keep in your scrambling to cling to your miserable life.”

“The Dreamscape is broken,” I agreed. “It is either beyond repair, or it would require magic that rivals the power of a thousand gods to renew its former glory. Therefore, I have an alternative which you would be wise to consider.”

I paused for effect. All stared in anticipation.

“There is another world, a place of beauty and prosperity. It is the world of waking, Equestria. There are resources to spare a hundred times over, and the residents are enlightened enough not to panic at the sight of new neighbors. With all the power vested in me, I will create an escape from this wreck of the Dreamscape. No longer will sand slip through your hooves in undertaking the futile effort of restoring that which cannot be restored. Nevermore will your place of dwelling be beyond your comprehension. In a word, you will be free.”

My magic hastily covered my ears as an unimaginable roar physically pushed me back, though I dug in my hooves as best I could. From what muffled noise could slip through my spell, I could not determine whether their response was in approval or mockery. However, the fact that there was a reaction at all encouraged me. They could not dismiss me so easily now that I had offered a way out from their dreadful ruin.

The Matriarch hissed, and the stadium fell silent again. I found grudging admiration in her ability to command her subjects so easily. Perhaps when this is over I can seek lessons from her.

“That is impossible,” she said, but she could not hide the light in her eyes. “How do you expect to move all of my subjects to a new land when your power is still diminished? The force required would make moving mountains seem trivial in comparison.”

“You are assuming that copious amounts of force are required in the first place. Have you forgotten that the Dreamscape is a place of subtlety? Even the youngest of mortal foals can slip in and out of this place without an ounce of effort. It will be of no concern to reverse engineer such magic. There are spells of summoning and spells of imagination. What difficulty is there in combining them? Only a little alicorn magic is needed, and that, I assure you, has not left me entirely.”

She stared. The Dreams too stared. I had presented hope that they could never have expected, and they would need time to truly wrap their minds around it.

The Matriarch shifted. “I cannot imagine you would offer such a service to us without expecting something in return.”

“Such is hardly the case,” I lied. “It is my duty to right the wrongs I have wrought. If you hold me in your hearts in gratitude for it, why, so much for the better! But it is not required. I am only doing what I must do.”

She clicked her claws together in thought. It was the only sound in the world beyond my own breathing. Not even an errant cough broke the near stillness.

I cannot tell how much time passed before she finally sighed. “I still do not trust you in the slightest, Luna,” she said, “nor can this ever hope to fully atone for your crimes. Nevertheless, I would be an utter foal to pass up this opportunity. I will permit you to be our deliverer, and for that you might find some favor in my eyes.”

The Dreams cheered. Though I winced at the force of their voices, I smiled. I could do some good after all, and prove myself worthy of becoming a tyrant. Was there ever any doubt?

The Matriarch stood. “If we are to have our exodus,” she continued, somehow managing to be heard over her subjects without actually raising her voice, “I must take on a new form, and then we must prepare ourselves to adjust to the world of waking. There is little telling how a physical presence will affect our forms, so we must try something new.”

She closed her eyes, concentrated, and shifted. Her form collapsed in on itself, though I could not feel her power diminish in the slightest. The surface of her body hardened into a dark exoskeleton. Even when she had shrunk to my height, she still withered, until I worried for a moment that she might fade into nothingness before my very eyes. But she did not collapse into dust; on the contrary, as thin wings burst from her back, and as a mane and tail swiftly grew into full-sized bundles of stringy hair, I felt as though she had become more unbreakable than ever. When her eyes opened, there were but two of them, and they glinted with a light of their own.

“What do you think?” she asked, now speaking with a more ordinary voice, albeit one that wormed into my brain like oil. “Will this stand up to scrutiny?”

“I approve,” I told her. “Commence with your preparations. I shall begin my efforts to release all of Dreamkind from this glorified prison straightaway. Rest assured, I will keep you notified of my progress.”

“Do that.” She smirked. “Don’t make me regret giving you mercy.”

I nodded and prepared to depart. As I faded out of the Dreamscape, I caught her words as she addressed the gathered Dreams.

“My subjects!” she crowed. “This marks the beginning of a new era for our kind. I am no longer a simple Matriarch to soothe your injuries and alleviate your sorrows. Consider me as your ruler and queen, one who, with the help of Luna, will provide you with a chance to begin anew. No longer am I Evral, she who skulked on the throne! From this day forth, I am she who will lead all Dreams into a new golden age! I am the bringer of light and the savior of Dreamkind! I am Chrysalis!”

Entry Thirty-Three

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September 29, 1000 ANM

So far, the Dream project bodes well. I have perused the shelves of the library, particularly delving into the forbidden section, and by doing so I have come across a variety of summoning spells that found particular usage in the Somber Era. It seems apparent that a sufficient selection of markings on the floor, when used in conjunction with specific spell matrices, may open a door into another dimension. Or, I suppose, open a door into our own. It is entirely dependent on the point of view, and I suppose I must consider how Evral and the Dreams might view the situation in their quest to find a better life.

No, not Evral now. Chrysalis. What a strange name. It implies a transitional state of dormancy and passivity, which puzzles me. Is she not only now emerging into the light as a proud leader of a broken people? I would have imagined her preference would lean towards a more intimidating moniker, indicating her vision of the future. I suppose it has no real significance. After all, what manner of creature could possibly undergo a state of chrysalis that moves, speaks, and schemes as easily as breathing?

It is of no consequence, I suppose. More importantly, we have continued to bombard Micah Jayfill and her atrocious automatons with terrible films. I am dismayed to report that they have become less prone to sobbing over the course of watching these films. Perhaps they have developed a coping mechanism? No, that would be absurd. My experience has taught me that the mind caves eagerly at madness’s touch, and the pony mind is twice as susceptible as all others.

“Now Mother, that’s unfair,” Blueblood remarked when I expressed this fact to him this afternoon. We were watching our little prisoners while in the Bat Cave, and our best attempts to pretend we were winning this little war were rather useless. “You’re implying that other species are anywhere within five miles of the common pony’s shocking neuroticism.”

“You have a point,” I lied. Poor Blueblood is so naive in some respects. But I humored him for the moment, as I was too busy scrutinizing our bumbling captives to pursue the matter further.

“And I want a furnace for Hearth’s Warming!” Raven was saying in a highly affected manner. I would have assumed they were being facetious, but I cannot fathom how that could possibly help them in their current predicament.

“A furnace? To warm your hooves?” Gem Torque inquired cheekily.

“No … to burn everypony else’s!”

There was an awkward pause.

“I want a monkey,” Jester added helpfully. He is a snakelike cyclops abomination, and is less than apt in many ways, but I suppose one must take whatever company one can.

“All right,” said Micah Jayfill, adding in their Hearth’s Warming wishes to the lengthy letter. “I think that’s everything. What about you, Your Enormities? D’you have any secret desires for Santa Hooves?”

“Ignoring the fact that your sentence could be taken in entirely the wrong way,” Blueblood sniffed, “Santa Hooves is but a legend and a myth. His entire existence is an illusion designed to make foals well-behaved, which is an entirely useless goal.”

I sighed. The time for seriousness was at hoof. “Blueblood, there is something you must know.”

“What is it?”

“I am afraid that … you are incorrect. There is a Santa Hooves.”

His eyes bulged. “What?!”

“‘Tis so,” I said. On the screen the automatons were exchanging bits, but I ignored them. “He is a being of astonishing power, the likes of which even Gaia and Iris have little information about. He resides at the Northern Edge, the last and greatest of all reindeer. I have spoken with him. He is an amiable fellow, albeit one who could benefit from a hefty serving of fatty food.”

“... But he’s already fat.”

“On the contrary. I fear that … I love that I may have spread that image of him over the past millennia. He won a pie-eating contest against Sister Dearest, and I have never let him live it down since.”

Blueblood twitched. One of his pupils shrank to a pinprick.

“What a silly colt I have raised! I thought I taught you better than to doubt Santa Hooves. What could possibly have caused your change in mind?”

“The last thousand years,” he muttered, still staring off into space, “he never gave me what I asked for.”

“And what was that?”

He did not answer, despite my proddings. Micah Jayfill and her minions suddenly looked sympathetic, for reasons which I cannot fathom. Why are these ponies acting as if his little Hearth’s Warming wish should be obvious?

I shall forget that nonsense without delay. Instead, I must relate an event of greater interest. Upon visiting the Dreamscape the previous night, I spoke with Evral—that is, Chrysalis—while the Dreams bustled about making preparations for their exodus. What those preparations are, I cannot guess. They seem to be rather self-reliant, despite their queen’s efforts to persuade me to the contrary.

“When my poor Dreams are separated from this place,” she explained, “they’ll be cut off from its energy. I’m only guessing about this, of course, but I feel it’s better to be safe than sorry. I doubt that they’ll be able to eat physical food, so they’ll have to get their energy from somewhere else.”

“You speculate too much,” I said happily. “Nevertheless, I will humor you in your delusion. Doubtless even the loving and tolerant ponies of Equestria will be hard-pressed to part with their food, so the Dreams would have been unlikely to partake in such sustenance in any case. On my part, I suggest something that they will never be depleted of, such as fear … such as love.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a hole-riddled hoof to her chin. “Love energy. Now there’s an idea. One of the most powerful of all magics, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Although my niece, Mi Amore Cadenza, wields it as a special talent. She is also a chief antagonist against my glorious uprising, so there may be difficulties where that is concerned.”

“Leave that to me,” she said. “She will be of little concern. I will tell my Dreams to start working on a way to derive this energy for ourselves. In the meantime, continue looking at the summoning spells, why don’t you? The sooner we can strike against Celestia, the better.”

I agreed, but with some reluctance. Who is she to order me about? Is this takeover not my idea? She may impart suggestions if she wishes, yet her intended position is behind me. I will have to make certain that her loyalty is for me, even as she strives to better the lives of the Dreams. It seems that being tyrannical requires some degree of inflexibility, which I will have to keep in mind.

Still, her suggestion is reasonable. I shall return to my studies after supper, during which time I plan to peruse through many a forgotten tome of forbidden lore. With any luck, I may discover the answer to my questions before the week is out!

Entry Thirty-Four

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October 2, 1000 ANM

Today I noted a peculiar trend in decoration around the palace. The crescent-shaped black visage of a mare stared out from various vantage points, with her eyes bearing slitted pupils of judgment. I was rather unnerved by what I deemed to be a series of ill omens, so I hastened to Sister Dearest without delay.

For once, she looked slightly shaken. “I was afraid this day would come. Walk with me in the garden,” she sighed, and her mane billowed dramatically in a nonexistent breeze. My envy knew no bounds, but I condescended to indulge her, and so together we strolled out into the open.

Ah, at last the miseries of summer heat have waned! Truly I love this time of year, in which a fell wind blows and rain patters against the earth like the hoofsteps of a foal. In the garden, many of the beasts were preparing for hibernation, while those which would ordinarily migrate south for the winter were slated to be transferred to a nearby greenhouse. When I asked about this unfamiliar term a few days ago, I was made to suffer a long-winded explanation of one of the many new inventions that have come into creation since my imprisonment. I did not listen, of course. Green houses have been in existence since the settlement of the Shire, and what difference could it make to smash the two words together?

In any case, the birds were few and far between as we made our leisurely way up and down the drying plants. Tree branches hung heavy with leaves of red and yellow, though they had yet to flutter from their perches in sweet surrender to gravity. Earth pony magic would dislodge them, though I have to wonder if Canterlot has found some alternative—I have not seen many earth ponies wandering through these streets. Perhaps there are some from beyond the city borders, hired to take care of these unwanted leaves.

“I hope you’re doing well, Luna,” Sister Dearest finally said, distracting me from daydreams of hooded assassins hacking gnarled limbs from weeping trees. “We haven’t been seeing each other as much as I would have liked. I keep meaning to set aside some time to spend with you … I haven’t been able to do that since the first week or so you’d been back.”

“It is a pity,” I agreed warily. While it is true that it would be no chore to while away the hours with one of my few friends, I disliked the idea of putting off the exodus of Dreamkind for longer than was necessary.

“And of course it wasn’t as if I could brush you off then! You weren’t exactly in the best shape at that time. I’m guessing that you’ve grown an inch or two since then.”

“Do you jest?” I puffed out my chest indignantly. “My appetite is one worthy of a princess, but that does not directly result in a bulge of extraneous weight in my midsection.”

She stifled a giggle with a perfect hoof. “I mean vertically.”

“Ah.” I considered this. “Really?”

“Well …” Her eyes shifted from side to side. “I may have stretched the truth to make you feel better. Just a little.”

“Celestia!” I pouted, cuffing her gently. “How dare you trifle with my self-image!” But I could not resist a smile, and a chuckle escaped my throat. “I suppose there is a reason you were never the Bearer of Honesty.”

“Well, I think you’d know that better than I would,” she said lightly. “But you probably don’t want to hear me tease you much further. You asked about the decorations?”

“Yes.” Grass of faded green crunched beneath our hooves. “There was something unsettling about the profile of that mare. Uncanny, yet eerily familiar. I should not be surprised if I saw something of her likeness in my darkest dreams.”

“If it weren’t familiar, I’d be surprised. Luna … those are pictures of Nightmare Moon.”

I froze. I stared at her. “Explain.”

“There’s a holiday called Nightmare Night. The Nightmare is seen as something of a boogeymare.” Her wings shuffled awkwardly. “Over the years following the night when you … when Nightmare Moon was banished, I did my best to keep your name as untarnished as I could. After all, the atrocities she committed were not acts that you would have done had you been of a sound mind. But there were difficulties.”

“I am uncertain as to what difficulties a kind and wise alicorn princess could have in shaping the country into the image she desired.”

If she noticed my jab, she did not show it. “Another alicorn would pose a challenge, I’d imagine. Even though she was imprisoned on the moon, Nightmare Moon’s rage affected the dreams of our subjects. I received hundreds of reports of ponies staying up for days on end, refusing to give in to sleep for fear of seeing a great and terrible face bearing a coat as black as night.”

I frowned. “I think I remember … If I could not wreak havoc directly, I would instead be bent on spreading my namesake. But I thought it was a futile gesture.”

“I’m afraid you succeeded too well. It was obvious that the ponies weren’t about to forget you anytime soon, so I settled for a compromise: I would hold Nightmare Moon’s name as something to be amused by rather than feared. Thus, this holiday holds a proud tradition of collecting candy as a ward against both her fury and their hunger.” She smiled sadly. “Eventually Nightmare Moon held no more power over them. They’d forgotten that somewhere behind the costumes and cider was a being that hated them deeply. I don’t think they even noticed when she stopped appearing in their dreams this summer.”

“I see …” My gaze drifted across the garden, where I could see a large paper moon bearing a unicorn’s head. “But why would you have them remember Nightmare Moon, and not Luna?”

When she spoke next, there was the faintest undercurrent of a tremor in her voice. “It was because I didn’t know if any of the old Luna was left. If you were dead, and only the Nightmare remained, I wasn’t about to dirty your memory by attaching your name to the face in their dreams.” She scuffed at the ground. “You were banished and not purified, so I feared the worst.”

With some hesitance, I met her eyes. The weight of the sun behind them overpowered me instantly, but in that brief second I saw that it was nevertheless softened by a shimmering wetness.

My heart twisted. “I apologize.”

“Luna,” she chided, oh so gently, and I was hidden in the broad embrace of white feathers. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I only wish I could have prevented it from happening in the first place.”

Curse you, sister! You and your gentle ways, tempting me to reveal all I know just for the sake of assuaging your conscience! Were I a weaker pony, I would have gladly done so. But I am determined to free Equestria from your coddling, so I must remain firm. The sun has threatened this planet for far too long; it is the moon’s time to reign gloriously.

Still, I am beginning to see that Sister Dearest truly was affected by my madness and exile. To cope with loneliness as well as the constant threat of that ball of flame and terror … it is something I do not wish to contemplate. I cannot falter in my path to righteous rule, for the sun is tired. When all of this is over, I shall make it a priority to explain this to her, that she might find a silver lining that encompasses the entire cloud of her misfortune. And then I shall thank her, for she has kept my memory alive without sullying my name. For that, at least, I am grateful.

Entry Thirty-Five

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October 4, 1000 ANM

Mi Amore Cadenza is a stupid pony.

I love her, certainly, as one can only love a perfectly pink niece. But she has gone too far this time. In her infinite cunning and guile, she has arranged matters so that my downfall might be hastened to the fore. How can a pony be so sly and so stupid at the same time?

Events occurred thusly: I was emerging from the Bat Cave, already frustrated at Micah Jayfill’s stubborn refusal to break upon watching the film Malus Aforethought, when I was approached by Mi Amore Cadenza. She wished to complain about her little talent, and as her dear mother was busy with court as usual, she apparently required my ear in which to vomit her words.

“There’s something odd going on today,” she remarked. “I sense a disturbance … it’s as if there’s a leak somewhere, and love energy is slowly seeping out of reality. Like a hundred hearts cried out in terror and were gradually silenced.”

“It is nothing,” I lied serenely. “You are too paranoid, my niece. You had best be sure that such an attitude does not lead you into a spiral of insanity and hatred, transforming you into a host for a demonic monster that seeks to draw all of Equestria into its own heart.”

She took a step back.

“Do my words of wisdom offend you?” I asked, bristling.

“Well, I wouldn’t say they’re offensive,” she said tentatively. “But you’re kind of insistent that everything is fine. What are you up to?”

“What am I up to?” I repeated, bringing a hoof to my heart. “Mi Amore Cadenza, you wound me. I may be a schemer of the highest caliber, but that does not mean I am ‘up to’ something every hour of every day.”

“And if you think ponies will actually buy that, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.”

“I dislike bridges,” I told her haughtily. “It is far more difficult to maintain them than it is to simply burn them.”

“Yes.” Her voice was perfectly even. “Thank you for that gripping insight, Auntie Luna. You’ve definitely assured me that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary is happening.”

I beamed. Success was mine!

“Anyway,” she said, “I’ve been looking through this book to see if Starswirl knew of something like happening a thousand years ago.” She inclined her head toward the flashy saddlebags draped over her back. “Apparently not, but’s it’s still an interesting read. Although the unfinished spell kind of gives me goosebumps.”

I pondered on what she was babbling about for a moment, and the answer clicked neatly into place. Of course! That senile stallion had experimented with the forces of nature, unnaturally extending his life from the Time of the Three Tribes to after the banishment of Nightmare Moon. Whatever became of him? I have seen neither hide nor hair of him in the last few months, although there seems to be a wing of the library named in his honor. Perhaps he is dead. That would be surprising, but not a great deal so.

I considered the unfinished spell at the end of the journal, and I grinned. “Mi Amore Cadenza, might I peruse that miniature tome? It would likely be of interest to see how magical theory has evolved since the last millennium.” My hoof reached out eagerly.

She took another step backward in response. “Why do you want it?”

“To read, of course. That is generally what one does upon obtaining a book.”

“You’re up to something,” she clarified, eyes narrowed.

“Ah, of course.” I rolled my eyes. “And you, who have just read it, are undoubtedly quite aware of the many nefarious plans I can concoct with the use of such spells as the Two-Second Laundry Miracle. And Iris knows the havoc an aspiring tyrant could wreak with magic that transforms cow’s milk into goat’s milk.”

“There’s still the Amniomorphic Spell,” she protested, though she was cornered.

“You need not worry in regards to that. My plans do not revolve around restructuring embryos, fetuses, and the like.”

She gave me a skeptical squint. I stood firm. Eventually, she exhaled heavily. “Okay,” she said, and with her magic extracted the journal. “I guess you were there the last time somepony attempted it, so you know that it would be a terrible idea.”

“This is true,” I agreed, seizing it in my levitation field. “The less is spoken of that dark day, the better.”

“That means as long as you have that book, you have to stay away from pregnant mares at all costs.”

I shuddered. “What sort of monster do you take me for?”

Of course, I had no interest in casting the Amniomorphic Spell. The casualties are the least objectionable result of its successful completion. While it is of simple construction, it tampers with primal magic in a manner that is archaic at best, so in this age it is borderline impossible to cast accidentally. I am certain that nothing will go wrong.

No, my plan was far cleverer than that. I waited until Sister Dearest had finished her dreadfully dull court session for the day, at which point I approached her before supper. She gave me a tired smile that nevertheless promised the gentle embrace of sunlight. Somehow I resisted the urge to flinch.

“Sister,” I began, “if there were a spell that might spread a giant web of misery, what would you do to prevent it from corrupting the universe?”

She eyed the journal in my grasp. “I’ll give you a benefit of a doubt and assume you’re not suggesting the Amniomorphic Spell.”

“Do not be dense,” I scoffed. “I refer to Starswirl’s unfinished spell. Surely you remember his warning that casting it before its completion could result in catastrophic consequences? Nevertheless, I fear that … I love that it is only tentatively held together. Given enough time, it could affect all of Equestria.”

“That is certainly possible.” She remained serene, much to my disappointment. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Send it to a pony you trust,” I advised. “Preferably a very intelligent pony who is skilled in magic.”

