> In the Shadow of the Moon
>  by faoiltiama
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
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The air above me was a sea of rich darkness from which sprouted an Eden of glowing flowers. Each blossoming was marked with a crack of sound which nearly drowned out the wave of gasps that rose from the throngs of ponies to greet it. My eyes, like so many others around me, were filled with the image of each explosion before it faded, leaving dancing afterimages in my mind. The celebration was nearly frantic by that point, and ponies were careening about wildly in every manner of joyous expression, their eyes shining with hope. I only wished it were not unshed tears which gave my eyes their shine.

Fireworks carried a bitter edge that night, though most seemed to ignore it. They burst forth on the breath of unicorn magic, shattering the stars in flashes of color like knives peeling away the darkness. Each color lasted only an instant before withering, lost as only a faint impression that would soon fade from recollection. I wished I could turn away, or close my eyes against the brilliance of each sparkling display. As much as I desired to, I could not stoop so low as to detract from the celebration of all those around me with my melancholy. They deserved their celebration. No, they needed it.

I understood what they had been through. Of course I did. It has always been true that ponies crave laughter and merriment the most during times of sorrow. Joy has even more beauty when set against the backdrop of destruction as a light to break through the past. Today should be the end of a time of great darkness, in more ways than one. Finally they stumbled from the desert they had been cast into, and the revelry that surrounded me was an oasis to them; they drank greedily with parched throats. Perhaps by my own folly I could not drink, instead captured by the memories the still water reflected.

A sudden boom, louder than the rest, jolted me out of my thoughts and it was all I could do to suppress a shudder. The sound brought to my mind’s eye streaks of dark magic, collapsing homes, screaming ponies, and an endless rage and sorrow blanketing the heavens. There was no end to the anguish and death- no, that was in the past. Suddenly restless, I stood and stepped down from the dais, slowly pacing forward into the crowd. On any other day such an act would cause instant, awed silence as everypony turned towards me in respect. This time was different, however. I was one of them, joined and brought down from my high pedestal by the simplicity of harmony that pulsed in every heart. I was still Celestia, their Princess, but that title meant much closer to ‘friend’ then. Or perhaps I drew too much meaning from it. It is quite possible that they were all simply too caught up in that precious moment to even pause. And maybe, after everything they had witnessed and lost, my presence just wasn’t enough to even draw attention.

Regardless of how it came to be, I couldn’t help but be grateful for the relative obscurity with which I was able to navigate the crowds. The streets were filled with ponies of every possible description, engaged in just as many activities. Ponies clustered together or danced from group to group, weaving about in careless abandon.Yet I was not quite invisible. No matter how wildly they moved from place to place, not one of them so much as brushed against me accidentally. There was a space around me always, even then, proof of their reverence. I received a few nods and smiles as I travelled, but nothing more.

I had no idea where I was going, but my hooves did not falter for a moment as I took in the city around me. It was utterly resplendent in luminous colors from nearly every angle. The fireworks had not ceased, but they were far from the only feature to warrant such an observation. Banners, balloons, and every other form of decoration could be seen in a multitude of hues covering almost every visible surface. Any major occasion would have warranted some degree of decorating, yet at that time it appeared as though every single pony had dug up every last scrap of color they possessed and thrown it out on display. It wasn’t limited to the environment either. Even the ponies themselves - who were usually content in their many-hued coats alone - were encumbered by layers of exultantly festive garments. It didn’t seem to matter whether anything matched, as long as it was bright and it was worn proudly.

Maybe my state of mind was casting shadows on everything, and that caused me to see things that were not there. But I could not help but notice how many of the flags and banners were caught on the edges of collapsed structures. The frolicking ponies seemed unruffled by this, but I saw every blemish, and they were not few. To the left a band was tossing their lively tunes into the air from the middle of a library whose front wall had been completely ripped away. Just a few feet ahead of me, a group of fillies were making a game out of leaping back and forth over particularly large chunks of rubble. Perhaps that was why the decorations were coated so thickly over the world. Scorch marks were masked in pink silk, gaping wounds strung with fluttering streamers, and crumbling memories shrouded in the colors of the sun.

Do not misunderstand me; I was proud of our triumph. My dark impression of the city was a symptom of my already powerful sorrow, not the cause. Each broken sight was a reminder. I admired the ponies’ efforts and their ability to enjoy their celebration unhindered by the grief that I was sure must still linger in their hearts. They simply chose to ignore it, something I could not bring myself to do. To them, these ruins were the finest palace in existence, because they could call them home.

The further I walked, the greater my pride in those brave souls became. Surely the crash of each firework spoke memories of destruction to each of them as much as they did to me. But they chose to hear those sounds as celebration rather than the destruction they had meant for so long. But that lay behind me. Each clip of my hooves on stone moved me away from those years. So long, it had been so very long.

And the future would be even longer...

No, I could not let myself travel that thought. I had nearly slipped already, letting the small, benign curve of my lips falter. I put a bit more energy into my smile, though I doubt if anypony even noticed. By then I had reached the fringes of the revelry, where ponies enjoyed more peaceful moments. Some of my subjects sat together, speaking through small, contented grins. Others merely craned their necks back, letting the flashing lights pour into their wide eyes. I paused, looking up with them.

The night sky crackled with light, nearly as bright as day at moments. I almost let out a bitter laugh at that. Still they drove away the night, fearing its shadows. Though the last several years had certainly given them more cause to hate the night rather than less.

