Movements of Fire and Shadow
Among the paladins it was something of an in-joke—albeit of questionable taste—that you could tell a lot about a pony by how they reacted to Luna’s chambers.
Those of minimal imagination, or perhaps intellect, saw a room much like the rest of the castle plus or minus preferences in decor. A few rose above the average—not to imply there are lines of ponies tromping through Luna’s bedroom, not at all—and when prodded they would speak of a subtly disquieting dissonance: a princess uncomfortable in her own quarters. Just occasionally, however, particularly astute ponies would glean profound insights into the hidden facets of the princess’s mind, just as several of the paladins had.
To Artemis, it was just another room, and a boring one at that.
She sat with ash-blue hooves rested on the rail of the balcony and her head rested on those hooves, blowing out a sizeable sigh as the moon shone brightly overhead.
“Oh come on, Luna,” she said to herself. “You’re late again.”
Rolling her head to one side, she released a hoof and started tracing small circles cross the curved surface of the rail. A full dozen such circles later, her ears twitched.
“Ahh, there you are, Princess. Altitude: isolating. Speed: despondent. The look on your face: utterly depressing.”
Luna swept down from far above, halting her plummet with almost no lateral deviation. Having transferred from the Equestrian scouting and reconnaissance division, such precision was something Artemis could appreciate—as was its application in avoiding detection.
“Good evening, Artemis,” Luna said, giving the paladin a slight nod and proceeding straight into her room. “I will be retiring to my bed; you are dismissed.”
Artemis regarded her closely, following the princess’s every motion with narrowed eyes. “No bedtime story? No gut-wrenching heart-to-heart about the trials and tribulations of being you?”
Such ribbing was the norm among the paladins, so Luna’s lack of reaction gave her little to go on. She followed, sitting just inside the archway and watching the princess remove her ornamentation. “What’s with the miss frowny-face routine, anyway? I hear that you’re making quite the habit of it lately.”
With a long sigh, Luna slouched and looked back over her shoulder. “I am in no mood for this, Artemis. I apologise for being short; your service is appreciated, as always.”
As Luna slumped onto her bed, Artemis trotted briskly over to the dresser and picked up the royal headgear, earning herself the scrutiny of its owner. “Let me guess. Tomorrow you’re going to wake up all bright eyed and bushy—well, starry—tailed and come running over to me to explain everything about where you’ve been creeping off to secretly. Am I right?” She met Luna’s gaze with a devilish grin.
“I have not been creeping anywhere,” Luna replied, her stare turning cold and hard.
Artemis put the tiara down and her hooves up on the bed. “Oh, come on. If you wanted some yes-stallion, there are two perfectly good—and rather strapping, if I dare say—royal guards outside your door. But you…” She hunkered down on her haunches and matched Luna’s stare without blinking. “You hired me because I don’t play by those rules—just like the other paladins. You could have ordered me to go home, but you didn’t. We know you too well, Luna.”
Luna’s hard visage cracked, her gaze falling to the pillow she rested on as she pulled her hooves in close. “I could order you, but if you thought it for my well being, you would ignore it anyway,” she said quietly.
“True. Still, if you do me one small favour I could see my way to making a promise. You know that means much more to me anyway.” She pulled back from the bed and thrust her wings out at full spread, a huge grin plastered across her face. “Do the thing.”
Luna grumbled and rolled over. “No. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with that anyway.”
“No thing, no promise—except to promise to make a pain in the flank of myself.”
Luna rolled back with a grunt. “Promise first, then leave.”
Putting a hoof over her heart, Artemis recited her promise like an official pledge. “I, Paladin Artemis, do promise that, assuming Princess Frowny-face isn’t being a big meany and does the thing, I will cease all inquiry into her extremely intriguing late-night shenanigans until such time as Princess Frowny-face herself desires to discuss them.”
At the glow of Luna’s horn, a pale green light passed over Artemis from nose to tail, transforming her into the paladin’s Nightmare Night costume: grey coat, reptilian eyes, and bat-wings.
“Hurrah!” cried Artemis, grinning from ear to ear again. “Now to convince Blueblood that vampires are hunting him.”
“Fine, fine.” Luna rolled over, dismissing Artemis with a wave of her foreleg. A few hoof-falls later she lifted her head from the pillow. “Artemis?”
“Yes ma'am!” the paladin replied in a saccharine mix of enthusiasm and good cheer, snapping to attention.
“Thank you.”
Artemis sniggered and trotted through the archway. “Don’t thank me until you’ve had a chance to think about all the things I didn’t promise.” With that, she leapt off the balcony with a beat of her leathery wings.