She pried the journal into her own magic, studying it with a slight frown as she tilted it back and forth. “I have an idea on who you’re referring to,” she said, eyes narrowed in thought. “And it seems a reasonable plan. Starswirl mentioned once that it was a spell designed to affect destiny, and if such a spell might one day overturn all of Equestria, it’s important that we prevent that.”

“Exactly!”

“It reminds me of something else he mentioned not long after Nightmare Moon was banished. He hinted that completing the spell could complete the spiritual maturation of a pony, marking her or him as a candidate for undergoing the Rite of Ascension.”

My smile was suddenly painful. Very, very painful.

“Twilight Sparkle as an alicorn … this is a genius idea, Luna!” She actually danced in place for a moment, so overwhelming was her glee. “Of course some ponies might object, but undoubtedly they will see that it’s for the best. Oh, she has to be prepared for it first, so perhaps in a year or two. The Magic of Friendship will teach her. It’s perfect! The royal family has been so small for millennia; it’s about time we had some new blood to make things fresh again! Thank you for being wonderful, Luna.”

I continued to smile. I could hear my teeth grind like stones.

When supper began, I declined to join Sister Dearest, preferring to retreat to my chambers to contemplate how my brilliant plan had backfired so horribly. Of course, it only took a few minutes’ reflection to understand that all of this was Mi Amore Cadenza’s doing. Why else would she have given me that book?

It was all her doing. I should have known. She is perfectly aware that Twilight Sparkle is the one pony who could ever hope to grind me into the dust for good, given time and experience. With her friends, she is unstoppable. I had hoped to dissolve those friendships with a wise application of rearranged destiny; what I accomplished instead was the single easiest way to collapse every last one of my plans.

Mi Amore Cadenza is a stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid pony. Surely such a stupid pony would not notice if a few dozen cockroaches found their way into the blender when she makes her smoothie tomorrow morning.

Entry Thirty-Six

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October 5, 1000 ANM

Much to my disappointment, it appears that cockroaches are seldom seen within these palace walls. Micah Jayfill fulfilled her role quite well, the peasant. No matter. I shall yet have my revenge on Mi Amore Cadenza, even if I currently am at a loss as to what form that revenge will take. Currently I am inclined toward something involving duct tape, but I am still slightly reluctant to expose even that pink princess to its ill effects.

I must put this vengeance nonsense out of mind. There are more pressing matters to consider. Last night I sought an audience to be receptive to my doubts. Blueblood was terribly busy working on some new device, which appears to be some sort of advanced mirror, so I was left with discussing matters with Chrysalis. She is not to be trusted, of course, and I shall not risk informing her of Starswirl’s journal, but that does not mean I have nothing to say to her.

“She has noticed the love that you and your Dreams have stolen,” I was telling her, pacing relentlessly before her throne. “I assumed you would be wise and play a cautious game. Evidently I was mistaken.”

“Hm?” She refrained from looking up from her report. “Are you talking about somepony?”

“Naturally. I believe I previously warned you that Mi Amore Cadenza is apt at sensing love magic … or, indeed, the lack thereof. She reported to me just the other day that a hundred hearts had lost their love, or some such nonsense. I suppose it was too much to hope for an ounce of subtlety rather than a pound of recklessness?”

She was silent for a moment. Then her eyes met mine. I did not much like her smile. “Only a hundred?” Her eyes gleamed. “Luna, that was simply a distraction. My Dreams have drained a million hearts of their love since we last spoke.”

I gaped. I swallowed. I gaped again.

“Close your mouth, please,” she tittered. “It’s not flattering in the slightest.”

“But. But. How?” I gaped a third time for good measure.

“They weren’t pony hearts,” she explained. “At least, most of them weren’t. Most of them were insects, birds, insignificant things like that.”

My gaping ceased long enough for me to attempt a frown. “That seems hardly efficient.”

“On the contrary. Do you have any idea what a lowly ant would do for its queen? Can you imagine the unbridled devotion that fuels its every move?” Her fangs glittered. “It is unlikely to be enough to sustain us when we escape, of course. Still, in the moment, it’s plenty.”

“... I see.” I took a step back. “And this will not adversely affect the environment of Equestria?”

“Luna, please,” she scoffed. “Haven’t ponies been running the weather and such for thousands of years? I am sure the absence of a thousand hives won’t be noticed.”

I was skeptical, but I decided to let the matter go. Thinking along those lines would lead to naught but madness. “If you are certain. But tell me, what is the intended use of this stolen power? It seems unlikely that your people require nourishment for their remaining time in the Dreamscape, considering that they have easily gone without for thousands of years.”

“Very perceptive.” Her voice was even enough that I could not tell whether or not she was employing sarcasm. “Currently the love is being used to reshape the Dreams into a form that won’t be swayed by a weak breeze. The shapeshifting itself won’t change, of course, but they require a default form to return to should they lose their energy. I have designed them after myself, of course.”

Even as she spoke, a Dream stepped into view, boasting the appearance of a insectoid equine not much smaller than the average pony. In the grip of sickly green magic it carried a huge pulsing crystal, which it offered to its imperious queen. “Your majesty,” it said, voice buzzing. “I come bearing a gift.”

Chrysalis took the mysterious item from her subject, scrutinizing mysterious flaws. Then, without ceremony, her jaw unhinged like a snake’s, and she swallowed the crystal whole. This action caused her throat to bulge unpleasantly, though by the time it reached her stomach an unknown organ contracted visibly around the crystal, pulverizing it in the span of a few seconds. “Very good,” she said, smacking her lips. “Fetch me another.”

The Dream bowed and scurried off.

“We’ll need a new name for our species,” she said absently, not recognizing my stunned expression. “The time of the Dreamscape will soon be behind us, and it would be best for all to recognize this change. Hmm … changelings, perhaps? It certainly has potential.”

“Pardon me for my inability to mind my own business,” I finally managed to say, “but is that love energy you are consuming? Not one minute ago, you informed me that doing so was not required while trapped here.”

“So I did,” she agreed. “But I never said it couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be done. The energy not being used to transform my people has been converted into a physical form, making it easier to use as fuel for a purpose beyond energy.”

“And what would that purpose be?”

“Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” She winked. “It’s a surprise. Don’t worry your little head over it; you’ll find out soon enough.”

“I dislike surprises,” I said sternly. “They attack ponies from nowhere with the sole purpose of imbalancing them. Nevertheless, I shall indulge in your little game so long as it causes nopony any danger.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. I promise you that.” Her grin widened. “I think you’ll be very pleased with it, actually.”

“It is always nice to know that I am being considered,” I said, preening. She chuckled at that, and we turned our discussion to the finer points of the few summoning spells I have come across that appear to be promising.

Perhaps Chrysalis is not such a terrible creature after all. She is, despite her incautiousness, quite efficient—every Dream I encountered last night had been converted into a changeling. How many millions of that species exist, I cannot say, but at least a hefty percentage is prepared for the exodus.

Plans are moving swiftly. From what Chrysalis has told me, it is likely that everything will come together in perhaps two or three years, hardly a blink in the eyes of an immortal. By then, my unlikely allies will have assisted me in toppling Sister Dearest from her lofty throne, and I shall usurp that royal seat as my duty demands.

Of course, I must wonder what Chrysalis will do with millions of changelings. In the initial promise I made to those unfortunates, I failed to consider that, even with plentiful resources, the landscape of Equestria is not infinite. I have only just realized this oversight, which shames me deeply. But I assume that the queen has a reasonable solution to the problem. I am certain that, whatever that solution may be, it will refrain from being an unpalatable earth-shaking event.

Entry Thirty-Seven

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October 12, 1000 ANM

Little has occurred over this recent week. Chrysalis had been silent about her little heart-draining endeavors, and Mi Amore Cadenza had quieted considerably upon realizing that nopony was listening to her childish complaints. Aside from the delightful chill that is beginning to seep more subtly into the air, I could safely say that progress was not being particularly cooperative.

So it was with an idle mind and a roving eye that I found myself again in the library, browsing the shelves for suitable reading material. While I have clearly acclimated magnificently to the world of modernity, there is nevertheless much for me to discover. With this fact firmly in mind, I strolled up and down the aisles; for once I had decided to give the forbidden section some time to itself. There was no need to strike Sister Dearest with suspicion, after all.

Eventually I came across the wing containing information about various fauna, both magical and otherwise. Having not come across this area before, I considered the spacious area set aside specifically for reading, lit by the sun through a massive curved window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The view of the grounds to the east was magnificent, as was that of the country beyond, but it all failed to distract from that hideous strength of the flaming sphere.

As I stepped closer to the window, tentatively hoping to catch a glimpse of Sister Dearest as she ventured out for her morning stroll, the obnoxious glass caught the sunlight at such an angle that I was blinded. Hissing in surprise, I pulled back into the shade. It took several seconds of blinking to regain any semblance of sight, by which time I was firmly of the opinion that my own activities were a considerably more worthwhile course of action.

I glanced through the shelves, and behold! there stood a book on a shelf, with not a companion to stay by its side. Its spine boasted the title Pink Fluffy Bunnies and Other Extremely Dangerous Creatures, and I shuddered in sympathy at the sight of those shakily written words. Having encountered pink fluffy bunnies in the past, I knew all too well the horrors that the writer of the text must have seen.

In fact, who would not? Have gruesome tales of the bunnies’ soulless evil not reached the hearts of all young foals of the land, even in this day and age? Is pink therefore not considered an “edgy” color, which brave decorators have adopted as a method of revealing their disdain for safety and predictability? I remember all too well the days when Sister Dearest saw nothing but the tail ends of the little ponies as they fled before her mane of unfortunate color. It was then that I learned to pity her, even as we sought to crush the bunnies in their own warrens. She was, and yet remains, a being with a tenuous hold on unfathomable power, and what better to symbolize it than a mane that catches the light like a pink fire?

It all returns to this. The point of the matter is that the pink fluffy bunnies, while rarely seen in Equestria in the last several thousand years, are nevertheless terrifying enough to send the common ponies into a panic at the mere rumor of their existence. Even their mundane, dull-coated cousins can at times inflict ~~fear~~ love upon people of all sorts, if they (the mundane bunnies) appear in significant numbers. There is a reason: despite their (the pink fluffy bunnies’) adorable nature, they are literal abominations of creation, all of them. Readers of the future, you may laugh upon learning that I do in fact scrutinize the space beneath my bed for the monsters, but if you knew the horrors they could inflict on Gaia’s green earth, you would not be so quick to mock and make merry.

It was as I was considering this, biting my lip as I flipped through the pages detailing those creatures, that I realized perhaps there was yet something I could inflict upon Mi Amore Cadenza for her audacity to trick me into setting Twilight Sparkle onto the path of demigods.

Mi Amore Cadenza is a pink pony. This is an astute observation on my part. But it is perhaps even less obvious to realize that, due to her unfortunate coloring, she does not tend to venture far into the public eye. To do otherwise would be as if Nightmare Moon had decided to prowl the streets: the common pony would flee and hide even if she were quite clearly intending on naught but providing flowers and puppies for orphans. Therefore, if I was to make a serious impression on her, I must use as part of that impression the color pink. It is her favorite color, certainly, but one may dress entirely in black and still ~~fear~~ love the things that creep in shadows.

With the book hovering before me, I made my way to Mi Amore Cadenza’s quarters. It was true that I had only rarely gone that way since my return, but it only took me five attempts to start traveling in the right direction, so there was little reason to worry.

I certainly knew I had arrived when I saw the pink and blue image on the double doors, representing her cutie mark. It was … it is strange to think how my Magic of Love had given her such an emblem. How one of my most meaningful contributions to anypony ever in Equestria was only made possible by my compliance with a vicious demon. If we had any sort of relationship beyond rivals for the fate of Canterlot, it would have made me quite pleased. But I certainly feel no significant positive emotions for her. Absolutely not. That I frequently provide her with glasses of ice-cold water after her disastrous bouts of tennis does not indicate anything of the sort.

“Mi Amore Cadenza!” I exclaimed, smashing the doors open with a pristine hoof. “Show yourself, lest I smite you and your descendants with a curse!”

From her position on her bed, she glanced up from the novel she had been reading, looking less surprised than I would have liked. “Do I have to? This is almost starting to not make me fall asleep.”

“Ah, it is?” I strode forward, peering at the book in her grasp. “With what subject matter does the text concern itself, pray tell?”

“It’s a prequel to the—”

“Speak no further! I understand perfectly. You are therefore in luck, my niece, that I have chosen this moment to rescue you from the horrors that lurk within those pages that threaten your patience. Instead, I will threaten your patience with horrors of an entirely different sort!”

She closed the book, looking mildly interested. “Do tell.”

“Pink fluffy bunnies!” I shoved my tome in her face, open of course to an appropriate page. She leaned back slightly, which was just as well, as she might have been tasting paper otherwise thanks to my overzealous gesturing. “This is what I shall do to you if you subvert my machinations. Remember when you manipulated me into catapulting my unknown rival into a prospective position of princess power? ‘Twas only a few days past, though the memory still stings. I have found in myself the willpower not to taint your foodstuffs with crunchy insects, but I shall not be so lenient should a similar incident occur. Hence, the bunnies.

“Do you remember, from days long past, the shadow of their arrival during the Era of Eris? Of course not. You were not yet born, for which you must thank your lucky stars. But Sister Dearest and I were of course present, as was Blueblood, though his dark powers were not yet fully under control by then. He was off on his own adventure at that point, traversing the depths of Tartarus to search for his destiny. That is a story for another time.

“Sister Dearest and I had already embarked on our years-long search for the Tree of Harmony, a crystalline entity rumored to have sprung into being at the location where the Rainbow of Light struck Tirek down. But that is a story for another time.

“We had traveled across Equestria multiple times, even going so far as to venture into distant lands whose names I have not heard since my return. Have you heard of the far-off isle of Lemuria? It is, or was, a place literally crawling with lemurs. I condescended to impress them with a variety of feats, and then they made me their chief. But that, too, is a story for another time.

“A zebra shaman had pointed us in the direction of … Well, that’s odd. My threat seems to be overflowing with stories. Remind me of them at a later date, Mi Amore Cadenza, for I believe they will interest you if your mother has not informed you of them already. Did you know that when she met your father, they immediately started to—?”

“Auntie Luna,” she interrupted, looking perturbed for whatever reason. “Were you saying something about pink fluffy bunnies?”

I blinked. “Indeed, such was the case. Forgive me; I shall now get to the heart of the matter. Sister Dearest and I were passing through a vast meadow leagues from Equestria, exhausted after a long week of journeying, when, much to our surprise, a pink fluffy bunny crossed our path. Having never seen such a thing before, even under Discord’s noodly claws, we paused mid-step and watched as it hopped on its merry way, as if we were not even there.

“It was that pause that saved us. For though my gaze lingered lingered on the retreating figure of the little lagomorph, Sister Dearest gently took hold of my chin and turned it forward again. And then I saw them: holes in the ground, hundreds … thousands … hundreds of thousands of them, as far as even our alicorn eyes could see, beginning not ten steps from where we stood. And from the depths of each burrow protruded long pink ears and blank beady eyes, all pointed in our direction. The creatures did not appear entirely unusual, aside from their peculiar coloration, but something about them made our skin crawl. Even as advanced beings, we could hear instinct whispering to us that something was very, very wrong … namely, that the things staring at us through those eyes were far more great and terrible than mere rabbits.

“Naturally, we turned and fled as fast as we could. Behind us were the thuds of their paws as they took chase after us, tirelessly keeping on our tails even as we called upon our earth pony strength to push us forward. They were upon us within minutes, but fortunately Sister Dearest had realized by that time that we were also capable of flight, and soon we were darting across the orange sky, never relinquishing our speed for a moment. But I did dare to glance back, and I saw how their limbs had lengthened, becoming far too spindly to rationally support their expanded size. Needless to say, my desire for rest had quickly dissipated by this time.

“It was all Discord’s doing, of course. He was waiting for us as we reentered Equestria, laughing as if he had stolen all the laughter in the world. When they managed to actually trample him, however, he soon realized that he had created something beyond even his control, and for once in his miserable life gained a modicum of sense. He fled with us across mountains and rivers and jungles and plains, and all the while the pink fluffy bunnies never gave up the chase. Somehow they were multiplying rapidly, to the point that the entire continent was soon overrun with the abominations.

“Eventually, we had had enough. Working together, the three of us sacrificed our modest lead to create a portal, though where it led to, nopony can say. Taking cover on the opposite side, we hid and waited as they barreled through the otherworldly door like giant pink lemmings. We dared not move from our position for an entire week, for fear ... for love of disrupting the flow of the fluffy tide. Only when the tremors of the earth had faded away did we dare to discover that the vastness of their numbers had receded into a thin trickle, which soon dispersed altogether.

“Naturally, a few of their number had veered off course, disappearing to Gaia knew where. We disliked the idea of letting them roam free, but we found that the idea of giving the banished bunnies the chance to return was even less appealing, so the portal was swiftly closed. After Sister Dearest’s hooves had repeatedly become acquainted with Discord’s face, he promised to find a way to keep them from flooding the world again. He must have been successful, for only rarely have I come across their number since that day.

“Nevertheless, they did still linger, as the terrified townsfolk could testify. To this day, their descendants have developed a deep primal fear ... a deep primal love of bunnies, to the point that the ability to handle even ordinary specimens is a matter of triumph.

“Now do you understand, my niece? The bunnies are not gone. They are biding their time, waiting for the perfect chance to strike. Even now, whispers of them float on the breeze. There are those who project foalish bravado, of course, claiming that those monsters could never faze them, but they cannot imagine the true terror of that horrendous horde. And they are what await you if you should cross me again, for even my legendary patience has limits. You will not be physically overwhelmed, of course, but the psychological effect would be … undesirable. What do you think of that?”

I stood there, a hoof flung out dramatically, sucking in much-needed breaths after my impressive tale. Pride radiated from my every pore, for I had managed to discuss the pink fluffy bunnies at length without flinching even once. Truly I was an impressive being, as a legendary creature of the night who had lived through that greatest of horrors with not a scratch!

Mi Amore Cadenza was smiling. I came to realize this after some time, and my own grin faded as I tried to fathom its meaning. Why did she not shake in her horseshoes? Perhaps I had overestimated her capacity for rational thought.

Then she spoke. “I think you’d want to talk to Fiver about that.”

I lifted an imperious eyebrow. “Who is this ‘Fiver’ you speak of—?”

A brightly-colored shape lunged at me from under the bed. It moved too quickly for considerable inspection, but a dim corner of my brain faintly registered long ears and thin whiskers.

I ~~fear~~ love that the last few hours have been a blur. I cannot remember much besides panic and mortal terror, and to be honest I doubt that I would change this fact if I were able. It was scarcely half an hour ago that I came to myself here in my quarters, whereupon I noticed that I had managed to hide myself in a drawer with cake splattered across my hooves and a Rubbercute hiding within my mane. I have yet to wash up, for I am not certain that standing in the shower while staring over my shoulder would be a logical exercise.

As I write, I begin to remember a little more clearly. Apparently there was an ambassador from Sibearia involved, who had abruptly decided to wear his dessert for whatever reason. And there was Mi Amore Cadenza’s voice, saying something about “just scratching his ears.” She is such a strange young mare. Why would I scratch a bear’s ears? I am sure he would not appreciate being coddled like a cub.

She has embarrassed me one too many times. This is unforgivable. Of course, she realizes this means war. It will be difficult with that hellbeast to contend with, but I shall devise a solution. I always do. It is true that I will likely need Blueblood’s help, but in the end, triumph will be my ultimate destination. I need only construct a road to take me from here to there.

The question to be asked is an elementary one. What does she ~~fear~~ love?

Entry Thirty-Eight

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October 15, 1000 ANM

It has been three days since Mi Amore Cadenza’s pink fluffy bunny chased me around the palace. Since then, I have come to a conclusion. It is not fit for a future empress to ~~fear~~ love something while her subjects do not. Therefore, I decided to inflict the terror of rabbits onto everypony I can, even if they are not of that peculiar pink type.

I perused the library for a few hours this morning, eventually coming across a film involving monstrous rabbits (a tautology, of course, but the emphasis is not feeble). I quickly seized it and fled to the Bat Cave, eager to inflict the bunnies on Micah Jayfill and her little friends.

“Behold!” I exclaimed upon reaching my destination, flourishing the film fantastically. “You have mocked me for the last time, my little prisoners! Now you will scream with horror at the evil that lurks in the heart of nature, or at least Discord’s attempt at imitating nature. ‘Tis called Night of the Lupus, and soon you shall all fall victim to—”

“Ah, I think it’s Lepus,” Micah Jayfill corrected me, looking far less anxious than I would have liked. “With an E, the letter E. Not Lupus.”

“It’s never Lupus,” Raven added helpfully, munching on an oversized sandwich.

I reexamined the packaging. “For once you are correct, commoners. But your attempt at intelligence will not save you from a close future of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. I have it on good authority that the pink fluffy bunnies in this film are among the worst things you shall ever see!”

The pony and her automatons considered this. At length, Gem Torque provided a suitable reaction. “Oh no. Evil fake rabbits terrorizing the populace. It’s so edgy. Hold me, I’m scared.”

“That is the spirit!” I crowed. “Well done, you pig-like pariah. Now prepare yourselves, for the next two hours shall hold naught but amusement … for me, that is.”