Oh, my darling sister... It all went wrong, don’t you see? I knew what you wanted. But my love alone was not enough, was it? I could not give you what you asked for, so you tried to take it. And in doing so you drove their hearts away from you. And I drove you away as well...

My tears burned deep in my chest, rising up inside me. They emerged as nothing more than a low, heavy sigh. The war was over. Tonight everypony celebrated the end of the terror and pain, for I had won the war. And I had lost my sister.


~~~~~~~~~~


I take a slow breath, leaning back from my desk. Glancing behind me, I shiver at the sight of my room, shadows dulling its usually vibrant warmth. Despite the late hour, I have not lit a single candle, relying instead on the pale glow of moonlight from the open balcony to guide my eyes. Such has become my habit for nearly a thousand years. I, of all ponies, cannot try to delay the darkness of night. Not since I drove away the one who loved it most.

I remember that night now as clearly as I always have. I relive it every day in the theater of my mind like a lonely rehearsal, with myself and the moon as the only audience. Whether I do this as a punishment or an offering of peace, I do not know. I look down, reading the thin lines of ink on the parchment before me. Oh, my darling sister... it begins. I scan the few short sentences, judge them unworthy, then obliterate them with a jerk of my quill.

Tossing the ruined sheet to the side to lay with its mountain of kin, I bring my attention to the new, pristine slip before me. Beginning is always the most arduous part of the process. All I can do now, though, is try once more. Slowly I lower the quill.

My sister,

It has been years since I sent my last letter and for that I am sorry. I still wait as long as I can between sending each letter in hopes that I may receive some response from you. I wish I knew why I haven’t. I believe that I understand the magic I used enough to ensure that my letters are reaching you, but not nearly enough to know if you could even send a response if you had any desire to. I can’t even be sure you’ve been reading my messages.

I hope you believe that I do want to understand. I doubt that I ever will, though. There really is no way for me to comprehend how the many years have felt as they passed. I understand how you feel now even less. I only know how the time has passed for me, and how it has made my heart burn.

I remember, Luna. My mind lingers in the past now, and I often don’t even have the energy or will to drag myself forward. I remember long ago, before the fire and pain and bitterness. We were fillies together before all of that, and louder than the sound of battle cries, I hear your laughter ringing. Your joy was music, which now breaks in my ears with a dissonant chord. You stopped laughing. Your smiles faded into the hard, brittle shell of a monarch. The Canterlot Voice, once a tone of proud declarations for which our subjects listened eagerly, became your only voice. Your youthful spirit hid away, and maybe died. I don’t know when it happened, but you grew so cold. I was worried and afraid. I reached out to you with love and friendship, but you were soon too far. I tried to warm you, but time only pulled you further from me. You were ice, too cold and too distant to touch. Nothing I did seemed to be able to change that.

Yet, of course, change did come. It appeared so suddenly that I knew it had been lurking below your skin for years. Within a few heartbeats, it seemed, you turned from ice to fire. Your fury out-burned the sun as if by the sheer force of your outrage you could drive my sun from the sky. But you know what happened then and my purpose is not to lecture you. Sister, I wish I could have not fought back. From the very beginning I fought for our subjects, not against you. But in the process we made war, and our war was terrible. I say this in almost every letter I send, but it bears repeating. I did not want to win that war, and I most certainly did not want to defeat you. I am sure there must have been another way, but at the time I did not see any.

Time cannot be rewritten. This is a fact, and if it were otherwise I would have already done so. Luna, you are my little sister, and I know what I did may prevent us from ever laughing like we did as fillies again. Every snowpony we ever made together has melted beneath the heat of the sun, but the chill of winter has not left my heart. It’s so cold, Lu, and I am so alone. I miss you so terribly yet I fear I will not be able to hold my head up from shame when you return.

This will be my last letter.

Have you been counting the years, little sister?

Have you counted the days?

I have. And it is nearly time.

The sound of the quill dropping to the desk is hollow and dull. Fresh tear-stains spread thin tendrils through my words, drowning in ink. I stare blankly at the parchment for a moment, then close my eyes and release a slow, trembling breath. The sound of damp parchment tearing reaches my ears. I rip it neatly down the middle, stack the halves, and tear them all one more time.

The scraps drift to the ground unnoticed as I tilt my horn forward and lift the quill from its resting place. The dry scratching of its tip on a new scroll as it carves black shapes into the pale material is dull and distant. After only a few seconds I lower the quill and look up. The words I have written are few, but I cannot bring myself to say more.

Slowly I roll it up, seal it, then carry it to the open balcony. My tears dry against my cheeks in the cool breeze, stinging like icy gashes along my face. I have waited so long, the world turning around me, my eyes turned upwards in entreaty yet downwards in regret. To an immortal, time moves in the blink of an eye, and patience is an easy thing. But the last thousand years I have felt the painful drag of each day across my wounds, each tick of the clock tugging me, helplessly, in its wake. I am a criminal, waiting a thousand years to come before the judge. I am afraid to see the look on her face. But then, maybe, when I do, it will end. Maybe, after all these years of being praised as a hero and savior by multitudes of fleeting lives, maybe it will be good to be seen and judged by the only pony who can see the terrible wrong I have done. When I banished her, the whole of the world proclaimed my wisdom and triumph. When she returns, she will be the only jury I will ask for. With a spell I send it gently on its way, gazing towards the moon.

Luna, my sister, please. Come home.