Exactly what Luna shouted after that would ever remain a mystery, but Artemis knew the princess was appropriately peeved.
Artemis was excellent in the air: not overly talented or physically gifted, but highly trained in precision flying. She plotted her course in minute detail, angling her wings just a few degrees as she passed over the edge of Canterlot to make the most of the updraft that pushed through the gap between the city and the mountain it was attached to. It lifted her higher with a minimal loss of speed—exactly what she needed to remain ahead of a chasing princess.
By contrast, Luna was more of a sprinter: fast in a straight line, but couldn’t maintain that speed while manoeuvring. Initially, the gap had closed quickly, but Artemis banked right and Luna missed the updraft as she adjusted to intercept. Hugging the mountainside, the whole of the Equestrian heartland stretched out to one side—it was a beautiful sight at any time of day or night, but one she didn’t have the time to appreciate right now. Glancing back, she adjusted her pitch; as long as Luna was climbing to catch her, the constant banking would just about even their speeds. That was the theory, at any rate, and the princess looked infuriated enough to make a miscalculation dangerous, all grinding teeth and narrowed eyes.
Rocky outcropping by a big crack: that was the halfway point. Artemis checked back again and Luna was gone. She chuckled despite her regimented breathing. Clever girl, but a good thing you didn’t think of that sooner. From the peak of the mountain, Luna would be able to hunt her down without significant effort. Luckily, that was part of the plan, too.
One last adjustment angled her downwards, bleeding off her extra altitude for the speed to beat Luna back to Canterlot. The princess caught up less than fifteen seconds behind, slamming down onto the small cloud with none of her earlier panache.
“I warned you that I am in no mood for your games!” Luna towered over the paladin, but Artemis didn’t even look up. “What is the meaning of this idiotic—”
She froze like a statue, her face paling under her dark coat even as her mouth hung open.
“Yup,” Artemis said. She folded her legs under her, settling into the surface of the cloud with a smug grin on her face.
“Then-then-then…” Luna’s gaze darted around the visible spires of the city. “You already knew…” Her face tightened, culminating in a faint sneer and the spread of her large wings. “Then why? Why the questions and the chase?”
“I knew the where because I followed you a couple of nights ago. I knew the when because, upon investigation, there was an order to clear this cloud every morning and replace it at sunset every night.” Artemis rolled her eyes. “Sloppy work if you want to keep things quiet, Luna. Apparently, subterfuge isn’t your thing—you should really ask for help next time.”
“I didn’t want you to know!”
Luna’s lip twitched as the paladin waved a hoof dismissively. “That’s all right. I forgive you for your lack of trust.”
“Silence!” Artemis winced and turned away until Luna’s heavy, growling breaths abated. “Now,” Luna continued, quieter again. “Tell me how much you know.”
Artemis hummed to herself for a moment, drawing wispy circles in the cloud in front of her. “Well, I know the penthouse below is rented by a Miss Octavia, a cellist who recently threw in her career with the Royal Canterlot Orchestra to focus on creating her own masterpiece. They say she’s quite mad, you know. If her family didn’t have so much mon—”
“Mind your tongue,” Luna said, her words dripping with venom. The vague scowl on her face remained even as she folded her wings and lay down on the cloud.
Eyebrow raised, Artemis continued. “Just the facts then. Fine. Her father pays the rent on the property from Manehattan while she works on her self-proclaimed masterpiece, supposedly inspired by you, Luna. Rumour has it that she’s getting a little obsessive about it, but as to whether the music is any good…” She shrugged.
Luna’s scowl melted, but her frown deepened. “And?”
“The questions were because I hoped you might talk about it without me resorting to this. Coming here on the quiet to listen to her practice after nightfall is making you miserable, and ponies are starting to notice. To return to my earlier point, you’re creeping, Luna, and it’s creepy. It’s like stalking, as if you were…” She blinked. Luna looked away. She blinked again. “Oh please… Really?”
“Hush.”
Artemis’s face lit up, her fake almond eyes glistening in the moonlight. “Luna, that’s fantastic!”
Luna stiffened. “Shhh!”
“No! I mean it! I take back everything. I’m sorry I was being such a jerk about it, Princess, but you have to admit you can be really—”
“Shut up!” Luna whispered harshly.
“Umm… Hello?” The soft voice drifted up from below, uncertain but not timid.
Luna pushed her hooves into the cloud, making a small hole, then shoved her head in it and screamed. Pulling it out again, she snorted. “Artemis, you are sorely testing my—” She turned to look at the paladin as she spoke, only to find she was the sole occupant of the cloud.
“Not again…”
“Octavia, isn’t it?”