Blueblood dutifully sent the film, though he turned to me as our prisoners scrambled to enter the tortuous theater. “Would I be right in guessing this is about the bunny incident?”

“No.” I considered his tone. “Well … perhaps.”

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m sure I can pull aside a servant for you to complain to.”

“A princess does not complain,” I sniffed, “no matter what little bursts of nonsense Mi Amore Cadenza indulges in. ‘I felt a disturbance!’ she will say, or else ‘Stop trying to take over Canterlot, Auntie Luna!’” I shook my head, and I reached out to idly toy with the lever holding back the nonexistent reticulated python. “And whining, of course, is already your expertise, so there is no reason to believe—”

“Mother, don’t touch that!”

It was too late. A wave of orange liquid burst out from behind the opened flaps, crashing down on us with a downpour that reeked of tang. I quickly found myself shivering from the onslaught, though Blueblood looked more irritated than anything else.

“Blueblood,” I said sweetly, looking at neither him nor the ankle-deep carbonated drink we were standing in as remnants dripped down on us like rain on a phoenix. “Tell me what we are marinated in.”

“The peasants call it orange soda, Mother.”

“How fitting. Now, can you tell me why we are marinated in it?”

“Well, there was a vein of the stuff flowing through the walls of these caves, so it seemed reasonable to redirect them to an area where they couldn’t do any harm.”

I looked at him. When he finally noticed this, I pointedly turned my gaze to the trapdoor ahead, then directed his attention to the lever.

“... I suppose I could’ve thought that out a little more thoroughly,” he remarked, looking faintly abashed.

“You certainly could have.” With a flash of my horn, the orange soda condensed into a sphere around his body, freezing him in place and only leaving his head visible. “I am not dense, changeling. Blueblood would certainly do something that would interfere with his appearance. Then again, the true Blueblood cannot employ earth pony magic, nor can he encounter a mess such as this without his head threatening to explode. Thus, it seems apparent that you were not completely concerned with maintaining the illusion.”

The changeling wearing Blueblood’s face smirked, not much fazed by its sudden entrapment. “Oh, darn. The jig is up.”

My lip curled, and I leaned in close. “What have you done with Blueblood?”

“Nothing.” It was so unbearably smug that I would not have been surprised if it was Chrysalis herself. “He’s probably in his room. I just wanted to see how long it would take you to notice."

I would not take its word for fact so simply. With another burst of magic, I teleported us to the mentioned location, and we were deposited swiftly into that corner of reality.

The real Blueblood jumped out of his plush armchair. “Mother!” he exclaimed, trying desperately to hide his book behind him. “Where did you come from? Why am I in a ball of orange soda?”

“‘Tis a member of those shapeshifters I was informing you about,” I said, appraising his choice of reading material. “It seems progress for the Dreamscape exodus is moving more rapidly than we had anticipated.”

The false Blueblood huffed, most likely at its inability to hold that secret above our heads. I could not hide my grin. Chrysalis may have been a sly devil, but was ultimately a creature of the realm I had once ruled. She could not hide anything from me for long. Nor can she presently, for those of my future readers who insist on technicality with temporal terminology.

“But there are more important matters to discuss!” I said, trotting over to my son with a firm hoof and a narrowed eye. “Why are you reading a supernatural romance?”

“Because it’s popular, of course! Why else?”

“I thought I raised you better than to read such nonsense.” I seized the offending novel and flipped through its pages; my eyebrow lifted at the same rate at which those pages moved. “As usual,” I scoffed. “A brooding ‘hero’ and a love interest who cannot feel her own lips. It is good to know that some things have not changed in the past thousand years.”

“That just means this could be great literature in the next thousand years!” he retorted, full of pride.

“That is falsehood.”

“You don’t know that!”

“On the contrary. I would confidently say that this is trash, but then I would be uttering a tautology.”

“Excuse me,” the changeling whined, drawing our attention from our literary debate. “Are you going to let me go anytime soon? I have better things to do than listen to you two bicker.”

I considered this. “I may do so. First you must tell us how matters have progressed with your people.”

The false Blueblood rolled its eyes. “They managed to harness enough power to send me ahead on a test mission, so clearly things have hit rock bottom. Don’t worry about me, though. I’m not about to blow our cover five seconds into this.” Its nostrils flared. “Now are you going to release me, or not?”

With a relenting flare of magic, the orange soda melted. I only realized that this was an unwise decision two seconds too late.

“Mother,” the real Blueblood said sweetly, now boasting a fresh new coat color. “Tell me what we are marinated in.”

“Your impersonator has already stated what this substance is, my son.”

“Can you tell me why we are marinated in it?”

There are instances in which I almost wish I had not banished Micah Jayfill. Currently I am in hiding, as Blueblood is sure to be sure the blame for this matter is thrown in my direction. The fact that I caused the mess in the first place is entirely beside the point.

Sister Dearest is looking for me. I can hear her hoofsteps, even from my safe location under the table. There is little doubt that she cannot find me. I must not let down my guard, however, even with the smallest of matters. When I escape, I must interrogate the changeling further, and then Blueblood and I might ev

Entry Thirty-Nine

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October 16, 1000 ANM

Sister Dearest found me. Apparently such a feat is a simple matter when one’s quarry has been dyed orange. I had been certain that using the table for cover was a stroke of brilliance, but it was all for naught, for which I feel a distinct measure of chagrin.

She was not angry, of course. She rarely is. Rather than berate me on my minor oversight regarding the fact that orange soda is a liquid, she lightly chastened me for not taking responsibility for my action. I cannot see how she thinks that to be a possibility. Does she not know that I do not do so easily, if at all? I much prefer to avoid making such mistakes in the first place, which means that when such instances do occur, I am woefully unprepared. Whenever I misstep to a small degree, it is only logical that I should err to a properly more impressive degree.

I admit, that is where many of my problems stemmed from in the first place. My desire to be in the right, even when I was very close to being in the wrong, led me into the tempting clutches of the Nightmare. It is a strange combination: in my quest to be a shining example of leadership, I have sunk to depths that even anglerfish would not dare to plumb. If I had realized that thousands of years ago, when the staring contest seared the image of the inferno into my mind, would I have tread down a different path? I wonder. It would have been quite good not to be banished from the face of Equestria for a thousand years.

But enough of my brooding. Sister Dearest did not show many signs of sour scolding. In fact, it was Blueblood who boasted the bulk of being bothered, though the servants had no small share of sulkiness themselves. As I was led back to my son’s quarters, it seemed that the entirety of the staff had been gathered to correct my little mistake.

I had never before seen anything like it. All present members of the servant body were in the midst of a large group spell—apparently, scrubbing at the mess would have made it worse. It is amazing how the wonders of science have extended into janitorial corners. Indeed, the unicorns who were standing throughout Blueblood’s chamber concentrated solely on extracting the orange soda from each strand of carpet, a task made easier by the efforts of the earth ponies; the latter used their innate magic to make the soda pull itself from areas that could not otherwise come clean. Once any measure of liquid had been removed, the pegasi would swoop around and add it to the tornado of soda spinning in the center of the room, supported solely by weather magic and the wind of wings.

I considered the scene for a fair amount of time. Then I looked at Sister Dearest. “Would it not be a simpler affair to simply install new carpet?”

“It would,” she agreed, smiling at the scene before us. “But one of the servants came up with the idea, and everypony else was so interested in all being able to take part that I didn’t have the heart to tell them no.”

That was not quite surprising. Being very familiar with Sister Dearest, I am well aware that she often uses a hooves-off approach. She often says that all ponies needed friends, but she also believes that none can solve a pony’s most personal problems quite like the pony herself. Weighing those contradictory ideas, I was somewhat bemused as to why she had not relegated the cleaning duties to Blueblood and me.

When I told her so, she laughed lightly. “The thought did cross my mind, yes. But, not to put too fine a point on it, I had the idea that you would use more forceful methods. Subtlety is not your strongest suit.”

I nodded in admission. Aside from my plots for tyranny, I do not employ many cloak-and-dagger operations. Perhaps I channel all such silence through that single outlet? That would certainly explain the substantial secrecy of my superlative subversive schemes.

Somepony tapped my flank. Turning, I saw that it was none other than Blueblood. Judging from the bright orange glow of his coat, it seemed a fair guess that this was the real Blueblood and not his impostor.

“Motherrrrr,” he whined. “I’m a mess.”

“I see that,” I told him, taking note of his mildly frazzled mane. “I must say, you are taking this with far more grace than I expected from you.”

“I don’t want to be graceful,” he pouted, stamping the floor with an orange hoof. “I want to be not orange. How can your fur mix blue and orange and not look hideous?”

“Now, Blueblood,” was my chastisement, “be a mature little pony, will you not? If you are truly bothered by this development, you will nevertheless accept it with dignity.”

“I’d be glad to,” he said grumpily, glancing back at his rump, “but my dignity is just as orange as the rest of me.”

“Don’t worry, nephew,” Sister Dearest cut in. “Things could always be worse.”

“Dare I ask how they could be worse?”

“It could have been grape soda instead.” Her eyes twinkled. “That said, I believe that situation would be a horse of another color.”

I applied my hoof to my face. “You are awful, sister.”

“I don’t know.” Blueblood looked thoughtful. “When you put it that way, it’s vaguely humorous.”

Blueblood has grown quite soft over the last thousand years if he can find such witticisms amusing. I love him, of course, but it is that love that drives me to write such a fact. Did I not teach him a number of forbidden arts, as is befitting of a prince of darkness? As a child of the powers of Sombra and myself, he has something of an expectation in regards to destiny and so forth. Or perhaps I should say he had such an expectation. The last thousand years have not been kind to anypony’s knowledge of history, even for those who experienced it.

I really should speak with him about it. Despite that need, however, I am wary of broaching the subject around him, because when I last attempted to do so hundreds of years ago he pointed out that if by dark powers I am his mother, Sombra must be his father. The images that idea produced were so terrible as to cause me to seek acid to pour into my ears, in hopes that I could obliterate the portion of my brain responsible for conjuring it up. Even now I regret reliving the memory. I must write of something else.

Of course! The changeling. After Sister Dearest had cheerfully informed me that the servants’ income for this chore would be coming out of my allowance, I meandered in the vague direction of my chambers, mumbling to myself in such a way that even I cannot recall what was said under my breath. Truly the rightful empress of the night is naturally the best at steeping even the spoken word into shadow. It was in the midst of my mumbling that I caught sight of the strange pony.

Of course, it was not a pony at all, but rather the changeling. Its earth pony guise did not prevent it from betraying itself through the little insect-like twitch it gave upon noticing my presence.

“You are terrible at maintaining such an illusion,” I told it happily. “If you wish to achieve some measure of competence at it, you must first remember to act like a pony.”

“Yes,” the changeling said flatly. “And if you were disguised as one of us, you’d immediately think to act like a bug, right?”

“But of course!” I boasted. “I consider myself an expert in scintillating schemes. I am a master of chess, you know.”

The changeling was skeptical. Of course it was, for my skills at chess must be seen to be believed!

“But important matters are more important,” I said wisely. “Tell me, how fares your queen?”

“Doing well,” it said, with an ounce of respect for its kin. “Progress is being made very quickly. At this rate, the Dreams—that is, the changelings—should be ready to enter reality within a few days.”

“Well, I am pleased that they … days?!”

“Of course.” There was a pause. Then the changeling’s eyes widened, slowly. “You mean … she didn’t tell you?”

“Chrysalis told me that the exodus would be prepared for in a matter of years.”

It looked at me, stunned. Then it shook its head. “No, that can’t be right. She told us you were up to date on everything.” It fidgeted uncomfortably. “But if she lied about that …”

I gasped. “But pause a moment! It makes sense. She did tell me that she had a surprise for me, and what better surprise is there than to reveal that everything is going perfectly?”

It said nothing. I threw out my forelegs dramatically for emphasis. It only frowned in reply.

“... You seem less than excited about this,” I perceived. “What troubles you? Was this meant to be a surprise for you as well?”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.” The changeling shook itself. “Princess Luna, something strange is going on. I’ll see if I can’t bring a few friends up to speed and see what the deal is. Our queen has something up her sleeve.”

At this point I was beginning to suspect that Chrysalis may not have concealed the projected exodus date for purely equinitarian reasons. “I assume this is not a preferable situation.”

“What gave it away?” the changeling sneered. But it could not hide the little tremor running up its body as it spoke. “This is bad, very bad. She has her own plans … she hasn’t always been all that fair in the past, and now this …”

“What do you suggest?” I asked kindly. “If you require peace of mind, I would be glad to assist despite the fact that you have done nothing for me beside help turn Blueblood orange.”

Its head tilted. “I … I wasn’t expecting you to say that. You really want to help? Huh. I. Huh.” It bit its lip in thoughtful confusion. “I might need to think this over.”

“Do not be in a rush,” I advised. “I shall look forward to speaking with you again when we next meet. But I should probably be sure it is you, and not some other changeling attempting to pull a pathetic prank. I shall name you.”

“... How is that going to help anything?”

“It is a common philosophy in the kingdom of Equestria to steadfastly be true to the attributes and desires that separate a pony from the squirming mass of its sisters.”

It appeared baffled.

I sighed. “Identity is magic, changeling.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” It did not sound particularly convinced. “I assume you’re going to call me something bug-related?”

“You sound as if you would be averse to such an idea.”

“It sounds so stereotypical. We wouldn’t go up to a pony and tell her, ‘You are now Fuzzyhooves!’ It’s practically an insult.”

“I did not think of the matter in that way,” I admitted. “Very well. I shall call you Bumblebee!”

“Okay—wait, I’m sorry, what? Did you not hear what I just said?”

“Of course. But you were too narrow in your specifying what you did not wish to have. You should have realized that while all bugs are insects, not all insects are bugs.”

“I won’t even pretend to find the logic in that,” it said, exasperated. “But Bumblebee? Seriously? That’s really the best name you thought of?”

“It is fitting,” I said proudly. “For you are the bumbling sort, and you first impersonated Blueblood, whose name starts with the letter B.”

“But there are so many better names I could have!” Bumblebee protested. “Like, say … Thorax? Acari? Heck, even Gauze would be better than freaking Bumblebee.”

“It is too late. Already the walls of your new identity are defining where you can and cannot go.” I frowned for a moment, then allowed my expression to lighten when the changeling began to hyperventilate. “It is not so bad a fate, Bumblebee. I am merely saying this in jest. In any case, such a name will help you blend in much more effectively. I can overtly call for your attention without anypony batting an eye. I am not entirely stupid, you know.”

Bumblebee considered this. “Ugh … I guess when you put it that way, it lives somewhere within fifty miles of actual sense.” It made a face. “But I don’t bumble.”

“See there! That was not so terrible!” I crowed, giving it a friendly cuff on the shoulder. “We shall help one another, good Bumblebee. I shall appease you in your insecurities, and you shall be an asset to me in many regards. Such is the magic of friendship! I have already almost forgiven you for causing me to think that Blueblood was in danger yesterday.”

“Not friends,” it grumbled, rubbing its shoulder gently. “You can’t just say ‘let’s be friends,’ especially when it’s due to matters of convenience. We just have similar interests, that’s all.” But its ears turned pink, which I assume is a favorable sign.

Bumblebee returned to the Dreamscape not long after. I will assume that it is implementing some variety of plan to determine the exact designs of the queen. From what I understand, Chrysalis’ underhooved schemes are alarming when revealed to her henchponies. Such schemes cannot be particularly dangerous, of course, considering the fact that she is dealing with me, but Bumblebee’s worry gives me reason to doubt.

…

That is a terrible way to end a diary entry. I must determine an event that bodes less doom and gloom. Aha! Mi Amore Cadenza rode on her bicycle today. It did not end very well, but at least she was not playing tennis again. How she jammed that ball between her opponent’s jaws, the world may never know.

That, too, was a ridiculous object to note. But I have instilled confidence in myself, which is all that truly matters! For no matter what happens, it cannot possibly be worse than my niece’s “skills” at tennis.

Entry Forty

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October 17, 1000 ANM

I spoke with the changeling again. In fact, such a statement is more true than ever, for Bumblebee managed to bring three companions into the waking world this time. I was uncertain as to how this was accomplished, for surely the use of so much magic to transport them would not go unnoticed.

When I voiced this seeming oversight, Bumblebee looked smug. “I told Chrysalis that it’d be smart to begin infiltrating the ponies on a very small scale. She believed me, of course. She even let me pick which ones I wanted to bring.” Gauzy wings fluttered in self-congratulation. “These guys are all up to speed, don’t worry.”

I considered “these guys.” They all looked exactly the same. Even Bumblebee would have been impossible to distinguish from them without that self-important air. It is good to know that after the unsettling realization that the queen cannot be trusted, her subject can recover soon enough to return to its usual habits.

We were secluded in my chambers, far from any prying eyes. Blueblood lounged nearby on a sofa, perusing supernatural romance again. I could not hide my disappointment at this, especially as he was engaging in such nonsense in my territory. Still, I would not reprimand him for this, for it was entirely my fault that he was forced to make camp in my room while the servants continued extracting the orange soda from his carpet. There were, of course, spare bedrooms he could have used, but when I suggested he share in the space of my quarters, he nearly jumped at the offer. I am uncertain as to why. He has done nothing but read so far. What difference is there between a spare bedroom and my own?

In any case, Bumblebee and its fellows were also staying there while we sorted out our plans. The six of us were fairly confident that Sister Dearest or Mi Amore Cadenza would fail to discover our plans, so we were slightly at ease in the midst of our scintillating schemes. In any case, we were rather more concerned with Chrysalis’ own devices.

“Things are really wrapping up,” Bumblebee was saying. “We still don’t have an exact date, but since every Dream is now a changeling, they can all concentrate their efforts on emerging into reality. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if they managed to come out by tomorrow … anxious, yeah, but not surprised.”

“Have we a plan?” I asked. “Not to be a disruptor of positive thought, but I am unsure as to what we can do against Chrysalis and her minions.”

One of the other changelings spoke up. “I don’t know how helpful this might be, but I figured out something pretty interesting while I was sneaking around in the kitchens—”

“Why would you be sneaking around in the kitchens?” interrupted the third. “Were you rummaging around in the pantry in search of a torrid romance for the ages? I’m oh so sure that the pasta’s fling with parmesan would have stuffed you like a turkey.”

The last blinked cutely. “What’s torrid?”

“It means don’t even try to change the subject, shorty.”

I considered remarking that there was no variation in their sizes, but I felt it would be a more productive use of my time to continue the relation of facts.

When I said this, the second changeling nodded in thanks. “Anyway, I was in the kitchens when I changed to impersonate one of the chefs. I was ready to try fooling everypony there, but as I started mentioning recipes off the top of my head, one of the cooks stopped me and asked if I was feeling well. It turns out that I couldn’t change my voice to match the chef’s at all, no matter how I modulated my larynx.”

“So what are you saying, exactly?” Bumblebee asked. “That you’re a far worse spy than any of us could’ve ever dreamed of?”

“Of course not. Almost the opposite, actually. It seems possible that every changeling has a tell—a detail about themselves that could give away their disguise. In my case, it’s my voice: it’s the same no matter what form I use. But it doesn’t seem likely that the voice thing applies to all changelings. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been disguised as two differently-voiced ponies since coming here, and that hasn’t given you any trouble.”

Bumblebee snorted. “Too right. I’m not about to let a couple of pitches and tones blow my cover.” It frowned thoughtfully. “That said, both of my disguises so far have been male and not pegasi … granted, that’s not setting much of an example, but I wonder.”

“If this is true, it appears to be a serious design flaw,” I pointed out. “Surely Chrysalis cannot have done such a thing by mistake. What is there for her to gain from actively hindering the abilities of her subjects? Perhaps she sought to keep them in check by means of being superior in terms of transformative powers?”

“I don’t think so,” the second changeling remarked. “From what I could see of the magic that turned us into changelings, it wasn’t any different from Evral’s transformation into Chrysalis. Admittedly I wasn’t that close when it happened, but it’s more something you feel than something you see … you were there, so you would know. I think she has a tell, same as the rest of us.”

“So you’re saying she deliberately weakened herself so that we’d become weaker too?” Bumblebee deadpanned.

“Pfft,” the third changeling said eloquently. “What an idiot.”

The second changeling shook its head. “Not necessarily. Her method of transformation was a lot more controlled than the factory-type setup going on for us. What if … what if she was able to choose her tell?”

Blueblood’s voice floated over from the sofa. “What if up was down and pegasi grew our food in the clouds? There’s no point in asking inane questions about what-ifs and could-bes. Can’t we just assume the whole thing is a fluke?”

“We can’t,” said the fourth changeling. “There aren’t any whales here.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Blueblood has a point,” I said. “This whole matter is becoming far too complex for the likes of Chrysalis. As your substitute ruler, I decree that we drop the matter until the unlikely event that it becomes relevant. File away the matter of tells for later. There are more important matters to deal with, such as giving each of you a name.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” the third changeling asked.

“A great deal,” said I. “I cannot continue to refer to you as the third changeling, nor can I refer to your compatriots as second and fourth.”

“Why am I third?” it said indignantly. “Third is lame.”

Bumblebee stared. “Girl, are you seriously complaining about something she’s actively trying to change?”

“You have genders?” I exclaimed, eyes wide. The third changeling, who had been about to retort, apparently changed its mind and ceased attempting to speak. “Why did I not think to ask about such a thing? Obviously you must, if Chrysalis can have such feminine wiles.”

“I was being … never mind.” Bumblebee shook its head. “I’m a guy. These guys are girls. I mean, these girls are girls … you know what I mean.”

“Thank you, Bumblebee. That makes things much clearer.” I pointed at the second changeling. “You are Aranea. Bear your name well, lest events transpire poorly.”

“Thank you, Princess Luna.” Aranea nodded deeply. “I will live up to your expectations.”

The third fell under my gaze. “You are named Skeeter, O sarcastic defier of deference.”

Skeeter shrugged. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I came to the fourth, where I paused. “You are … more difficult to pin down. I shall call you Bachuru, because that makes exactly the same amount of sense as you do.”

Bachuru tilted her head.

“And with that, this order of business has been dealt with!” I clapped my hooves together in victory. “What shall we discuss next?”

The changelings proceeded to inform me about the preparations their fellows have been making recently. It seems that Chrysalis is using the spare love magic she has stolen to begin twisting at the seams of the Dreamscape’s power, folding the space between spaces to a degree that an opening large enough to accommodate them will soon be formed. The idea is appalling, for how could I have not come up with it? Love is a very powerful magic, and was it not essential to use powerful magic in this endeavor? Were I less confident in my abilities, I would believe that this is a sign that I cannot hope to succeed.

But I know better than to entertain such a delusion. My glorious uprising was meant to be! How could it not, if these changelings now under my command can be so dissatisfied with their ruler’s poor example? Truly I shall be the greatest empress to set hoof in Equestria.

Our plan thus far is simple. We shall act as though nothing is ahoof while in Chrysalis’ presence, and continue to “support” her scheme. I will act as fellow executive at this juncture, of course, while my little conspirators subtly sabotage the nature of the spell. As there is no mechanical component to this, Blueblood’s task is to lounge about and look pretty. Thus we are all quite satisfied with our parts in the plan.

I am reasonably assured that absolutely nothing can go wrong. And is not such a statement crucial to the development of such an event’s existence?

Entry Forty-One

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October 26, 1000 ANM

Well.

Events have certainly … transpired. There is little more to reveal without outright expounding upon the details. I shall tell of what has happened since the clandestine meeting with my changeling minions, and then I will hope that the dear readers in my future empire do not think less of me for it. Do not all ponies have faults?

The changelings returned to the Dreamscape to help manipulate the workings of Chrysalis’s developments. All except Bumblebee, that is. He seemed curiously hesitant at the prospect of facing his queen again, though I cannot say that I fault him for such a sentiment. Taking pity on him as only a gracious princess can, I allowed him to stroll about the castle and keep an eye on affairs. It was highly likely that when the changeling race emerged from the Dreamscape, they would arrive in the place where the veil between the worlds was thinnest — that is, at the moment, Canterlot. It would not do to be taken unawares.

I spent the remainder of the seventeenth in deep thought. There are not many instances in which I may put aside all else and devote my brainpower to one particular topic, so I felt it reasonable to plan during the calm before the storm. Sadly, no flash of my usual brilliance lit the evening, and I was forced to retire with a considerable degree of chagrin.

The eighteenth came in the morning, as days tend to do. As I approached the dining hall, finally freed of the taint of orange soda, there was a lull in the air that made my ears prick forward and my nostrils flare. It seemed as though the castle itself was waiting for something, though for what I could not fathom. At the time, I thought it simple enough to attribute the strange atmosphere to the oncoming Nightmare Night. To celebrate the night of one’s own darkest hour is a peculiar concept. Even after Sister Dearest explained her admittedly noble actions regarding the matter, I still ~~feared~~ loved that the ponies would fail to separate me from the demon that wished destruction upon their heads.

By the time I had taken my seat at the table with my little family, I was uncharacteristically subdued. Sister Dearest noticed this, of course, and inquired as to what was the matter.

“It is nothing of concern,” I assured her, mashing my serving of eggs with the tines of my fork. “And even if there was an issue, am I not entitled to brood?”

“Of course you’d say that,” Blueblood said sulkily. “And yet I’m villainized if I so much as frown. The standards, they have doubled.”

“Hush, you colt. The adults are conversing. Sister, what events are in place for this macabre celebration? It seems I must attend some droll assembly in order to improve whatever nonsense events are taking place.”

“You actually want to go outside?” Mi Amore Cadenza shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve done that all of three times since you came back. I guess those sloths, or at least their ambassadors, must not have been all that interesting.”

“At the very least, their political situation is looking up,” Sister Dearest said with a smile. “For Nightmare Night, ponies love to disguise themselves in costumes and ask for candy at all the homes they come across. I believe the tradition began as a way of turning away Nightmare Moon’s attention. Or, failing that, they try to calm her wrath. Nowadays, however —”

“This is all very interesting,” I lied, less than eager for the familiar elephant to be dragged into the room. “But what of the festivities? Are there no balls or galas or even parades?”

“It depends on the city,” she said, sipping at her tea. “Notably, Trottingham delegates a citizen every year to act as a sanitized version of Nightmare Moon. She tends to terrorize everypony else and steal their sweets unless she is driven away by light. There is a reason why everypony who live there owns a flashlight, after all.”

“Spare me the details. It appears that the demon takes precedence at every turn.”

Sister Dearest fidgeted. At her side, Blueblood coughed awkwardly.

“I can understand, of course. There was no telling whether my true self still existed in any capacity within that frozen shell.” My shoulders rose and fell. “But it would be satisfactory to not be reminded of my little failure every other day.”

The three of them glanced each other.

“It matters not.” I pushed away from the table, scraping the floor with my chair. “Food no longer tempts me. I want to be alone.”

I left. I could feel their eyes on my back as I passed from the room.

I realize now that they meant me no harm. But it was difficult for such a fact to come to mind when my (admittedly feeble) attempts at reconnecting with the common pony were thwarted by the lingering crimes of my alter ego.

It was thus that I arrived in the Bat Cave in a foul mood. I felt little desire to show mercy, so I provided Micah Jayfill and her little friends with a new film, titled The Colors of My Possession. I have heard rumors amongst the servants that, despite popular appeal, it is a truly disgusting piece; such an opinion seemed to be shared by my prisoners, who complained about idiots trying to be meaningful and instead coming off as manipulative.

Whilst they were suffering in the theater, I regarded my reflection in the pool. She was a scrawny pony, appearing barely old enough to be called a mare, though her eyes spoke of experience that predated continents. I wondered again at how I might return to my former glory, but no solution presented itself. It was a depressing pattern to fall into, but there was little else for it.

“Who is that mare I see,” I mused, “staring straight back at me?”

I considered for a moment, thinking of my weaknesses and how they had led to my ruin. Strange how weaknesses tend to cause such things, is it not? Few tragedies (or, at least, few I have seen) have been caused by the victims’ strengths instead. Would it not be simpler to find one’s downfall in a series of events in which she was secure and confident in the notion that all of her efforts would succeed?

“Uh, hey, you look overly philosophical over there. You should probably tone it down.”

I turned to the Asteroid of Friendship. On the screen, the captives appeared to be on break, though the automatons themselves were nowhere to be seen. Only Micah Jayfill stood there, looking impressively irritated.

“Ah!” I crowed, melancholy forgotten. “Could it be that the film has at last broken you? No, that cannot be correct. You are not yet a sobbing shell of your former self.”

“I love you too, Princess,” she said dryly. “But that’s not important right now. Be careful of stares.”

“Is there any reason why I should take seriously the vague statement you have constantly reiterated over the last several weeks?”

“Because it’s true,” she said, and so utterly failed to convince me. “These things do happen. Don’t say I didn’t tell you to watch out … no pun intended.”

“I shall not need to take such an action,” I assured her. “And even if I did, your lack of specificity would make it impossible to use effectively. Surely you do not expect me to walk blind for the rest of my days?”

“Y’know, she’s got a point there,” said Gem Torque, popping out from who knew where. “The ominous warning thing doesn’t really work when the ominously warned aren’t superstitious.”

“Yeah, well, everypony knows that they have to show up in every story with magic,” Micah Jayfill reasoned.

I considered this. “... For ponies, that would be every story.”

“Exactly.”

“Bah!” I spat, causing them to jump. “You speak in riddles. I grow weary of your antics, beggar mare! Return yourself to the theater, lest I cut off your oxygen supply for defying your inevitable continuation of torment!”

They scampered off, shouting something about a “movie sign.” Raven T. Automaton followed lazily, clutching a comically oversized sandwich. All the ponies in that asteroid are certifiably insane.

With their torment renewed, I found myself alone, save for the scattered reflections of myself in the crystal walls. A lone mare, little larger than the average pony, still trapped under the shadow of envy and overzealousness … I thought of Sister Dearest, of Blueblood, and of Mi Amore Cadenza, none of which had holidays in memory of their darkest hours. How amusing, I thought, easily returning to the detestable pastime of brooding. I return to Equestria to find that almost everypony I knew is gone, and it is not enough: I must be greeted with a night specifically set aside for Nightmare Moon of all creatures.

With these thoughts on my mind, I peered into the pool again. My reflection peered back. It was quite an ordinary exchange, and looking back I wonder what possessed me to pursue it further.

My nose touched the water. I gazed into my own eyes, wondering whether they would create some new holiday in an effort to repair my mood. “Surprise,” I said, as quietly as I could manage. The water only rippled a little.

“Surprise,” my reflection echoed. And then Chrysalis pulled me in.

In my defense, it was not the sort of exchange one can prepare for. How often does a pony, in a moment of weakness, seclude themselves where no others can reach them? It happens frequently, of course. And how many of those, securely secluded away, are attacked from the least likely angle? None, as is logical. I truly do not understand all these changes that have occurred over the last millennium.

I must have been disoriented from this for some time, for when I next became aware of my surroundings I found myself somewhere entirely different. Once again, my eyes informed me that I had entered the Dreamscape, yet the circumstances were far removed from those of previous excursions. I was splayed against a tall outcropping of crystal, with my back to the cold surface. My limbs were stiff, but when I tried to alleviate this I found that nearly every inch of my body had been encased in a slick green material, hardened to a firm consistency. Only my head remained free, though even this was nigh immobile as my horn had been glued to the crystal in the same manner.

I stared at the scene before me. All I could see were changelings. Changelings stretched to the horizon, changelings hovered in the air, thick enough to blot out the haze. They formed a constantly shifting mass, chittering, buzzing, hissing, muttering, roiling. Every single eye was fixed upon me.

While I tried to grasp the situation in its entirety, the changelings directly before me suddenly parted, and their queen stepped forth. In that moment, I vowed never to refer to Bumblebee as smug again, for the oily grin and half-lidded eyes Chrysalis boasted were enough to make me forget the sinking sensation of ~~fear~~ love, replacing it instead with a teeth-gnashing rage.

“Luna,” she said, stepping forward enough that she was no longer confined to the lower edge of my vision. “Do you remember when I told you that you’d be pleased with my surprise?”

I parted my lips, but only an undignified croak emerged. I was quite unused to the effect of my stretched throat on my voice.

“I lied,” she said unabashedly. “You are a bit of a foal, aren’t you?”

Now that was an insult I would not stand for. I strained myself and found my words. “You … Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!”

She cackled. “Are you implying that you knew this would happen? Or are you just trying to salvage some bit of dignity in your twilight hour? What an idiot.”

Her loud guffaws sounded oddly muffled in the close confines of the surrounding changelings. None of them partook in her mockery. A few exchanged uncertain glances.

“You’re stuck here,” she said, suddenly straight-faced. She leaned forward, and I noted how much taller she was than me as her nose nearly touched mine. “And you have nopony to blame but yourself. You are without a doubt the worst princess I have ever seen.”

“Be that as it may,” I replied, unwilling to let my tone adopt any shakiness, “I would call you the worst queen I had ever seen, but you are not worthy of licking the shoes of the true bearer of that title.”

I expected her to retaliate, but no sudden blow fell upon my face. Instead, she gave me a slow smile. Her fangs glinted in the faint glow of the entrapping cocoon. “Look at you. A declawed cat trying to intimidate me with furballs. Forgive me if I don’t feel an urge to take your squirming seriously.”

I felt an urge of my own, prompting me to search for a stronger insult, but none fitting to pass from a princess’s lips came to mind.

She exhaled deeply and deliberately, and her breath crept across my face with the odor of warm honey. Then she pulled back, apparently pleased with the (correct) assumption that I would be unable to smell anything else for days.

“As you may have noticed, events have been put into motion quickly,” she said, falling into the classic tendency to exposit for the doomed. “There is enough love here to ferry my changelings into the waking world, and more to spare besides. Sadly, I have reason to believe that the ponies will not be as accepting of our kind as you have claimed. So I will be … an ambassador, if you will. One that hides under a mask that I’m sure is very familiar to you.”

Her chitinous form was obscured in a flare of green flame. I winced at the sudden light, but it died soon enough, revealing a sight that had met me at every mirror. If not for the smugness on her muzzle, I might have wondered if I was looking into a mirror.

“You wondered about tells,” my double said. “In truth, I did choose my own. And rightfully so, don’t you think? Only the form of an alicorn really suits me, at least besides my own.”

“Wait,” I said. My dawning horror, temporarily halted by the shadow of defiance, renewed its charge. “How do you know I was speaking of tells?”

When she laughed, it was not a sound that should not have emerged from my throat. “Don’t you get it, Luna? One of your spies is one of mine. You really aren’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?”

My breathing, already hindered by my awkward position, hitched. One of my changelings … Chrysalis had known all along. For every second of my suspicion, she had an inkling of it. Part of me ignored the urgency of the situation as I wondered, with more than a little unhappiness, which of them was the traitor.

“What an idiot,” she said again. One of her changelings snickered at this, though it soon trailed off upon realizing that it was alone.

I was tempted to comment that such a statement provided a terrible excuse for a catch phrase, but she seemed unlikely to allow any criticism at this point. Megalomaniacs are terrible at finding faults in themselves, which makes me quite glad that I am not one.

Her horn glowed, and a space between us was torn in a burst of unlight. “Much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have sights to see, ponies to enslave, worlds to conquer, et cetera. Since you’ve helped me so much, I think it would be reasonable to watch me infiltrate your little society. It’s the least I can do for somepony who’d happily stab an ally in the back — a mare after my own heart.”

Her words were sincere. I tasted bile upon hearing them.

With a last laugh, she stepped over the threshold. The portal remained open, allowing a clear view into the now-occupied Bat Cave, but when a curious changeling poked its undulating edge, the backlash flung him into the startled hooves of his cousins.

I had no choice but to watch as she went about the palace, sullying my face with her … face. She spoke with the servants with a laugh, made a show of devouring her meals, and spent an inordinate amount of time with Sister Dearest. I listened to what she said at first, but the same insipid remarks, repeated over and over again, were of little interest to me.

If not for Chrysalis occasionally crossing a window, I would have entirely lost track of how long I had been trapped in the Dreamscape. Time is not a rule in that place, or even a guideline. Have not ponies experienced horrendous nightmares that seemed unending, even though they were only dreaming for a few minutes? Such is not an illusion of the recovering mind.

I will not bother the reader with a lengthy account of my despair. I have more dignity than to subject to that image. Instead I will move ahead to the moment when, after standing about without purpose for so long, the changelings found their quiet chittering broken by a groan.

My ears perked at the sound. An idea came to mind, and I acted accordingly. “You there!” I called, and the weight of all eyes fell upon me. “You seem to be the reasonable sort, as you show disdain at the thought of simply standing about like aimless gulls.”

“That simile doesn’t work,” one of them piped up. “Aimless implies movement.”

“This is not the time or place for technicalities,” I said, not eager to derail the lecture before it could properly begin. “Let me ask you something, former Dreams. Chrysalis’s plan is a glorious one, is it not? She seeks a new life for all of you?”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“Wrong!” I bellowed, and they started. “Let me make the matter plain. Before I arrived here, in the broken wastes of the Dreamscape, she was content to be the Matriarch of a doomed tribe. What efforts did she make for your sakes? If I recall correctly, she was even willing to obliterate one of your brothers to prove a point when I set hoof here for the first time in a millenium. I find it difficult to believe that such could be the action of a ruler with the best interests of her ponies at heart.”

I watched their reactions as best I could, and was rewarded with the sight of several shifting uncomfortably. Evidently, my first audience with Evral had had more than one witness.

“Of course I returned,” I continued. “At risk of life and limb, I returned! And why? To provide a gentler life for all of you. I unveiled this proposal, and Evral found herself in a bind. If she rejected my offer, she would lose the respect of the subjects who turned to her for guidance and hope, and what good is a Matriarch if her children are wayward? On the other hoof, if she accepted, she would admit that her ways of leading had failed miserably, and she would likewise lose the respect of her Dreams for failing to find a solution in a thousand years while a dangerous outsider accomplished such a feat in minutes.

“So she created a choice of her own. She became Chrysalis and pretended to agree with the exodus, and all the while she plotted. Why should she lose her power to the great Luna? Her scheme was a simple one: she would betray her illustrious ally once the exodus was completed, and so reap the rewards for herself. Now ponder on this: is such a scheme born from a mind that places one’s subjects over oneself?”

I must make something clear at this point. I did not know for certain that such were Chrysalis’s thoughts. I was merely extrapolating, as one of my status has license to do. The results were, of course, within the bounds of the reasonable, at least from what I had seen from Chrysalis’s action, but much creative thinking was required to arrive at such conclusions. To use the vernacular, I was in fact “making stuff up.”

Nevertheless, such “stuff” seemed to strike a chord with the changelings. As I looked upon their faces, I noted that the majority bore expressions of thoughtfulness. Several looked at each other, speaking in hushed tones of what they had seen and heard over the past weeks.

My voice rose. “Do you honestly believe that she cares for any of you? Is this not merely a bid for even greater power?”

I was pleased to hear a chorus of grumbles. It was satisfying to see that more changelings beyond Bumblebee could see reason. Then I remembered the Bumblebee might be the traitor, and the light of my pride dimmed a little. But I could not stop to dwell on it at that moment, for what use is there in fretting over something outside of one’s control?

“She is a master manipulator!” I cried. “Are you tools to be picked up and discarded at her leisure? I say, neigh! For you are your own ponies.”

“We’re changelings,” one of them reminded me.

“That too. And you must not forget it! Is it not your choice if you wish to live peaceably among the ponies of Equestria?”

“Yes!” another exclaimed. Then she paused. “Or is that no? That’s some awkward syntax right there, Princess Luna.”

Nevertheless, the others added their assent. The murmurs of their realization rippled across the black tide in a motion of chitinous waves. A few stepped forward, and their horns glowed the same color as the unrelenting cocoon, coaxing it into peeling apart as they reclaimed the stolen love magic.

Once I was free, I stood tall and proud in the midst of that proud people. My wings flared, and I drew their attention at once; they ceased chattering amongst themselves and waited for me to guide them further.

“Thank you, my friends,” I said, and I meant it. “Do not think I will take your kindness for granted. I will handle this portal with care, and soon it will lead you to a place in Equestria where the sudden presence of millions will not cause alarm. Then, at long last, you will be free.”

There was a mighty cheer that echoed across the terrible wastes. My mane fluttered in the face of it, and with a smile I turned to that window to Equestria and lit my horn.

It was not an easy task. It is true that recently I have come and gone as I pleased, but there is quite a difference between that and being forced into that place by a megalomaniac monster of a mare. I was assured of my ability to gain control over it, but as I prefer immediacy over eventuality it seemed reasonable to work as quickly and efficiently as possible.

As the changelings watched, I pored over the intricacies of the portal. It was a spell of a most curious design, for despite its thousands of interlocking components there was no obvious weak link among them. My magic roved over cantrips and incantations, seeking the key to unraveling Chrysalis’s control over it and asserting my own.

In addition, it was a lengthy process. I will not hesitate to admit that. And such an endeavor was not entirely assisted by the unyielding stares of the swarm. Even less helpful was the unending scene before me, in which the bug wearing my face smiled with Sister Dearest, chatted with Blueblood, and engaged in tennis with Mi Amore Cadenza. It was difficult to focus on my task when my mind constantly brooded on how they could fail to notice the deception. Did they really believe I would dare to play tennis in such a way that no windows could shatter from either the ball or my voice?

Eventually, my magic flicked across a key thread of the spell, and like the flip of a switch I shifted the portal’s destination. The landscape beyond changed to a crashing ocean, then to an unforgiving desert, and finally to a rolling field of endless green.

“That should be sufficient,” I said, wiping the perspiration from my brow. “I believe it should permit all of you to escape into the waking world. Should I test this theory?”

A nearby changeling shook his head. Cautiously, he stepped forward, poked the portal, then drew back reflexively even as his hoof passed through it. He looked at me, as if expecting permission, and I smiled in confirmation. With a squeal of joy, he galloped through, and his cheers continued to ring when he had reached the other side.