The grey earth pony stood by the door of her fourth story veranda. Wrapped in a hot-pink nightgown of fine silk, she stared, blinking, at Artemis. The paladin leaned slightly to one side, and the dumbstruck mare’s eyes followed her.
Octavia’s mouth flapped once before any words formed. “I… who are you?”
“An idiot,” Luna said sharply, landing beside the paladin. “Did you forget you are still in costume?” With an exaggerated swish of her glowing horn, the green light passed back over Artemis to reveal the blue hue of her coat and her short, violet frizz of a mane.
“Heh. Oops.” Artemis brandished a cheesy grin for a few seconds, but Octavia’s attention was focused on Luna. “I’m Artemis,” she continued, bowing low. Octavia didn’t appear to even register her. “I’m guessing you probably know Luna already. And that we’re both changeling—ow!”
Something stung the back of her ear and she inhaled sharply, breaking Octavia’s focus. “Oh! Are you alright? Is anything wrong?”
“No, no,” replied Artemis, flexing her foreleg at the shoulder and shooting Luna a mute scowl. “Just a landing twinge. Pegasus stuff—nothing to worry about.”
Luna fluffed her wings once, then spoke in a cool, even tone. “My paladin was telling me of your creative endeavours. She seems to have taken quite an interest.”
“I have?” Artemis stood up straight, suddenly stiff. “Oh, yes. Well, I heard you practicing earlier. I thought the princess might enjoy your talents.”
If not for the focused attention she was receiving, Octavia’s slight blush might have gone unnoticed. “Thank you,” she said with a warm smile. “But goodness, where are my manners? Can I get you anything, Luna? Coffee, hot chocol—”
“Just Luna will do,” Artemis said, leaving Octavia silent.
“That’s what she said, my over-eager assistant,” Luna replied.
“That’s ridiculous.” Artemis waved the suggestion off with a hoof. “Nopony calls you Luna on first meeting. It’s like some law of nature.”
“Oh, well, actually, I heard some of my father’s associates discussing your… preferences. They don’t seem to like it, but I suppose I should thank them for the information, really.” Octavia pulled her nightgown tight to her chest. “So… can I get you anything?”
“Two hot chocolates,” Artemis replied sternly. “Luna hates coffee.”
“I do not!”
Artemis turned her whole body to face Luna. “Oh really?” she said in a sarcastic drawl. “Since when?”
The princess turned her nose up. “I hate bad coffee, if you must know. That magically dried muck is an offence to my senses.”
Princess and paladin both levelled wide eyed stares at Octavia as she giggled politely behind a hoof. “Don’t worry, Luna, I have just thing. You’ll love it. Please come inside; I was just about to make some before bed anyway.” She trotted indoors at a jaunty gait and wearing a contented smile.
Flashing Luna another devilish grin, Artemis chuckled to herself. “This is gonna be great. She’s definitely into you—am I the best wingmare ever or what?”
“One drink,” Luna replied curtly, “and we’re going. If you make this any worse than it already is, I’m going to turn you into a sun-lounger and give you to Blueblood as a gift so he can sweat all over you. Do I make myself sufficiently clear, Paladin?”
Artemis trotted after Octavia, mimicking her spirited gait. “Yup. You’re nervous—it’s perfectly natural. Leave it me, Miss Frowny—ow!” She rubbed the back of her ear vigorously. “How are you even doing that?”
Luna whistled tunelessly and looked elsewhere.
The main concourse—to call it simply a room would not do its grandeur justice—was simultaneously spacious and packed to the rafters. Thousands of books adorned lovingly crafted bespoke bookshelves along one wall—a healthy mix of new, old, and decrepitly ancient—and its opposite boasted a liberal sprinkling of memorabilia: portraits, certificates, trophies, instruments of every kind, and the kind of assorted bric-a-brac found on mantelpieces across Equestria. Contrary to the white towers and gold trim of Canterlot, it was all set against the streaked brown of heavily varnished teak panelling.
Luna’s half-hearted chambers, it was not.
Weaving past two thickly padded leather chairs and their attendant antique coffee tables, Artemis headed straight for the grand piano. Set in the corner where the upstairs balcony overlooked a spiral staircase, it filled its space like the centrepiece of its own private showroom.
“Don’t touch anything,” Luna said, sliding into one of the leather chairs and running a hoof idly over the line of brass-domed pins along the armrest.
A cacophony of mashed piano notes reverberated through the room. “Woah. Nice acoustics… What was that, Luna?”
Octavia’s head and shoulders appeared at the side door. “Hey,” she shouted. “No touching. And no flying, please.” She vanished again, leaving Luna chortling in the background. Artemis rolled her eyes and plodded back across the room, steering clear of any furniture along the way.