The others wasted no time. It was all they could do to avoid trampling each other in their eagerness for freedom, yet the stream of bodies scampering through the portal did not slow for even a second. Many expressions came my way, and I examined them as intently as the swift motion of their exodus would allow. A few bared their fangs at me, and it took me some time to realize that these were not attempts at smiles, but rather scowls. I returned them in confusion, for did I not save them from an eternity of the Dreamscape?

But those were few and far between, for the vast majority were beside themselves with joy. (For all I knew, that might have literally been the case.) Not all eyes were dry, and many even approached me before departing, granting me a bow or the occasional embrace.

I was uncertain what to make of this. Was this what it felt like to be appreciated? I wondered on this, trying to understand why this feeling was not so strange as I had imagined … and then I realized where I had felt this before. It was in the company of those in the castle, those royal ponies who knew me in an age when few others did. Whenever Sister Dearest draped a wing over me, or Blueblood assisted me in my plans, or Mi Amore Cadenza bickered with me over some trivial matter. The assurance that, despite my occasional complaining, they never abandoned me.

At least, never willingly.

I thought of Chrysalis. I thought of her schemes to destroy everything I cared for, up to and including … everything, to put it bluntly. And even as I smiled and waved at the departing changelings, something inside me tightened and coiled, like a snake waiting to strike. For Equestria was mine to conquer, and mine alone. I would not let that creature harm a hair on my little ponies’ heads.

It was maddening to simply sit there and wait, but I would not deny the changelings their freedom. As they continued to vanish through the portal, the moon rose and fell on the other side. Only as the next morning dawned did the tide slow into a mere trickle, and when the last of them had gone through I seized control of the portal and returned its focus to Canterlot.

Chrysalis could be seen through it, going about her nonsense without an ounce of suspicion on her part. I charged into the portal, preparing to —

— be thrown back against the crystal in an undignified heap. I lay there for a moment, more surprised than hurt, before shaking myself and returning to my hooves. It was evident, I thought as I dusted myself off, that Chrysalis had made it possible to only view Canterlot through the portal. I considered the possibility of joining the changelings in their grassy glory, but quickly dismissed the idea. There was no way of knowing where that field stood in relation to Canterlot, and I dared not risk saddling myself with a journey of weeks or even months.

Had she anticipated this possibility? How disturbing.

Naturally, I was unwilling to allow her cleverness to prevent me from returning. My magic swept over the portal once more, this time trying to break the seal that prevented others from using it. It held firm, and I was beginning to feel the toll of acquiring no sleep or sustenance, but I refused to waver. The magic was strong, but I was an alicorn. I could overpower it. I had to.

Something clicked. In an instant voices washed over me, and I drew back for a moment before leaning forward to listen. My powers still fiddled with the portal, but that was no reason to ignore information. I am an excellent multitasker, or so I tell myself.

“— and so I told her that her choice in breakfast was a sure sign of insanity!” Blueblood was saying. Was he really this excited? I had not heard such a thing since my return.

“Oh, Blueblood.” Chrysalis was eating grapes while lounging on a couch in his chambers. It was astonishing how quickly the servants had brought those rooms back to normal. Perhaps I should convince Sister Dearest to give them a raise.

“It’s true,” he said. He sat down on the carpet — on the carpet! — and stole a few grapes for himself. “And that’s why I’m not permitted outdoors on Nightmare Night.”

“You are quite full of interesting stories,” she said. “I am glad you felt you could share them with me.”

“So am I. Can I be honest? It’s nice to just spend our time together as mother and son, rather than as conspirators. Not that it isn’t nice to conspire,” he added hastily.

She smiled. “I understand perfectly.”

“So what were you speaking of with Auntie Celestia? I haven’t seen you two so amiable since … well ... before everything. What are you two up to?”

“Don’t be a foal, Blueblood,” she laughed as she munched. “It’s perfectly normal for two sisters to want a little bonding time.”

Blueblood did not respond. He had gone perfectly still.

“... Blueblood?” she asked. She prodded him in the side with her magic, and I noted that it remained as green as when she was in her true form. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you repeat that?” His voice was quiet. “Can you repeat what you just said?”

“Sisters like bonding time? That’s it, essentially.”

He stood up. With deliberate, even steps, he walked toward the hearth and looked into the fire.

“Is there something the matter with that?” Chrysalis’s voice wavered a little.

For a while there was no reply. The flames crackled on, even though the sun was streaming through the window behind them.

“Can you tell me what you shouldn’t have said?” It was less of a question than a calm demand. When he turned, his expression was neutral, but for the tightening of his jaw. “There were four words you shouldn’t have said.”

She put on her best expression of puzzlement. It was not quite convincing.

“Where is she?”

She tilted her head. “What do you —?”

“Where is my mother?” Suddenly he was all rage, lifting her by the neck with a darkening field of magic. At its touch, the illusion peeled away to reveal the glossy chitin underneath.

Chrysalis did not fret. Rather, she smirked even as she was shaken about. “She’s gone,” she said in her own voice, and her laughter was dry. “This operation is mine now! Rest assured, you’ll never see her again!”

His lip curled in hatred. “Tell me where she is.”

“As if that matters!” she crowed. “You can’t possibly save her now.”

“Try me.”

A grin split my face. “That is my colt,” I said, caring not that none could hear me.

Chrysalis lit her horn, but Blueblood was faster. The whites of his eyes faded into green, and wisps of violet smoke rolled off them like fog. With a blast of alicorn magic he threw her against the wall, where she was embedded comically in a changeling-shaped hole. She struggled for a moment, then wrenched herself free in a burst of her own magic.

“So, you think you’re big and bad, hmm?” Her fangs glittered. “Well, the big leagues aren’t exactly the place for you, little foal. Just try that again, why don’t you?”

There was no verbal response. Instead, Blueblood’s magic circled her like a ring of fire, and tendrils of them snaked in to weave in and out of the holes in her legs. She smirked and made to lift a hoof, but it was as if she had been weighed down by thin chains. Her legs were shrouded in magic, appearing almost fluffy in texture.

Chrysalis screamed.

She screamed as she stared in horror at some invisible sight, eyes locked onto the space in front of Blueblood. Her jaw hung enough to let her snake-like tongue protrude stiffly from her mouth. Her entire body quivered in an effort to be free, and her wings fluttered hard enough to buzz, but the magic held fast.

I withheld my cheering, however, as she closed her eyes with gargantuan effort. She still shuddered, but despite my son’s assault she managed to draw upon her love magic and fire a relentless beam of energy at his face. He was forced to shift his focus slightly and conjure a shield of dark crystal to halt her assault, redirecting it at an odd angle. With his attention split, she was able to struggle harder against her bonds, even managing to pull a leg free.

The beam increased in intensity. Cracks spiderwebbed across his shield, and his teeth ground together as the alicorn magic faded a little around the changeling.

“No,” I said. My horn blazed like a beacon in the shadows of the Dreamscape, and I launched spell after spell at the portal without a shred of mercy. “You will not touch him, Chrysalis. You will not harm the ones I love. I will destroy you first!” I may have said something else, but in all honesty I doubt it was anything intelligible.

The portal stood firm, but in my fury I was unfazed. I called upon every ounce of strength I had, then tapped into the power of the Dreamscape itself. Darkness surged through every muscle; eldritch energies vibrated every bone. A rush of blood nearly deafened me, but I heard something crack, and stars swam before my eyes. My balance faltered, but I continued to pull, filling myself with magic faster than I could cast it.

I noted Blueblood beginning to strain. Opposite him, Chrysalis’s teeth were locked into a predatory grin, though her eyes remained shut tight. With a cry, I poured enough magic into that blasted portal that it turned blue. Though my horn felt near bursting, I did not relent.

The spell shattered. In an instant I charged through, still glowing with power.

“Behold!” I bellowed, blasting her with a veritable torrent. “It is I who have the advantage now! Face me rather, queen of lies!”

“Wha—? Luna?” She gasped as she was knocked over so violently that her magic was disrupted. Her stumble gave her the time to see my face, and her eyes widened as she attempted a counterattack.

I gave her no quarter. Though the alicorn magic keeping her still had dissipated, my own magic was quick to compensate. I seized her effortlessly and slammed her into the floor with enough force to make the room shake. Before she could so much as groan, I slammed her again. Her horn lit up, but another violent encounter with the floor seemed to dispel that idea.

I am uncertain as to how long this pattern continued. I only know that my vision did not lose its reddish tint until her form was well and truly battered, with her limbs dangling limply below. Over the rush of my heavy breathing, and even as my heart thundered on, I heard a croaking, feeble mewl.

“You are a bit of a foal, Chrysalis,” I spat. “You have gleefully abused my trust and that of your subjects, attempted treason of the highest order, and schemed to throw Equestria into a new era of misery and woe. Nightmare Moon would be proud.”

“Not …” She coughed, an ugly hacking sound. “Not like Nightmare Moon. I …”

“For your atrocious avarice, I sentence you to the punishment that all tyrants must suffer …” I allowed myself a grin. “An eternity of solitude.”

“No,” she whimpered. Her breathing hitched as I turned her to the still-open portal. “You can’t do this to me! I am a queen!”

“Did I not already inform you that you are not worthy of that title? You are deaf as well as idiotic. Now begone!”

And with that, I pitched her horn-first into the Dreamscape. My righteous fury was tempered with amusement when I noted that she was flying without wings, so strong had I thrown her. But such distractions would not do: I concentrated on destroying the portal, unraveling every last thread of magic within the span of a few seconds. As it faded away like wisps of smoke, I released a sigh so heavy that I could hear the windows rattle.

“Mother!” Suddenly Blueblood was nuzzling me, looking quite ordinary again. “You’re here! The real you, and … you’re huge!”

“I would take offense to that,” I panted, “but I am beginning to feel the lack of sleep affecting me. I am quite relieved you are well, Blueblood. Help me to my chambers, and we will discuss matters in the morning.”

He made no argument, and together we crossed halls and stairs on our way. Nothing was said in that time, for what can anypony say in the wake of the manipulations of a nightmare of a matriarch? In any case, Chrysalis’s apparent lack of action since taking my place left little reason for concern.

I will have to indicate my pride in his swift action. If the years have dulled his skills, they have not done so by a significant degree.

When I managed to collapse into bed, I nearly fell asleep in that instant. But a thought occurred to me, and I called for Blueblood to wait until he could leave. “Kindly watch the changelings, if you would. One of them is not what he or she seems.”

He looked puzzled, likely at the apparent tautology, but nevertheless he agreed to scrutinize their actions between then and the morrow. As he departed, I felt a great weight lifted off my shoulders, a weight that I had been entirely unaware of bearing until that moment.

Since then I have been laying here, transcribing the facts as best I can. It seems prudent to do so, so I have been fighting the siren song of slumber for so long as I have been able. It is too tiresome to determine what to make off all these events. Clearly I am disoriented to a significant degree, for even now I see stars swarming before me. Thus I will sleep, and sleep will finally claim me as its prize.

I should end with some pithy saying, but I cannot summon the energy to care for such a tradition. Now I sleep.

Entry Forty-Two

View Online

October 27, 1000 ANM

I woke from a dreamless sleep, feeling refreshed and confused. Was I not awake for several days in a row? I had naturally assumed that the required recovery would comprise a full day at least, but for once in my life I was mistaken.

As soon as I awoke, Blueblood pounced from his continuous circuit of pacing beside my bed. “Mother!” he exclaimed, condescending to give an undignified nuzzle. “I’ve waited here for hours for you to wake up.”

I decided not to question why he had felt it necessary to spend so much time in unresponsive company. “Only hours? That seems impossible. I have been awake for days, and only a single night is required to regain my strength?”

“It’s more than that,” he tried to say, “it’s your —”

“Ah, it matters not,” I conceded. “I shall have to speak with Sister Dearest directly. It seems she has the right to know the details of this Chrysalis debacle, even if you have informed her of the general situation.”

“Actually, I assumed you could explain it best, so I’ve left it to you."

“But of course.” I ruffled his elegant mane in a gesture of affection, and his head wobbled under my hoof. “You have accomplished a great feat, have you not? Standing hoof to hoof with Chrysalis and the stolen love of millions of ants, you drew upon your dark heritage and provided a display worthy of the ages. Still, I must confess an ounce of disappointment regarding the violence of your assault.”

“I know.”

“You should have shown far less mercy than you did, and crushed her like the insect she is!”

“I know.”

“For what quarter should be allowed to a villain who has endangered one’s family in the pursuit of her own selfish aims?”

I could not place his expression. It was far too troubled to be attributed to the glory of defeating a would-be conqueror.

We made our way to the dining hall, where Sister Dearest was taking a long, deep draught that seemed impossible with the use of a mere teacup. Mi Amore Cadenza was nowhere in sight. I supposed that princess was plotting some nefarious plot with her pink fluffy bunny to terrorize the populace with sunbeams and puppies.

“Sister!” I called. “We must have words!”

Her eyes traveled calmly to rest on my countenance. Then they widened, and my vision was suddenly obscured by a magnificently forceful jet of tea.

Allow me to make one point clear: I have never liked tea. It is an unpleasant concoction, and no amount of honey or milk can completely weaken the many layers of bitterness that lurk within. In truth, it is another thing to ~~fear~~ love her for, which should not be a surprise. For how can any being, alicorn or otherwise, manage to consume as much of that foul liquid as she has without so much as batting an eye? In truth, it baffles me. I could never stomach such nonsense, and the discrepancy between our tastes causes me to wonder at times if we are truly bonded by blood.

The point I present here is that I was already less than fond of tea. Finding my magnificent countenance drenched with a particularly strong brew did little to increase my dislike, and in any case it has certainly not been the worst indignity I have endured.

“Oh, Luna!” Suddenly Sister Dearest stood before me, dabbing at my face with a napkin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make such a mess. It’s just … well, look at you! You took me entirely by surprise.”

“I am thrilled that I inspire the sort of surprise that provokes ponies to attack me with jets of sickness and saliva,” I said shortly, though I could not resist leaning ever so slightly into her attention. The ruffling of my fur reminded me of our days as fillies, when she would assist me in removing tree sap from my coat.

“Don’t worry,” she assured me. “It was for a very good reason.”

I could not think of any reason, good or otherwise, for reacting in the way she had, so I said nothing.

“Really, Auntie Celestia,” Blueblood protested, “isn’t that a bit of an overreaction?”

She smiled at him. “If you were in my position, could you honestly say you wouldn’t do the same?”

He opened his mouth, but hesitated. She quirked an eyebrow at the delay.

“This exchange is highly amusing,” I lied, “but that is no reason for me to put off my morning meal. My current mood for food is somewhere in the gray area between famished and ravenous.”

“I think you’ll want to see this, though.” She conjured a tall pane of glass out of nowhere, then set it before me with an expression bordering on mischievous. “What do you think?”

I considered the sudden situation. Before me, through the portal of glass, stood a figure who resembled myself, albeit before the fiasco with Nightmare Moon. She was a tall mare, with a mane and tail studded with stars that flickered gently in those tiny cuts from the cosmos. I scrutinized her with all the focus I could muster, and she regarded me with confusion in return.

“Ah!” I exclaimed, making Blueblood jump. I looked at Sister Dearest with new understanding. “This is a strange turn of events, but of course it becomes clear without delay. The changelings managed to contact you already, have they not? They are certainly being more diplomatic about it than their sorry excuse for a queen. It is quite flattering that their ambassador has taken my form, but in hindsight it was not entirely unexpected.”

Sister Dearest blinked, and her mouth adopted the shape that would invite bugs. For the first time in forever, she was truly flabbergasted.

“Do not be so surprised!” I consoled her. “I find that I am much sharper in wit than even I can tell, at times. Now, cease your fretting about the matter, for I will discuss the situation with her. I need practice in my skills in diplomacy after the events with the sloths.”

I turned to the mirror again. The changeling must have been speaking with somepony out of sight, for she did the same. We considered each other for a heartbeat.

“Greetings, noble insect!” I stated dramatically. “As princess of Equestria and your recent liberator, I hereby extend the hoof of friendship to your humble ruin of a once-proud nation—”

I ceased speaking suddenly, for despite my obvious pride I had realized that she was attempting speech at the same time. As I paused, she quickly ceased her chatter as well, clearly realizing her faux pas.

“Luna,” Sister Dearest tried to say.

I held up a hoof to cease her words. On the other side of the glass, the changeling did so as well. I wondered if their populace had yet realized that they need not mimic every last action of the ponies they were impersonating. “Be calm, sister,” I said. “I have the situation well in hoof.”

Then I frowned. My double had been attempting to speak at the same time. Clearly she did not understand how events such as this were supposed to occur.

“Your sense of timing is deplorable,” I told her with a measure of kindness. Then I grimaced, for her lips had moved in unison with mine yet again. Her expression immediately matched mine; clearly she was just as unamused with the situation as I was. “Stop that!” I commanded, exactly at the moment that she offered me an authoritative, though unheard, shout. “You are becoming a nuisance. I am being exceedingly patient with your shenanigans. Cease your nonsense at once. Stop that. Stop! Do not speak when I was speaking, you chitinous foal!”

She failed to comply with my reasonable request. An inarticulate noise rose in my throat, voicing the frustration that I could not put into words. I leaned toward the glass with hackles raised and wings spread in a gesture of impatience; she responded in kind.

“Mother,” said Blueblood, sounding appalled, “please stop throwing a tantrum. The servants are staring.”

“This is not a tantrum,” I corrected him. “This is righteous indignation at obvious mockery. If the servants do not have the presence of mind to allow such a thing, I will allow them mercy even in their fault.”

When Sister Dearest next spoke, her words were kind and cautious. “Luna. What makes you think this is a portal?”

“What else would it be?” I scoffed.

“If it is, don’t you think you would be able to walk through it?”

She had a point. “Very well,” I said, relenting. “I will make the matter a physical one.”

And so I lifted a hoof and brought it forward. Unfortunately my double was not yet done with her near-perfect impersonation, as my hoof met hers with a clink.

“Celestia,” I said serenely, “I would be pleased to learn of a reason why not to destroy this portal and be done with it.”

“Look at your hooves.”

Having little else to do in this situation, I did so. Nothing changed in their state of matter; they remained as blue and perfect as ever, shod in their regalia as ever even as they suggested an iron grip worthy of tyranny.

Then I noted a discrepancy. The coat on each limb was colored the same shade of night-blue. Just as strange was the fact that, though the perfected alicorn beyond the glass was certainly taller than my adolescent form, the two hooves were precisely the same size.

I considered this. Then my eyes traveled upward (or perhaps downward), and I noted that my moon-emblazoned torc, while still fitting me perfectly, seemed of a more appropriate size to fit a full-grown alicorn. I glanced over my shoulder at the curtain of stars and night sky.

“There appears to be an anomaly,” I said. “I am, in a word, enormous.”

The breath was squeezed out of me as a broad white wing wrapped around my torso. “It’s really happened,” Sister Dearest affirmed, nuzzling me. “And far earlier than I’d expected, too. Congratulations, Luna.”

I could not find words to speak. They had all fled as the realization made itself known that my glory had at last returned to me. There I stood, beautiful and terrible as the dusk, a noble pony of benevolent might who could with a sweep of her horn call forth meteors and moonbeams … at least, such might be the case in the future. Like an unused muscle, my strength would likely take some time to return to its full potential. But as things were now, I was the perfect picture of loveliness, no longer saddled with the curse of lanky adolescence.

I adored myself. So much so, in fact, that I could not resist preening then and there.

“Mother,” Blueblood said, “I must ask you to stop. This is not proper behavior for a princess.”

“A princess may do what she likes,” I managed to reply from behind a mouthful of feathers. “And what I like is to enjoy these massive wings for the first time in a thousand years. You would not understand this feeling, my son.”

Once I had satisfied the part of me that was a pegasus, I cast one longing look at my reflection before returning my attention to an amused Sister Dearest. There was a flash of magic as she sent the mirror back to whence it came.

“At this development, I am as pleased as a pony,” I said. And now, I was also pleased at having coined a new phrase that would surely be echoed by my subjects for eons to come. “I am wondrous to behold, am I not? But I bear a story, sister, which you likely desire to hear. That it comes from a restored body will make it all the better to listen to.”

Saying this, I launched into the story of the changelings. Not the entire story, of course — there was no reason to indicate that much of the incident was due to my desire to overthrow her — but there was enough to give her the gist of the tale. For her part, she did not interrupt even once as I spoke, though part of me wished she would grace the sound of my words with a look of rapt attention. Still, I suppose I cannot fault her entirely for lacking a complete awareness of the nuances of the Dreamscape.

This is not to say she was perfectly serene, of course. Her brow furrowed a little in disgust at the news of Chrysalis’s blatant thievery of love, and even her mouth opened into a dainty circle when she learned of how I had been impersonated over the past several days. More than once I saw her suppress a shiver.

As I finished, I found myself trapped in her embrace again. “You are quite fond of harassing me with your affection,” I noted, and my voice was muffled by fur and feathers.

She did not seem to have heard. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m so, so sorry. I should have known something was wrong, but I failed again … failed to notice obvious signs that something was wrong, and that you had been replaced the whole time. I am truly an incompetent sister.”

I felt a wave of indignation at this. She was incompetent, yes, but not as a sister. “There is no need to fret, Celestia. It is in a changeling’s very nature to deceive, for what other function does their shapeshifting serve? Even as Dreams, they bore no faces of their own. I do not blame you for putting your trust in a cunning foe.”

“The queen fooled us all,” Blueblood agreed, flipping a golden lock out of his face. “If she hadn’t slipped into such a casual matter at the critical moment, I would have remained none the wiser, and there is no telling where we might be now.”

Sister Dearest sniffed. “Well, we will keep an eye out for them,” she said. “Though from what you mentioned, Luna, most of them don’t seem to bear Equestria any ill will.”

The two of them discussed border policies and other uninteresting details. On my part, I devoted my attention to breakfast before inviting them to watch Mi Amore Cadenza’s amusing failures on the tennis court. They readily agreed, and the rest of the day was spent in delightful idleness as we enjoyed each other’s company.

To myself, I make a note that my changelings must be watched. They have made themselves scarce today, but it seems unlikely that they are able to return to the Dreamscape after the exodus, so I shall not worry excessively about the situation. Indeed, it may be that the question of how I will pass this Nightmare Night is the more urgent matter. The decision will be important, for is it not good for my public image to show myself to the ponies on the night set aside for a monster wearing my face?

Entry Forty-Three

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October 28, 1000 ANM

I do not wish to seem like a tribalist. It is not becoming of a tyrant of any caliber to favor groups of ponies over each other, no matter the reason. When I rise to ultimate power, it is my desire that all of my subjects remain equally under my domination. The aristocrats will, of course, be happily deluded into believing otherwise.

My future readers must bear this notice in mind, for I will say now that changelings can, at times, be annoying. Granted, I only know five of them personally, but their varied eccentricities lean them toward a slope of difficulty.

After lunch this afternoon, I summoned Bumblebee to my chambers for an interview. It was my intention to pry into whatever secrets he bore without provoking his suspicion. While subtlety is not my preferred method of operations, it seemed most worthwhile to avoid letting my spies discover that I had discovered that one of them was her spy.

“You doing better?” he asked as soon as we had begun. Then he caught himself with a slight scowl. “Not that I’m concerned, obviously. It just makes sense that Chrysalis could take us in so easily, and that you could be trapped somewhere dark and horrible for a week.”

“I shall ignore your implication that the darkness is not an entity of beauty and wonder,” I said haughtily, “and instead thank you for your grudging concern. Now tell me what you can about Chrysalis’s exploits while I was occupied.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Now that I know she was a fake, it seems pretty obvious in hindsight that she wasn’t you. She was a lot happier, for one thing. And she didn’t really have much for the four of us to do, which is definitely odd.”

“That is not so surprising. If she had, it would have been more likely that one of you would have noticed the disguise. But enough exposition! You say ‘not much,’ which is of course not the same as ‘nothing at all.’ Do enlighten me on the words she spoke to you.”

“Sure. She said ‘not to get our knickers in a twist’ about the whole world domination thing.”

“I fear that … I love that your colloquialism has bypassed my understanding completely.”

“That makes two of us. They were her words, not mine.” Bumblebee snorted. “Royalty sure is weird. Anything else?”

“Not unless she had any further words of ‘wisdom.’”

She had not, so he soon departed. I mused over this information for a moment, then suddenly came to an obvious conclusion. Was it not a simple matter to detect the traitor through means of comparing their stories? Surely a dissimilar account of Chrysalis’s words would provide the necessary revelation.

When I interviewed Aranea, the hypothesis seemed to hold. “She told us not to be concerned,” she said, rubbing her chin in thought. “Specifically? Not to worry about anything. A particularly odd thing to say, considering that we’d been concerned about the exodus just the day before.”

When she left, I resisted the urge to cheer. Hah! Aranea’s version of no concern had naught in the slightest to do with knickers. Clearly one of them must be the traitor!

However, upon speaking with Skeeter just in case, she scoffed at the memory of Chrysalis’s order. “She actually said ‘knickers in a twist.’ Really? She might be hundreds of years old, but doesn’t make her a grandma. Why not just say ‘quit worrying’ like the usual idiot? Crud like ‘knickers’ doesn’t just drop out of your mouth, does it?”

So their tales all aligned after all! This must mean it was Bachuru who I must punish. I called for her after her sister had departed, rubbing my hooves together in the anticipation of catching her red-hoofed. I was not an uncivil pony, of course, so I determined I would allow her to speak her piece as a formality.

“I didn’t get it,” she said plainly. “You can’t twist nickers. They float like a leaf on the wind.”

I thanked her for her time, then slammed my head into the wall. This, I assure you gentle readers, was not an attempt of the Nightmare to seize control of me again. That only happened a smattering of times on the eve of the possession. No, this was merely an expression of frustration, an emotion which I was quite entitled to feel at that point.

“It all aligns,” I vented to Blueblood later. “What am I to do at this juncture? I am not acquainted with thickets of lies, so how must I navigate this one?”

He almost managed to hide an expression of the utmost disbelief. “That certainly is a question to question.”

“Entirely correct!” I punched one of the many pillows on one of his many couches. “Now I am no closer to the truth than before, despite my sly gambit. I will have to watch them all carefully, I suppose. As if I did not have enough watching to do with opportunities for conquering.”

“And the Asteroid of Friendship.”

“You did send them films during my absence?”

“Of course.”

“Then all is well on that front. It is vital that they suffer for their insolence. But again, I seem to be at an unprecedented loss.”

“Not to add more to your plate, but don’t you have to decide what to do for Nightmare Night as well?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. Was this not the issue that had caused me to storm off in the first place, before Chrysalis’s infiltration? “That is true,” I managed to say. “But is there not time still to determine my course?”

He looked up from the classless book he was reading. “There’s only three more days. I’ve spent more time trying to figuring out whether to wear a magenta scarf or a raspberry one.”

“A fair point.” I moved to the window, through which I could see Mi Amore Cadenza discussing something with a royal guard below. “Have you any suggestions?”

He thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I can’t be of much help. I don’t have much to do with public relations.”

This is the situation I find myself in now. Even after the would-be invasion of the changelings, I never find the end of trial and tribulation. Am I doomed to chase my lofty goals across broad plains of apathy, forever stretching across space and time like the vast realms of Iris and Gaia?

Entry Forty-Four

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October 31, 1000 ANM

The question of Nightmare Night — tonight — even now remains a question. I have mulled over what to do, both actively and otherwise, but it appears that the matter cannot be solved by means of ripening in the mind like cheese. My usual wit has deserted me, and I know not how the problem can be solved.

Well. That is not entirely true. But I still retain a measure of pride, so I shall not go crawling to Sister Dearest to seek an answer. She means well, but on each occasion that Nightmare Night is brought up, the vilification of my alter ego is brought to the surface like a pachyderm suddenly stepping from the shadows. No, I must solve this matter on my own.

Perhaps a brief log of the unexciting life I have lived these last few days will jog my thoughts to fruition. This morning I visited Micah Jayfill and her minions, who were engaged in their usual foalishness. Specifically, they were in the midst of a heated discussion involving the relative merits of enormous monsters and their roles in film. I was naturally infuriated at how they casually treated such threats to Equestria as mere obstacles to be overcome, so I perused the library for such a film to make them rethink their words.

Eventually I found one film involving an unusually gifted turtle, but the foals seemed hardly fazed by it. Indeed, when it had ended they were swift to launch into a ditty about said turtle. I was forced to storm off, but it was in vain, for the song had already wormed its way into the folds of my brain.

“... ‘really neat,’” I mimicked as I made my way to my noontime meal. “Is that truly the highest praise they can bestow on a monster a thousand times their size? Perhaps it is the calm that has lulled this land, having also dulled their memories of times of terror. And, of course, the claim that the monster is ‘full of meat’ negates any positive connotations the former phrase might have. Truly this is preposterous.”

“Auntie Luna,” Mi Amore Cadenza said as I entered the dining room, “is something wrong?”

“Ah, my niece,” I said, flipping my mane from one shoulder to the other with a toss of my head. (I should note that my mane is a thing of the utmost beauty, as it should be. Sister Dearest’s mere aurora cannot hold a candle to the constellations I bear.) “So long as my plans are thwarted at every turn and my schedule is shrouded in mystery, I cannot in truth claim that nothing is wrong.”

“Okay.”

We ate our sandwiches in silence. If you future readers are so deluded as to believe that sandwiches are exclusively common fare, then you have clearly never sampled the noble creations of Chef Panini, an esteemed member of the Sandwich family.

“The Grand Galloping Gala is coming up soon,” she said after a virtual eon of awkward silence. “Are you planning on going? It’s a little stuffy after a thousand years, but it would be good to connect with everypony after all that time.”

“Excellent,” I said dully. “More events to add to my schedule. I will consider the situation, but I will make no guarantees. Rest assured, the issue of tonight is a more immediate concern.”

She stared. “You still don’t know what you’re going to do?”

“Such is the truth. But never fear … never love. I am certain to arrive at a solution by the by!”

Unfortunately, she saw directly through that lie. Fortunately, she elected not to press the issue further. I must admit she can be tolerable at times.

Since then, I have been partaking in games of chess with Blueblood. Currently, as evening draws on, I am part of is the sixty-seventh game of the day as I write this, waiting for my silly son to make his move. He was rather tentative to accept my challenge, though I cannot fathom why. I have resolutely lost every single match.

“Mother,” he is saying at present, “you have to stop writing in that diary and focus on the pieces. How are you going to win if you don’t even keep track of how many pawns you’ve lost?”

“Fret not,” is my reply. “Such is not my goal. Winning is the pastime of amateurs.”

Something to be noted is Blueblood’s hatred for beets. In a strange irony, he now strongly resembles one.

Perhaps he has a point, though. I should pay more attention to the pieces, as it behooves me to remember strategies that bring about particularly spectacular losses. At present, I have three pawns positioned along the close edge of the board; the other squares in that row are occupied by five of Blueblood’s queens. On the right, his other four queens prowl around my surviving bishop. In the far left corner my king is flanked by my son’s knights, waiting patiently for capture. Removed from all action is his king, which watches indolently from his lofty position.

“Ha!” I exclaim. “I am as good as dead at this juncture!”

“At least you’re able to tell that’s the case,” he manages to say. A strand of his mane has popped out of place, but he seems unconcerned with this slip in appearances. “These wins I’ve been having are quite frankly ridiculous. I doubt anypony could possibly top the one from three matches ago.”

“Now Blueblood,” I chide, coaxing one of my pawns into the light, “you should not blame yourself. How were you to know that I was skilled enough to maneuver you into ending the game with more pieces than you started with?”

With obvious reluctance, he captures the pawn. “You’ll forgive me if I refuse to speak on the matter.”

It is indeed amusing to watch him grow increasingly flustered. Not that I condone the concept of him suffering, of course, for who would? The meat of matter is simply that he is terrible at losing against me. Perhaps I should direct him to Twilight Sparkle for guidance. She seems the sort who is a veritable master of watching a foe’s every move.

Wait a moment, I believe I

…

Ha! Ha ha ha! I have it! I apologize for my unforeseen silence, but I at last have it! An idea of what to do for Nightmare Night, and with an entire half hour to spare!

It seems I have flipped the board in my glee. No matter. I shall simply ignore the fact that it is technically not a loss on my part, for I have better things to mind. Blueblood will receive a sufficient apology later.

Now I race across the gardens, collecting dozens of bats for my plan. For I do have a plan, oh yes! I would feel a slight measure of shame at the idea not having occurred to me sooner, but the past is in the past.

Sister Dearest is asking what I am doing with all these bats. I have just informed her of my scheme, and now she is stammering something about making the right impression. What nonsense! I know perfectly well that all shall love me for my grand entrance on a night named after me. I shall even be casual with those I meet, so as to coerce them into letting down their guard.

I will put this diary away soon, and then make haste for my lovely chariot Moonbeam. For tonight is the night that I once again connect with the common pony! Verily, tonight I away to Ponyville, and at last face Twilight Sparkle and her minions, gauging their weak points and determining how best to circumvent them on my quest for tyranny. Truly I am flawless at my strategies. I foresee everything going splendidly!

Entry Forty-Five

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November 1, 1000 ANM

Last night was a strange occasion. How else can one describe the odd relationship between the common pony’s appreciation for their rightful ruler, and their unease regarding her? Let me regale future readers on these events, so they may come to their own conclusions.

I required guards to transport me to Ponyville, so I summoned a pair of batponies for that purpose. I believe I had been told of their names before, but they elude me. Astounding Puma? Daisy Chain? Whatever they are, they are certainly fitting for members of the Night Guard, as they have informed me that they and their comrades have become an appropriate presence in the night.

That is to say, I have my doubts, for it is a simple matter to falsify a report in such a setting. But as they asked no questions about my cloak of bats, I was generous enough not to press the issue.

Soon we were off, soaring through the dark and stormy night. Beneath me, Moonbeam was quite as comfortable as she had been in previous millennia. Truly I am blessed to have such a loyal chariot. But such thoughts were not what occupied my mind then, as I had for consideration the more pressing matter of how events would transpire.

Not that I held the slightest doubt that all would be well, of course! It was clear for all to see that I was worthy of a warm welcome. But I knew that it would nevertheless be quite strange to arrive in the town where Nightmare Moon had first set hoof after a thousand years. After the previous two occasions on which I set eyes on those ponies — once through the eyes of a vicious demon, and once in the blinding brilliance of a triumphant sun — it would be an experience to view them from an ordinary perspective.

My obvious assurance was sufficient to distract me from these misgivings. Soon enough, however, I drew closer to Ponyville, passing the tops of the Everfree trees along the way. Knowing that my arrival drew ever closer, I concealed myself in the hood of my cloak, preparing to reveal myself to the unsuspecting commoners at the correct moment.

Harnessing moonlight, I arranged for us to burst through the cloud cover in a surge of cold brilliance. Below us was a small herd of ponies in strange dress, crowded around a menacing statue, but those details seemed of little importance. We descended in a rush of wind, and a wide smile graced my features in anticipation of their unbridled joy.

A pony dressed as a chicken screamed. “It’s Nightmare Moon! Run!” She galloped off for town, and her companions followed suit.

My grin did not falter. I would not allow a little history to destroy this chance, no! I would be the bigger mare and gently persuade them to love me. Is that not the tyrannical thing to do?

The chicken and her ponies arrived just barely before I did, which was fortunate. All the better for my presence to be realized under my own terms! Indeed, the citizens gazed up in astonished awe, as they rightfully should. Here and now, they would accept my glory as their true beacon toward which the moths should flutter on the pursuit of their own fiery doom!

… I am uncertain as to what has become of that sentence. It reminds me too much of Micah Jayfill, a connection which I hope to avoid in the future.

The guards slowed us once we had arrived at the town square. I patted Moonbeam on the seat in farewell, then stepped ~~fearlessly~~ lovelessly from her confines and descended without wings. In truth, I had forgotten them in the excitement, so it is fortunate indeed that I have the resilience of an earth pony and the arcane aura of a unicorn.

I landed. The ponies gaped in obvious adoration. The time had come, so I did not delay: I threw back my hood, letting my gorgeous mane flow freely across my shoulders. I was the perfect picture of the princess, gazing knowingly at the dozens of bowing subjects before me. Truly this was what I had always dreamed of, to be respected and ~~feared~~ loved as is my right!

With purposeful hooves, I approached them. My wings unfurled, and the cloak of bats dissolved into an aimless flock at the motion, chittering as they departed into the depths of the sky. I paid them little heed, for in truth there was little to be bothered by their abrupt absence. Considering my subtle enmity with all manner of beasts, it was a small miracle that the creatures had consented to remain long enough for the ponies to witness.

“Citizens of Ponyville!” My use of the Royal Canterlot Voice was necessary, for what else would convince them of my clear superiority? Ah, but that would-be rhetorical question found an unexpected answer in a passing stroke of genius. “We have graced your tiny village with our presence, so that you might behold the real princess of the night! A creature of nightmares no longer, but instead a pony who desires your love and admiration. Together we shall change this dreadful celebration into a bright and glorious feast!”

For the convenience of future readers, I will remark that in the previous millennium, protocol required us royals to speak on behalf of each other when in the public eye. It was a sign of unity, or so the reasoning went. Not only did it connect the speaker with her noble family; it also illuminated the deep ties between her and her subjects. For what is a ruler without ponies to guide her, and to be guided? The trust they place in me is not something I would lightly abuse, even though experience has taught me their need for a firm hoof to lead them in the right direction. The whole matter is a complicated business.

The point I wish to make is that I conveyed to them the truth — or rather, the version of the truth they wished to hear. For reasons unknown, ponies shun the idea of a tyrant, a sad fact that makes my cause all the more difficult.

The chicken pony was quick to twist my words, however, claiming that I, as Nightmare Moon, wished to devour them. Screams echoed against charming houses as she and her entourage of foals bolted off, leaving me wondering at their disrespect. Did they see a trace of armor on my person? Of course not. Why, then, should they be blind to such an obvious fact? Nightmare Moon was a terrible creature, but she has become a creature of the past. And such is thanks to members of their own community, no less! It is concerning that they should forget my previous appearance there in the space of a few short months.

I called after them, assuring that their ~~fear~~ love was misplaced. Yet they seemed unwilling to listen to anything but their own caterwauling. Deciding they were a lost cause, I addressed the mayor in an effort to find a connection in authority, but she was just as reluctant to respond positively as they had been. Likewise, the others who remained preferred quivering in their horseshoes to lifting their voices in reverence.

Only one did not shiver and shake. A particular unicorn, garbed in the familiar hat and cloak of an old friend, looked on with calculating eyes … though even she had bowed to me, along with her dragon familiar. What game was she playing? Perhaps she wished to mock me for my simple return to grace? I could imagine her writing to Sister Dearest in a moment of weakness, inquiring as to whether I had pawed through any forbidden tomes of eldritch lore.

It was in that moment I realized they would not accept me. To them I was cold and distant as the stars, and twice as terrifying in the vast gulf that separated us. Even in spite of my attempt to show them the solidarity of my intentions!

My heart sank; my breath caught. I watched as if from a distance as I stalked off, nose turned toward the sky in a laudable imitation of Blueblood. I could not stay here, I realized. This had been a mistake. It would have been simpler, even safer, to remain in the palace and continue to play chess as though this were a night like any other.

How might a pony hope to overthrow a thousand years of prejudice? Even in the face of Sister Dearest’s campaign to divorce me from the specter of Nightmare Moon, they clung to the memories of the old terrors she wrought in their dreams.

I knew not where my hooves were taking me until I looked up and saw that statue again. A snarling face glared back at me, and for a sobering moment it was like looking into a mirror. A tremor wracked my body, and I knelt there at its base, falling into its shadow. It was weak of me, but what pony would dare approach me now, even after my personable entrance? Truly I was alone, with naught but my darker half to keep me company.

“Princess Luna?”

I snapped to attention. I knew that voice intimately. She had followed me, had seen me in my moment of weakness. I could not let her gain the upper hoof, even if despair threatened to cloud my mind. This was my nemesis, after all. It was imperative that I remained a figure that she would respect.

“Hi.” She sounded tentative. “My name is—”

“Starswirl the Bearded. Commendable costume.” I hoped that my aloof expression would mask my desire to cringe. In truth, I had no idea why I said those words. What is there to say to the pony who saved you and destroyed you in a single stroke? The situation was steeped in more discomfort than a pegasus trapped in the belly of a mine. Still, there was no direction to go but forward. “You even got the bells right.”

To my surprise and mild concern, she was delighted. She was quick to reveal that no other had known the origin of her garb, suggesting the astounding ignorance of the common pony. Upon noticing my expression, however, she slipped back into a shade of caution, and began to introduce herself.

I was astounded at her gall. Did she honestly think I would forget who she is? I reminded her rather forcefully of this fact, and the clouds gathered behind me as I projected power into my voice. To use the vernacular, she was blown away by my words, a fact which gave me no small measure of satisfaction.

When she spoke next, it was a gentle reproach. She claimed that my Royal Canterlot Voice was unnecessary. What foalishness! Surely, I thought, they would respect the adherence to tradition, regardless of whether its practitioner had once been a monster.

She told me it was a fault that could be fixed. I could scarcely believe what I was hearing. My nemesis, informing me that I had made a mistake? Perhaps reports of her intellect had been exaggerated. Nevertheless, she was willing to help me, so I decided to humor her.

We made our way to a charming cottage outside of town, where we encountered another of the bearers of Harmony. She was Fluttershy, and it showed. Her hesitance to speak with us did not endear me to her, nor did her immediate belief that I was Nightmare Moon. What truly disturbed me, however, was the look in her eyes. This was not a pony who cared for her fellow equines. She is a disturbing creature, though the exact nature of her uncanny aura is not something I can easily place a hoof upon.

I attempted to conceal my suspicions through the use of physical affection, confident in the belief that anypony who put that much effort into being unobtrusive would not expect a pony to shower her with care. She was frantic to stay away from me, however, and eventually shut us out for good. By then, at least, she had helped me to see that in this time it was acceptable to quiet myself to an ordinary tone, so the endeavor was not a complete loss.