“Sun-lounger,” Luna said quietly as Artemis sat beside her.
With a huff, the paladin laid out on the floor like an obedient guard dog. Her eyes roamed across the wall of assorted things, which quickly resolved itself into some semblance of order. Wind instruments and associated odds and ends to the left, strings in the middle—including the cello she played for the Canterlot Philharmonic Orchestra on a stand next to the door—and a plethora of piano-based pictures that looked like a recounting of her youth on the right.
“And here I thought she just played the cello.”
“Perhaps,” Luna replied, her eyes having already drifted closed as she relaxed into the chair, “you will be less hasty to judge in future.”
Octavia trotted gingerly in with a tray containing three cups and placed it on the table by her own chair. “Your coffee, and your friend’s hot chocolate,” she said, pointing to the appropriate cups. “I don’t usually have guests here—do you mind?”
“Not at all.” Luna levitated the cups over to her own little table. “I apologise if we are inconveniencing you; it is later than would be appropriate. Still, I feel I must remark of your superior dexterity.”
Octavia chuckled and slid into her chair. “Yes. I did a lot of work trying to master the oboe. I tried everything, no matter how ridiculous of irrelevant it seemed. You know how it is: in my youth I decided that I could play anything a unicorn could, but it doesn’t always work that way. I can just about play it, but the real payoff wasn’t musical.”
Lifting her coffee, the mare that had been stunned by the sudden appearance of a bat-pony finished transforming into the image of refinement that audiences were accustomed to. Her face stern but not stiff, she closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma of her drink before taking a dainty sip and releasing a contented sigh. “I tried my hoof at the bassoon and found it much more to my liking anyway, so I jumped from the violin to the cello, too, and that’s where my heart stayed. I can play all of these instruments, but I only feel like I can truly speak through my cello—and sometimes the piano.”
She blushed again. “I suppose you came because of my current work. I seem to be calling it Movements of Fire and Shadow for now, but that feels a little… pretentious.”
“Indeed,” Luna replied, deadpan. “Artemis tells me you quit your place in the orchestra to pursue your composition.” Octavia’s head dipped, and no answer came. “She tells me I am the inspiration for it. Is that true?”
“Not in so many words.” Hooves wrapped tightly around the cup in her lap, Octavia stared at the wisps of steam rising from it. “It was actually those business associates of my father’s. They were all talking about you as if you were some passing fad and I realized how little thought ponies gave it. Honestly, there’s only so many times a girl can hear some inane tale about how you used to arrange the stars each night before she wants to very loudly point out how any filly paying attention at school knows that astronomy couldn’t have existed back then if that were the case.”
Artemis raised an eyebrow; the musician’s mild embarrassment had been replaced with a very personal kind of ire—very personal indeed. “Much as I knew the basics, I never really thought about it like that.” Luna’s mouth had barely opened when Artemis added, “But that won’t surprise anypony.”
Luna smiled.
“Ponies don’t,” Octavia continued with a scowl. “For once I had something to say and words just didn’t do it justice, so I composed. Once I’d started, it consumed me. Now I absolutely have to finish it, no matter what.”
The room fell silent, and Octavia’s brooding intensity waned as she stared blankly into her coffee. Something tweaked Artemis’s ear. She looked up at Luna with a frown, and the princess inclined her head towards the door.
“Ahem. Is it a bit stuffy in here? Anyone mind if I take a wander outside? No? Good, ‘scuse me.” She hurried for the door, sneaking Luna a wink and taking a last look at Octavia before passing through the door. She paused for a moment—the grey mare suddenly looked older and weaker, slumped in her chair and still as the grave.
Well that explains a few things.
After a few minutes alone, Artemis rolled onto her back in the middle of the veranda. “How are you doing in there, Luna? Giving it the old agony-princess routine? A shoulder to cry on? Or just making a complete and utter mess of the whole thing?” She sighed, deeply. “Yeah, probably that. Still, she’s weirdly comfortable with all this, so… maybe.”
A long, low note from Octavia’s cello pierced the thick outer wall and reached her ears. A few faster notes, then back to a slow, melancholic wail. Artemis grimaced. “It sounds miserable—she’s perfect for you.” Amongst the smooth transitions from quick clusters of notes to long, bleak ones, another sound joined the musical lament. It was something altogether different—almost like an out-of-tune pluck on the strings. “That’s weird. I can’t imagine she’s making mistakes… ahh.” A few more such notes joined it, flat and soulless like hailstones against glass too thick to even notice. The continuing dirge rose to meet it, stirred by such an affront to its apathy.