Unfortunately, the chicken pony happened to be passing by at that moment, and of course misconstrued the situation as an act of aggression on my part. She and the foals screeched as they fled the scene. Forgetting my earlier decision to let them be, I pled with them to see reason, but they refused. Not even lowering my voice would convince them otherwise. I was beginning to truly dislike that pony.

Twilight Sparkle had another idea, as seemed her tendency. Leading me back into the town square, she brought me to another of her friends, the loyal Applejack. Imagine my relief when this earth pony only cowered for a few seconds before informing me of a strange invention! To think, that mortals could create something as abstract as this “fun!” I must search for methods of discovering the nature of whatever it was.

I shall admit, the next few minutes were a blur of amusement and spiraling rage. All I know for certain is that spiders were involved, and my head spun in a peculiar way as chaos accelerated to nearly the force of a stampede. For whatever reason, one voice — my own — sticks in my memory.

“Since you choose to fear your princess rather than love her, and dishonor her with this insulting celebration, we decree that Nightmare Night shall be canceled! Forever!”

Now that I consider this, I realize that I could have simply canceled the holiday upon first hearing of it. Is it not my right to defend my reputation, or at least what remains of it?

When I regained control of my senses, I had fled the scene. My shame could not be put into words. How dare I dishonor myself with such a disgraceful display? Was that not precisely what I hoped to avoid by arriving there? Before, I had been in essence a victim of their prejudice. Now I had actively fed it. I had none to blame but myself.

It was not the action of a kindly tyrant to terrify them so. It was something a far, far worse pony would do … or perhaps a demon. Was this not how I had acted before my ultimate fall from grace? Entitled beyond what even I deserved, and willing to shock others in order to get my way?

I cannot rightly say what injured me more: the rejection of the ordinary ponies, or the realization that I had not, in fact, improved myself since my return.

Twilight Sparkle met me on a bridge, which I suppose would mean something in another time and place. She apologized for the fiasco, attempting to reason with me by claiming that they truly loved Nightmare Night. I was skeptical of this, of course, and wished to retreat further to piece together the shattered remains of my pride. But she was insistent, so I decided, once again, to humor her.

We cornered the chicken pony in an alley. She clucked in an aggravating manner at the sight of me, but at least she did not shriek again. As Twilight Sparkle addressed her as Pinkie Pie, I fixed upon the latter my least amused glare, hoping to convey my displeasure at having this night slide steadily down the slope of dignity. It was the least I could do, in truth.

Still, I was willing to make amends. Is that not what I am obligated to do, to cement myself as a ruler who is destined to lead the ponies to a glorious future? Unfortunately, a poorly-timed stormcloud positioned by a rainbow pegasus nearly ruined everything, and I was forced to watch as Twilight Sparkle confronted the earth pony before she could flee the scene entirely. I nearly resolved in that moment to find my guards and leave, lest this night truly become a nightmare.

They spoke for a moment, and then Twilight Sparkle felt compelled to drag me about once again! I wondered if she were secretly enjoying this. But that did not make sense, I realized. Her concern throughout the night was genuine, if inexplicable. She is a very strange pony.

I nearly put my hoof down upon realizing we were coming back to the statue of Nightmare Moon, but she explained her theory. Pinkie Pie, she said, took pleasure in being scared, as did the foals that followed her. It was some bizarre piece to the puzzle known as “fun.” To test this idea, she wanted me to intentionally scare the foals by donning the appearance of the true Nightmare Moon!

I was flabbergasted. But at length, I reasoned that if they saw a monster when they looked at me, the armored visage of the Nightmare would not make much of a difference. The worst they could do was scream and run again … and hurt me further still, but it was a feeling I had become accustomed to over the night. I agreed to assist Twilight Sparkle in her scheme.

Somehow I took the place of the statue. I am uncertain as to what Twilight Sparkle did with it, though its fate does not intrigue me. I could not care less if she pulverized it. What was a statue of Nightmare Moon doing so close to a civilized place, anyway?

Regardless, I spooked the children when they provided their candy offerings. They darted away, but when I saw them peeking around a bush close by, I knew for certain that they bore me no ill will. What truly lightened my heart, though, was the statement of the little piebald colt with the amusing accent, made upon my revoking of the ban on Nightmare Night.

“You’re my favorite princess ever!”

I could not find the words to thank him. So astonished was I to find myself adored in the eyes of the foals, that for a few seconds the well-oiled gears of my mind ceased to turn. It was as if the moonlight did not simply illuminate all it touched, but rather cast everything in a sheen of pale brilliance.

They were only foals, but their love was, and is, much appreciated. That said, it is entirely out of the question to assume that a tear sparkled in my eye. Such a situation is surely impossible, I defend, for what is there to feel sorrow about?

Much as I enjoyed their exhilarated terror, I felt more inclined to pass further time with Twilight Sparkle. She had been the pony to solve this problem, after all, and it would be an insult to repay her kindness by ignoring her entirely. Thus we lingered at the base where the statue once stood, laughing in an area where shadows had once gathered, while foals occasionally darted by with a delighted shriek. There is something symbolic about such an event, but the exact nature of this eludes me.

We did not speak of much important. I do trust her, at least as far as one can trust a terrifying nemesis, but it is not enough to reveal the variety of schemes up my sleeves. After all, I can hardly do so when I am undesirous to unveil such matters to Sister Dearest herself.

I heard somepony clear her throat, and found that none other than Pinkie Pie had approached. To my perplexion, she expressed no desire to cluck in my face, nor was she on the verge of screaming in that way I had so come to despise. Rather, her eyes were cast to the side in an sheepish manner I knew well, and she scuffed at the ground with a restless hoof. Her costume was missing.

“Pinkie,” Twilight Sparkle said testily, “I don’t want to make you feel bad, but every time you’ve seen Luna tonight—”

“I know.” Pinkie Pie’s childlike voice was not boisterous as before, but instead small like a foal hiding from a monster. “That’s why I came to say sorry.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Pray continue.”

“I never meant to hurt your feelings by calling you evil. I mean, I do it to Fluttershy all the time, and she doesn’t mind. I figured, ‘Hay, if Princess Luna had ponies screaming at her before, she’d be fine with it again, right?’ I guess there’s a lot more difference between you and Black Snooty than I thought.”

“If you refer to the relationship between myself and Nightmare Moon,” I replied, “it is a matter of delicate complexity. She and I are, in some ways, more alike than you are to your family. In some perverse way, I am almost glad that you reminded me how I still must work to redeem my image in the eyes of the ponies. I would, of course, thank you to remember that I am emphasizing ‘almost’ in this case, for I did not appreciate your behavior earlier.”

“And we’re back to the sorry,” she said, looking at me. “At first I thought you were playing along by pretending to fake innocence and be even spookier for the foals. When I heard that you’d canceled Nightmare Night, after we’d had all our fun by yelling that you were gonna eat us … I felt like a balloon that kissed a needle. I never wanted you to feel unwelcome, and I definitely didn’t wanna make everypony in Equestria feel bad by hurting one of our favorite holidays.” Her ears pinned back. “That isn’t very Pinkie-like at all.”

“Calm yourself,” I said, patting her head awkwardly. “You are not the only pony who has made mistakes tonight. I should have considered the possibility that my grand entrance would at best make ponies nervous, and my generous application of the Royal Canterlot Voice did not help matters. Occasionally I do not consider every angle of a plan before executing it, it is true. But the past is in the past, and Twilight Sparkle has taught me that even fear can be a form of love.”

Her head tilted, allowing her ears to flop to the side. “Your philosophi-clutter could make more sense, but I’m glad you don’t still have hurt feelings!” She leaned forward on the tips of her hooves, and a grin lit her face. “Friends?”

“Pinkie Pie,” I said, “after your admirable apology, I would be pleased to call you my friend.”

She positively trembled with happiness. “Ooooh, this is super-duper fantastic! How long are you staying in Ponyville? Because I should throw you a real Pinkie Pie welcome party, since you were sick the first time and you’re on important all this Royal Canterlot business this time, but maybe I can steal your time before the end of this time and we’ll have a time to end all times!”

I laughed. “I am afraid I will soon be required to return to Canterlot, as my extended absence would make Celestia nervous. Nevertheless, I would love to attend one of your parties at a later date. I am certain they are the epitome of fun.”

“Perfect! That’s something to put in my Pinkie’s Ponyville Party Planner!” She pulled a notebook and pencil from her mane and scribbled in its depths. I was surprised enough by her unexpected action that I nearly missed the crescent moon shape she drew within, surrounded by doodles of hearts. “I’m gonna pull out all the stops for it.”

“Your friend is unusual,” I confided in Twilight Sparkle once Pinkie Pie had merrily bounced off to rejoin the celebration. “Or I suppose I should say, our friend. It is strange to simply forgive her for her misconduct, yet I could not find it in myself to disregard her request.”

“Pinkie has that effect on ponies.” Twilight Sparkle smiled. “She can be a little unusual at times … but then again, all six of us are pretty unusual.”

“True, there are six of you,” I mused. “Aside from you and Pinkie Pie, I encountered Fluttershy and Applejack … Rainbow Dash provided that meddlesome stormcloud … so I believe the only one of you I have not met again is Rarity, if I remember correctly.”

“She’s been pretty busy these last couple days. Apparently she usually does some extravagant costume or other, but after all those dresses she’s been making for Hoity Toity and his Canterlot show, she’s probably exhausted.”

“A shame,” I said. “She has a lovely voice. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to speak with her for the upcoming Grand Galloping Gala. She seems the sort to enjoy the social intrigue one often finds at such events.”

Twilight nodded. “Maybe even sooner than that. Her sister has a field trip to the palace gardens in a few days, and she might go along as a chaperone.”

“Splendid!” I exclaimed. “I will look out for her, then. And will you be attending the Gala as well?”

She replied in the affirmative, and we discussed the history of the event. I was intrigued and dismayed to learn that in the past thousand years it has degenerated in a show for the nobility to parade around each other. Alas! Gone are the days when anypony could appear there and make themselves known. It is the sort of stagnation Sister Dearest would tolerate.

On the whole, this was an enjoyable night. But all must end, and now I sit in my chambers recounting these happenings. I shall retire for bed quite soon, as I have not had much sleep since waking up yesterday and therefore require rest.

Nightmare Night is not objectionable in and of itself, I now realize. It requires effort on my part to step in and improve matters, which I think has been the case in Ponyville. Perhaps next year I might repeat this in another town, such as Trottingham? Though it will not quite be the same, for Twilight Sparkle and her friends will not be there. Truly I am beginning to understand more of how she holds such power.

But such musing is not the occupation of the hour! Now I sleep, and with such sleep may I find the dreams of my subjects. I have become a princess who has spoken and laughed with her subjects, and it would be a shame to let such progress fade into obscurity.

Entry Forty-Six

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November 2, 1000 ANM

At lunch this morning — for I slept straight through breakfast, thanks to the antics of Nightmare Night — Sister Dearest confronted me about my absence, using her usual tactics.

“I’ll admit, I was a bit worried when you left the palace so suddenly. I’m still feeling the effects of the surprise.” She appeared entirely unruffled, with her countenance boasting its usual expression of serene near-amusement. “Where did you rush off to?”

“Ponyville,” I said in between mouthfuls of alfalfa. “It seemed prudent to come to such a place like a thief in the night, particularly when I had last appeared among them as a shadow of my true self.”

She nodded. “That’s very fitting.”

“There were some difficulties here and there, but on the whole I think the event was a success. It was no small feat for Twilight Sparkle to convince me to dramatically reverse the cancellation of Nightmare Night.”

“I’m glad she was …” She blinked. “Wait, cancellation?”

“It matters not,” I assured her. “‘Twas an edict full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. I had disliked the idea of Nightmare Night before, but it appears it can be an enjoyable experience to feel fear … to feel love.”

“I’m glad it went well,” she said, smiling briefly. “And I really would like to apologize for this whole matter—”

“Celestia, we have discussed this already. Truly, the whole idea of the event no longer perturbs me. I am in fact glad to have the opportunity to speak with the common pony.”

She said nothing, instead nuzzling me.

After lunch I made my way to Blueblood’s chambers. He was in the midst of some horrible book, which I was quick to snatch from his grasp.

“Really, Mother!” he protested. “Can’t you at least tolerate the things I read?”

“If I did, I would not be a suitable mother,” I replied, looking over the offending novel. “What is this … Dusk’s Apple? What is this supposed to be about, anyway?”

“It’s supposed to be paranormal romance,” he said. “But it’s more about a morally skewed creature who seeks total control over the one pony he can’t read. Really, it’s a fascinating delve into the nature of evil.”

I flipped through its pages. “It receives my seal of disapproval. Clearly the author assumed this protagonist was a perfect paragon of ponykind, though this is clearly not the case.”

“Actually, he thinks ponies are scum. But you’re quite right. It’s still an interesting look at the nature of perception.”

“This appears to be written for teenage fillies.”

“Really, the intended audience adds another layer to the twisted madness. It’s quite an intriguing study regarding the nature of—”

“I cannot fathom your defense for this nonsense.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a guilty pleasure?”

I stared at him. “We need to discuss your interests.”

“Hm? Oh, not like that … it’s more a matter of liking works that, on an objective level, you know you shouldn’t like. It’s hardly limited to myself, incidentally. This book is quite the rage among eligible bachelors in Canterlot.”

“In that case, I suppose I cannot stop some ponies from equating literary merit with popularity. But I did not come here to discuss such nonsense. I wish to apologize for so suddenly departing our spirited game on Nightmare Night.”

“Oh, is that all?” He pulled the book back. “It’s quite all right. Sometimes it can be a drag to win so easily. I still can’t understand how we managed to have a match that ended with pieces of five colors.”

“Did I not promise you that I would not hold back in my glorious quest for losing?”

“And yet you still caught me off guard time after time. Truly you are a mare of many surprises.”

We chatted on about such things, enjoying a moment of simple mother-son time. Afterward I sought for my little changelings, wondering what mischief they were up to now. In particular, I considered who might be Chrysalis’s spy. Even trapped in the Dreamscape as she is, she manages to be a pest.

Aranea was in the library. As she was disguised as a humble stallion, I did not even realize it was her until she offered me a greeting without looking up from her book; as she is incapable of changing her voice, it was a simple matter to identify her. She mentioned the other changelings by name, citing their restlessness as a reason for possible concern.

My feathers would not be ruffled. “They have a tendency for such an attitude, yes. I trust that they can keep out of trouble for longer than a few minutes.”

“That’s part of what worries me,” she said. “They said they were going to the roof.”

“The … roof?”

“Mhm.” She turned a page. “Something about watermelon seeds and a duck. The whole thing seemed like a waste of time, so I decided not to join in.”

“That does not seem so bad.” I perused a nearby shelf, wondering what subject I should pore over. “So long as they keep to themselves, I predict no unfortunate explosions to occur in their vicinity.”

A new voice joined in. “Auntie Luna, what would be a fortunate explosion?”

“Mi Amore Cadenza, I am that glad you asked! If you eliminate all other variables, you will find that it is the difference between you and me.”

She opened her mouth. Then she closed it again, and without a word slowly backed out of the room.

“My poor niece,” I said with a chuckle. “I do care for her, but she cannot hope to best me in a battle of wits.”

“Hm.”

I eyed Aranea. She was staring after the vanishing pretty pink princess, with eyes slightly narrowed in thought. “What passes through your mind?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice light. Too light. “Absolutely nothing.”

She did not stop looking there. My eyes followed hers to the spot my niece had vacated, and, upon finding nothing, they flicked back to the changeling.

I do not know what to make of this episode. In all likelihood, I am overthinking the matter, for this day has been quite uneventful. Still, there is something about this that I cannot put my hoof on. Perhaps a quiet day of reading will offer some assistance.

Entry Forty-Seven

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November 3, 1000 ANM

Today was a pleasing time for me. I was wandering the gardens, enjoying the brisk air and the sensation of autumn’s grasp beginning to slip from its cliff of time. Its grip shakes, and pebbles nearby rattle at the desperate force. It gazes up for help, any help, but only winter’s unsympathetic visage meets its eyes. Winter’s eyes light up with cruel mirth, and it stomps on autumn’s hooves in unstoppable glee. Surely the drizzle that slicks the grass is the tears that fall from autumn’s agonized face.

Where was I? Yes, the gardens. I strode through the maze with the utmost confidence, never faltering when I came upon a dead end. I found dead ends quite often, but that is no matter. Is a maze not a type of game? And is it not wisdom to lose oneself in losing?

I had paused a moment near some piece of pottery or other, basking in the clouds that streaked across the sky in a futile effort to disrupt the sunlight, when young voices caught my ear. In curiosity, I made to meet up with them, but in my haste I quite forgot that there was a large hedge in my way. Thus, I was occupied with extracting myself with as little damage to the hedge as possible, which is almost as difficult as it sounds.

Once I was free, I spread my wings and took to the sky, bypassing the twists and turns of my afternoons to catch the students. For students they were: fillies and colts chattered to each other as they made their way between statues, though three of them were bickering softly amongst each other. By “three of them,” of course, I refer to fillies, as the statues remained as lifeless and immobile as they always did. To assume otherwise would be ludicrous.

“Ponies!” I exclaimed, touching upon the ground with a thundering of wings. “Behold your princess of the night! In addition, behold her knowledge that you are those foals of Ponyville, which I graced not long ago in my unending benevolence.”

An earth pony looked confused. “What’s benevolence, Sweetie?”

“Don’t push it, Apple Bloom.”

“Princess!” A mare rushed forward, sinking into a bow so low that she nearly vanished into the earth. “I’m sorry, my students have never met royalty before. And neither have I, but it is an honor to meet you.”

“And who would you be?”

“My name is Cheerilee, princess.”

“It certainly is.”

A voice cut in. “Cheerilee, where are you … oh!” A familiar unicorn came into view from the midst of some other statues, with a grumpy foal lagging behind. The unicorn nearly skipped up to meet us, and she dipped into some sort of curtsy. “Good afternoon, Princess Luna.”

“The same to you. You are Rarity, correct?”

“Yes.” She grinned awkwardly. “I apologize for not being able to meet you on Nightmare Night, Your Highness. My schedule had quite gotten away from me. Please know that if it hadn’t been urgent, I would’ve been the first to greet you upon your arrival.”

“Kindly refrain from troubling yourself,” I said, patting her shoulder. She trembled for some reason, but I thought nothing of it. “Your plight was understandable, so I reacted accordingly. And please, call me Luna. How goes life in Ponyville?”

“Oh, it’s just marvelous,” she gushed. “It’s a little out of the way, but business never fails. Not to mention that my dear friends live there as well! Really, we have you to thank for that. If you’d never returned … that is, if Nightmare Moon never returned … we’d still be strangers to each other.”

“I accept your thanks, and return them with my own. Yours was not the only union that occurred on the morn of the summer sun.”

“How are you doing, by the way? Your mane looks marvelous.”

“Naturally. I am doing as well as can be expected. Minor issues with sloths and nightmares aside, not to mention the nitroglycerin.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “You and my sister would get along fabulously.”

“Hey!” A unicorn filly leaned forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sweetie Belle, behave!” Cheerilee let out a strained laugh. “You’ll have to excuse them, Your Highness. They aren’t used to encounters like this.” As she gave her charges a pointed look, her teeth ground together in something resembling a grin. “They will behave, don’t worry. Right, boys and girls?”

“Yeah,” they chorused dully. It appeared that they had gotten used to my presence already. I did not know how I should feel about this realization.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Rarity assured her companion.

“Not necessarily! This is the princess we’re talking about. One false move, and … well … this is the princess we’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” said a pink earth pony filly, sticking up her nose. “She’s pretty much the best, what with her giant cutie mark and all.”

What gall! To insult her princess without so much as batting an eye! To my barely constrained rage, Cheerilee ignored the filly’s remark entirely. Who did these reddish ponies believe they were? Shall the color pink be the death of me in the end? Perhaps; yet even Mi Amore Cadenza is preferable despite her quirks.

“Oh dear, look at the time!” Rarity’s eye twitched as she pointed at something undefinable in the distance. “We haven’t much time before the train to Ponyville arrives! We’d better get everypony home, right, Cheerilee?”

“Of course! Right this way, everypony.”

The foals and their chaperones walked off in a shifting crowd. Rarity spared me an apologetic look as they left, and I provided her with a nod in return. I really must draw her into a more proper conversation someday.

Over supper, I was sure to discuss the matter with Sister Dearest. She listened and nodded at all the right times, drawing up her mouth a little as I related the unignorable insult.

“I’m sorry, Luna,” she said once I had finished. “The field trip completely slipped my mind. Had I remembered it was today, I would have spoken with her teacher myself.”

“It is well that you did not,” I said. “She has a terrible voice. At the least, I was privileged to meet with Rarity for the first time since my liberation.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Still, it was unkind of that filly to disrespect your rump in such a way.” She took a sip from her glass. “Isn’t she at an age that’s outgrown such things?”

“Apparently not,” I huffed. “But it is in the past. It matters not.”

So I would convince myself. Yet the sneer on the filly’s face still looms in my mind’s eye, and I wonder at my ability to interact with the common pony. Was their welcoming behavior on Nightmare Night merely confined to that single event? I cannot reconcile such actions with one another.

At the least, I can find assurance in knowing that this will be the extent of my woes. What worse have I endured than some well-deserved angst for me to wallow in? All shall be well, and none shall trouble me further.

Entry Forty-Eight

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November 5, 1000 ANM

How troubled I am, troubled above all ponies! Truly this has been a calamitous day, even if all has resolved itself by the darkest hour. Let me regale these events to my future readers, that they may share in my worry.

I was strolling about the palace, still perturbed at Cheerilee’s permissiveness, when something squeaked underhoof. Upon looking to the source of the noise, I found a stray Rubbercute, which had apparently been left lying about.

“Truly this is an unusual occurrence,” I said to myself. “What sort of pony could abandon one of these things? Nevertheless, it is not mine to reckon with, so I shall let it be.”

Saying such, I continued on my way. As I walked on, an odd scent reached my nostrils. This puzzled me, for why would the chefs be making chocolate at that hour?

Eventually I came upon Sister Dearest, who stared out a window at the hedge maze. I approached without hesitating, for who am I to ~~fear~~ love my sister?

“Ah, the maze,” I said. “Truly an unruly thing, even when trimmed by our finest gardeners. I was within its confines the other day, when I came across—”

“Luna.” Her voice was not loud, but it carried an edge like steel. “We have much to fear.”

“And why is that, Celestia?”

“He has returned.”

“Alas! Such trials and tribulations befall us on this promising season! O the woes of our people the ponies, that they should suffer such terror!” I paused, considering this. “Though to be sure, your use of the pronoun is not illuminating. Which ‘he’ do you refer to? We have encountered many foes in the past. Or do you mean something that arose during Nightmare Moon’s banishment?”

“No, he is from a far older time.” She looked to me, eyes alight with worry. “Discord is free.”

“Discord?!” I looked upon the maze with new understanding. “We must act, sister. It is our duty to halt his machinations, regardless of previous events. Or do you not remember his reign of terror and chocolate?”

“I remember all too well. But this is out of our hooves, because we can’t use the one weapon that’s effective against him. He has stolen them, however, so I’ve sent the Bearers to confront him.”

I thought of Twilight. “He will not suffer them to oppose him long.”

“It’s our only chance.”

“We cannot simply stand here and watch!”

“What would you have me do, Luna?” Her voice quivered. It was brief, nearly inaudible, but it was there. “What would you have me do against him?”

And for once in my life, I had no answer.

“Mom? Auntie Luna?” Mi Amore Cadenza peeked into the room. “Do you have any idea what’s doing all this? A palm tree just burst into my room … upside-down, from a cloud.” She joined us at the window. “This is all very random.”

“The situation has become most dire, my niece. A fiend who ruled before your birth has disgraced us with his presence once again.”

She looked between the two of us, back and forth. “Shouldn’t we do something about it? Whatever it is?”

“We can’t hope to oppose him without the Elements.” Sister Dearest turned to her daughter. “Cadence, you must hide. He is a terrible being, to whom all creatures are puppets. And the strings are in his hands … He must not get to you.”

“Why?” She frowned. “Can’t we at least delay him, and distract him from the Element Bearers while they do …” A glance out the window. “... whatever they’re doing?”

“Clearly, you’ve never heard of being in two places at once.”

“Your mother is right,” I agreed. “Mi Amore Cadenza, if you stay—”

“Luna.” Sister Dearest’s tone held the urgency of forced calm. “I didn’t say those words.”

I looked to her. She looked to me. With dawning realization, we looked up.

“It’s about time you noticed, princesses. I was beginning to think you were having far too much fun trying to be subdued while you panic.” He peered down at us as he swung from the chandelier. With uncanny smoothness, he uncoiled himself and slithered down. “It’s almost like I don’t have to lift a finger to help.”

“We have no need of your ‘help’,” I said, stepping before my family to face him with wings outspread. “What have you done with the Elements? Destroyed them in your infinite repulsiveness?”

“Now, Luna, you know better than that. There’s balance to everything, even I’ll admit that. Destroying the Elements for the sake of chaos would be as ridiculous as destroying the sun for the sake of the moon … Oh, wait.”

My teeth ground together.

“They’ll find them, never fear. Whether they’ll be in a state to use them is another matter entirely.” His eyes slid over Sister Dearest and settled on my niece. “Oh, hello.”

“You’re Discord.” She swallowed. “I’ve heard of you.”

“You’ve heard of me?” He guffawed, twisting backwards and around in hilarity. My bolt of energy splashed harmlessly against him, dissolving into flecks of paint. “Only that? My, Celestia, I didn’t know you had such pettiness in you!” He was suddenly in Mi Amore Cadenza’s face, fang bared in a grin. “Aren’t you precious.”

Mi Amore Cadenza practically skipped back.

Sister Dearest’s voice could have cut diamond. “Don’t touch her.”

“Don’t worry your little head, Celestia. I won’t hurt a hair on her head.” He cast her a sideways look. “And I won’t harm the rest of her, either. You really have no faith in me, do you? So untrusting for a pony.”

“Cadence,” my sister said, not taking her eyes off the abomination. “Get out of here. Hide somewhere, anywhere, please—”

“You named her Cadence?” He snickered. “Forget petty, Celestia. You’re nothing short of spiteful.” His grin widened. “I love it.”

Mi Amore Cadenza glanced back and forth. “Mom? What’s he talking about?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked!” His fingers twisted, and suddenly they were clasping a bouquet of purple roses. “You see, thousands of years ago—”

Whether I moved first, or whether it was Sister Dearest who surged forward before me, I cannot remember. What I do know is that our horns shone with intense light, enough to set my eyes watering, and the air around that creature flashed in vivid gold and blue …

“So touchy.” His breath was warm against my ear. “What you need to do, Luna, is think a little, and remember what you fear.”

The scene dissolved around me. A vast expanse of silver-white stretched all around, pocked with craters and shimmering with dust, reaching out into a circle of an impossibly lonely horizon. I stared into a sky full of stars, while the blue-green marble of the planet hung above me like a fruit just out of reach.

I was running. My hooves — my armored hooves — clattered against the lifeless rock, where I lay also, motionless and miles deep. There was a great snarling, generated by something fueled by the utmost hatred, and only when I drew a deep breath did I realize that it was me.

“Celestia!” I bellowed. I could feel her gaze upon me, even across the vast gulf of space. I knew, I knew, that she was basking in the glory that should rightfully be mine. “You will know sorrow, sister! You will know agony! You will know the unrelenting onslaught of fear!”

The reader, I am sure, will understand if I refrain from going into further detail. Suffice it to say that I relived the darkest chapter of my life, flooded with rage and thirsty for revenge. I must admit that I could not remember my release, or any of the events since. It was as if such things had never happened, and I was trapped on my namesake for time and eternity, with no creature to keep me company save for the cold light of distant suns.

I had just seen the corona of the sun, growing around the earth like a deathly halo as a mass of flames rushed toward the hapless planet, when it all faded away. My scream of dismay trailed off into an articulation of confusion, and I looked around the very ordinary hall of the palace, gaping as the memories of freedom rushed back to me. When I looked down, ice was spreading beneath my daintily shoed hooves, and I swept it away in a hurry, not daring to look closer and see if it was sullied with moondust.

“Mother?” Blueblood was leaning in, prodding me. “Can you hear me?”

I almost succeeded in keeping my voice steady. “But of course.” I shook myself free of the ghost of the cold. “Where is Discord? Have you seen him?”

“He just left.” His eyes roamed about the hall, as if he expected that spirit to leap out again at any moment. “Celebrating his victory in Ponyville, apparently. Mother, what are we to do? Even with my darkest powers, I can’t so much as touch him.”

I glanced at the curved tip of his horn. “You must calm yourself, my son.”

“He said the Elements wouldn’t work for the Bearers anymore. Maybe you and Auntie Celestia can wield them again?”

“I believe that to be unlikely. Nevertheless, it seems there is no other choice. Celestia must come with me, and we can …”

I looked about the room. Besides a squirming mountain of chairs on the carpet, and my listless niece sprawled beneath the window, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” I approached the pretty pink princess, who did not respond as my shadow fell across her. “Has she left her daughter to bemoan life?”

Blueblood stared at his cousin for the first time. “What … what’s wrong with her?” He lifted her hoof, but when he let it go it flopped uselessly to the floor again. “Did he do something to her?”

“Physically, she appears ordinary. It seems more likely that Discord told her a terrible secret, one that Celestia could no longer keep.”

“And what secret is that?”

“It is not my place to say. It will suffice things to remark that he, in his sadistic glee, would have been quick to exploit it.”

We stood there, as if guarding Mi Amore Cadenza from further harm. I looked out the window, feeling a faint suggestion of terror as a pair of pink fluffy bunnies stalked by on giraffe legs. Where could Sister Dearest have gone?

It was at that moment when a great explosion rocked the land. To my wondering eyes appeared a wave of color from the south, which washed across the sky in a pulse of healing light. My heart leapt as Discord’s creations, one by one, reverted to their ordinary state as the power of harmony touched them, and the world itself was righted in the calming settlement of the natural order.

“Did they do it?” Blueblood pressed his nose to the glass. “Yes, it’s fixed! The gardener isn’t a hedge anymore! The Bearers won after all!”

A noise alerted me to the presence of others. The mountain of chairs, too, was restored to its original state as a squad of the Royal Guard. They blinked in confusion, and their leader rubbed his head as he looked to me.

“Captain!” I exclaimed. “Send your ponies to make sure all is well. As for you, kindly linger here with Blueblood and keep watch over Mi Amore Cadenza.”

He looked puzzled at this, but nevertheless approached to stand watch over my niece. Though her expression had not changed after the healing of the world, her eyes seemed a little brighter, as if Discord’s influence had touched deeper than her ears and was now wiped from existence.

With my spirits lifting, I teleported to Sister Dearest’s chambers. Having not set hoof in that place before, I will admit to a little distraction at the new setting. The decor was of cooler colors than I would have expected, though a cushion bearing the shape of the sun was nestled before the empty fireplace.

At the window she stood. I joined her, and we gazed down at Canterlot as the madness of chaos was replaced with the harmony of order. Common ponies peered from their homes, not quite daring to believe that even he messes had vanished. In the sky raced a pegasus, chasing after the distant progress of the magic of harmony.

“I burned them.” Sister Dearest’s voice was low.

“That seems unlikely. They are clearly alive and well.”

“Not our ponies. Never our ponies.” I heard a hint of a smile in her voice as she fondly regarded them. “I’m talking about my weakness.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were taken by madness. Cadence was informed of what I’ve hidden from her for so long, and she broke under the strain. But me? He did nothing to me.” Her eyes tightened. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. He made me watch as he tormented my family, knowing very well that I couldn’t stop him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Only he is to blame. But in that moment, there was no light to be seen in the darkness. My student had failed, my sister and daughter had succumbed, and my powers were nothing to his. So I came here, hoping that one of Twilight’s letters on friendship would provide an answer. But the more I looked, the less I found, for what good would a lesson of honesty do against the Spirit of Chaos?”

She sighed. “I grew angry. In my rage, I burned the letters, though now I realize they weren’t destroyed. Spike must have gotten them, and Twilight … well, reading is as good a passion as any.”

“I do not see the reason for your concern. All was saved in the end.”

“That is true.” She seemed distant, though I was close enough to feel her warmth. “That is true.”

She must have considered the triumph of harmony then. As for me, I thought of the fury of the sun behind her gentle eyes, and pondered on the futility of my course.

Entry Forty-Nine

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November 14, 1000 ANM

The past few days have been the sort in which a sane pony tiptoes carefully around those who can find no comfort. In the streets, lives continue on as usual, and ponies are even making preparations for tonight. Despite Discord’s rampage, or perhaps because of it, the Grand Galloping Gala will commence as if nothing had happened. Sister Dearest was adamant that this should happen, and I was pleased with her attitude for the situation.

“More now than ever, they need to be happy,” she told me not long ago as we strolled through an busy hall. “And in any case, we’re having a ceremony to honor Twilight and her friends for their triumph against Discord. It’ll do everypony some good, I think, if we follow up a night of tradition with a morning of celebration.”

“Your logic is impeccable, as usual.” For once, this was not a lie. “With our six heroes at the Gala, it will go off without a hitch.”

“We’ll see.” For the first time in days, there was a hint of a smile in her face, though I could not fathom why.

“Has Mi Amore Cadenza been willing to speak with you yet?”

The smile faded. “Unfortunately, no. Ever since Discord told her the secret, she’s been hiding in her room. She won’t even come out to eat. As for discussing it with me, well … at best, she sees me in a very different light.”

“It is understandable. Can you imagine suddenly being told that—?”

“Princess Celestia!” A member of the Royal Guard trotted over, coming to a sudden stop before us and smartly saluting. “Princess Luna. We’ve still heard no word from Princess Cadence. The doors haven’t so much as cracked open since we’ve stood watch.”

“Thank you, Moonshadow.” Sister Dearest regarded me, seemingly ignorant of the strange look the guard cast on her before he departed. “I wish she would talk to me, but I won’t force her to. After Discord, I’m probably the last creature she wants to see.”

“She will forgive you,” I assured her. “It is not in her nature to do otherwise.”

“I hope so.” She nodded at a pair of decorators as they passed by. “Well, when the time comes, I will be prepared for it. Are you sure you don’t want to come to the Gala? I think they’ll be thrilled to see a princess who isn’t me.”

“I waver between yea and nay,” I admitted. “While it would be nice to replicate the success of Nightmare Night, I have the strangest sensation of that my presence would only aggravate everypony present.”

“It’s your decision.”

Such was our conversation. I have decided to retire early, in the event that I do decide to attend. Though the glaring sun still shines, my chambers are soft and dark, and I can almost pretend that my dreams will not ring with the sound of steel against stone.

Entry Fifty

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November 15, 1000 ANM

In the end, the event proved itself to be irrelevant to my interests. I have no desire to thrust myself in the public’s eye so soon after the appearance of another specter of the past, and I am certain that the sword cuts both ways. The sword being the opinion, naturally, shared between two parties … though swords are not designed to be shared, so perhaps the metaphor is unwarranted. I truly must consult the nuances of figures of speech, once I have asserted myself in the throne.

In any case, I felt that my presence would be better suited with a pony who would not have Sister Dearest’s company. Should I not value my kin over the scattering of peasants and bumbling aristocrats making their appearance?

My absence at the Gala was not to say I would have no hoof in its proceedings. I spoke with Blueblood regarding the Bearers’ attendance, noting that it would be an excellent opportunity to further gain their confidence. I do not suspect that they suspect my aims, but it seemed logical that I could not engage my subtleties in one direction alone. Indeed, more engaging would be required, particularly with that most stunning of sorceresses, Twilight Sparkle.

“Do you know which one is Twilight?” I asked Blueblood, escorting him from his quarters to the ballroom. “While I know she is a Canterlot native, it seems unnecessary to assume that two ponies will know each other by sheer virtue of a mutual acquaintance — I speak, of course, of my dear sister, who is likely familiar with enough ponies to overwhelm any sane creature.”

“You’re right,” said he. “I’ve never seen this Twilight, though I’ve heard of her. Spending every waking hour studying, or practicing magic, or studying magic … Auntie Celestia has spoken highly of her, and even more so in the past few months.”

“I shall speak of her presently, then. Twilight, as you might have guessed, is a unicorn boasting the deepest indigo mane, with a finely filed horn to complete the image of a model specimen. She has, dare I say it, a striking balance between confidence in her abilities and wariness of others’ perceptions; you should be able to see it in her stance, for you are nearly as observant as I. When you engage her, be on your best behavior. However, you must also be yourself, for this dealing requires some semblance of honesty. Let her know the magnitude of your presence, but be personable. Be aware of the deepness of her eyes, lest you find yourself entranced by them. Simply behave as a prince of Equestria should, and I know that you can do no wrong.”

He smiled. “Is that all? That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Take care with confidence, my son. Should this fail, we may finish the night with even more problems than we started with.”

“You underestimate me, Mother.” We paused at a door, listening to the muffled voices of ponies beginning to arrive. “This is where I leave. I won’t let you down.”

“I believe in you.”

We parted ways there, and I made my way back through the winding passages of the palace. Up I went, ascending one, two, three flights of stairs, where a certain pink niece had made her abode. At the entrance stood the guard I had assigned to her, and he saluted me sharply at my appearance.

With some trepidation, I looked out a nearby window, watched the procession of approaching guests with their elaborate coverings, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

A voice mumbled on the other side. “No, Mom. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then you are in luck!” I exclaimed. “For I, the darkest of them all, am as far removed from that pony as is possible without moving outside the realm of family! My good niece, pray open this door, that I may behold your scowling face.”

There was a moment’s pause. Then the door swung open, and Mi Amore Cadenza stood there, rubbing at her red eyes. “Uh, hi, Auntie Luna. Aren’t you going to the Gala?”

“Nay! Your mother is quite busy with the common pony, and cannot afford to spare her time as I can. I have taken upon myself a task that she cannot accomplish at this time.”

She eyed me suspiciously. “And what’s that?”

“You, of course.”

“I’m a task now?”

“Certainly.” I pushed past her into her quarters, which were adorned in pink to a surprisingly tasteful degree. The large window at the far end displayed a night sky sparkling with fireworks. “In my mind, I present to you a list of items to be taken care of, a scroll unrolled across the length of Equestria. And behold! One of these items reveals the words ‘Speak with Mi Amore Cadenza regarding recent events.’ If you will not see your mother later, then you will see me now.”

She pressed her lips together, as if sealing away a retort. Casting a defeated look upon me, she crossed the room and sat upon a large cushion, whereby the light of the fireplace could warm her. One side remained with plenty of room, and so I took position in similar fashion.

We were silent for a time, glancing at each other every now and then whenever we thought the other did not notice. At length, when the flames had died to embers, she spoke. “Is he really my father?”

“Verily, such is the truth. And Celestia is your mother. Your parentage is now sufficiently verified.”

“I …” Her head drooped. “I never thought it was important. Who my father was, I mean. When you’ve been alive for thousands of years, that just doesn’t seem very … I thought he’d died long ago, you know?”

“I grasp your meaning. The past is not to be exploited, but rather left to its own devices, like a habitat for a rare lion. Should the boundaries be breached, the lion will leap at the first moment to escape, and soon all are afflicted with the plague of sneezes.”

She snorted. When I raised a questioning eyebrow, she waved my concern aside, trying to hide the smile cracking her expression. “Nothing. Go on.”

“Setting the lion aside, then, I shall turn to the heart of the matter. The issue of Discord being your father was never an issue until it was revealed to you. The connection between parent and child runs two ways, and if the former behaves reprehensibly, the latter is under no obligation to see in them a model for life.” I thought of unblinking eyes. “Not entirely unlike the bond between sisters, though the situations differ necessarily.”

“I wasn’t thinking of becoming a lady of chaos or anything,” she said.

“I did not mean to imply such a thing. My point is that he has been a nonentity in your life, and you have little reason to take such a person seriously. Has your mother not made up for the absence of a father, and especially the absence of a good father?”

“I … hmm.” She considered this. “On the one hoof, I don’t think anything could really replace a good father. On the other hand, Mom does come pretty close.” A wan smile graced her features. “It’s saying something that I’m lucky to have a mother who’s willing to lie to me so I can be happy.”

“Honesty was never her strong suit,” I noted, “just as Kindness has never been mine. Yet, in our own way, we do our best, do we not?” My lovely hoof prodded her foreleg. “I request that you speak with her, my niece. You know that she cares for you deeply.”

She pursed her lips, looking to the window … and then an ear twitched as she looked more intently beyond. “Do you hear crashing?”

I listened, noting shrieks of dismay amidst the sounds of wreckage. “Verily, so I do. Yet I trust that your mother can handle this level of mishap. Pray refrain from changing the subject.”

“But a wall or something just collapsed down there!”

“Can you deny, Mi Amore Cadenza, that the palace has endured worse damages at shorter notice? No?”

“No,” she admitted, taking interest in her hooves. “I just … what if she thinks I’m a mistake?”

I bristled. “Do you honestly believe that Princess Celestia, benevolent ruler of Equestria and loving mother, would consider her daughter a mistake?”

“Being loved and being considered a mistake aren’t mutually exclusive.” But she seemed taken with my logic, musing on its fair points.

“At least promise me you will try before the wound becomes a scar.”

“I’ll try.” She did not sound entirely confident, yet there was a hint of a sparkle in her eye.

I do hope she takes my advice to heart. If she does not, I shall bring it to her attention repeatedly, never relenting or ceasing. She must realize that resentment must not be allowed to rise, nor ~~fear~~ love to fester. It is a lesson all would do well to learn, even for those whose lives have been turned upside down with a startling, even disconcerting revelation.

As it is, I must away to my slumber. Blueblood has not dropped by my quarters even in these small hours of the morning, so I can only assume things have transpired suitably with Twilight Sparkle despite the apparent disaster downstairs. Sister Dearest has not visited me, either, and I wonder as to her doings. Does she not remember the ceremony for the defeat of Discord? If she appears not, who is the common pony to hope for?