“Well, it definitely speaks, but it’s all pachydermal to me.” She yawned as the deep voice of the cello sang out in bitter fury. “Needs more drums. Everything’s better with drums.”
It stopped, mid-note. Artemis lifted her head, staring between her sprawl of legs towards the door. She caught the faint sound of Luna’s fairly unique hoofsteps before the door glowed and swung open hurriedly. In a heartbeat she was upright and taking in Luna’s hollow and vacant expression. It wasn’t a look she’d seen before; it was a look she’d been warned about: distant, taciturn—Princess Luna is not available for business at this time.
“Luna?”
If the princess heard, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she looked back towards their host and said a single word, “Yes,” before stepping outside and taking to the air.
“What the…” Artemis watched the princess speed off towards the castle, and likely the solitude of her room, then poked her head inside the open door. Octavia still stood there, bow in hoof and leaning heavily on her cello. Her jaw hung slightly open and her blank eyes mirrored Artemis’s bewilderment. “Umm, what just happened?”
Octavia shrugged.
“Oh. Well, thank you for the hot chocolate, and… uhh, nice pink… thingy.” She closed the door before there was time to take in any kind of reaction. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.” She knocked herself on the forehead with a hoof. “Stop talking, Artemis.”
She took the brief run up offered by the veranda and leapt off the railing.
The doors to Luna’s chamber were still open, a pair of diaphanous drapes filling the hole and barely rippling in the dead of night. She crept through them, stopping just inside to sit in her usual place.
“Luna?” she asked quietly. “What happened?”
The princess lay stretched out on her side, and adjusted her head on her pillow to glance at the paladin. “I do not wish to discuss it,” she replied firmly.
“Did she say something? Do something wrong?”
Luna gave a solemn shake of her head and looked away.
Frowning deeply, Artemis chewed on her lip for a moment. “You made me promise to speak my mind when I signed up for this, so you’ll excuse me if I do exactly that.” She walked slowly across the room, not speaking again until she sat by Luna’s bed. “I think you’re making a big mistake. There’s more going on here than I understand, that’s nothing new, but you haven’t looked this lost since I’ve known you. Usually you get all grouchy when someone isn’t paying you proper attention, but this Octavia almost pokes you in the eye with an olive branch and you run. Sure, I still think she’s a bit of a strange one, and her freakishly calm response to you being, well, you is… err, freakish…”
She grimaced and cleared her throat as Luna gave her another cold stare.
“Look, all I’m saying is that you could really use a run-of-the-mill ordinary, everyday friend—you know, someone who isn’t a guard or a servant or one of Twilight’s groupies—and I’ve never seen anypony so instantly comfortable to be around you. It’d be a shame to ruin that by just disappearing, don’t you think?”
Luna’s face softened. “You’re right, of course,” she said quietly. “I did ask you to speak your mind, but I’m not ready.”
“Not ready?” Artemis jerked her head back, an eyebrow raised absurdly high. “What’s that supposed to mean? Not ready to take a risk on a relationship that is actually completely mutual?”
“You cannot understand,” Luna whispered.
“Sure I can. You’re being a coward.”
As soon as she’d spoken, the princess glowered at her. “You have no idea of what you speak. We are done, Artemis. Promise me you that will speak no more of this unto me, nor to any other—and that you will not trouble Octavia again—then begone.”
“No.” Artemis met the glare with unflinching steel. “You made me a vow, too, remember? I’m not promising anything without some kind of explanation. The others warned me to pay attention to what you don’t say, and right now that’s even a single whiff of a denial. She means something to you, doesn’t she?”
Luna’s hardened visage didn’t mellow this time, but she gave a slow nod in response.
“So what is it, something about that music? Maybe just the prospect of someone actually getting close to you?” Luna twitched, barely perceptibly. “Huh. There we are then.”
“It is not what you think,” Luna replied, her voice still firm. “Things have been going well, it’s true; I am no longer beholden to my past. I have reconciled with Celestia and resumed my place in Equestria, but reacquainting myself with this new world takes time. You have fulfilled your role, paladin, treating me as neither child nor princess, but just because I act normally in public does not mean that the old wounds have simply vanished. I will take as much time as I need; there are some doors I am not ready to open and I will not be cajoled by the likes of you.”
Artemis slouched onto her rump and sighed, levelling a long frown at Luna before lifting a hoof to her heart. “I, Paladin Artemis, do promise never to speak of this again until Princess Luna gives me leave to do so. Neither will I trouble, investigate, or otherwise pester Miss Octavia.” For a moment she was silent. Her lips pursed, then she frowned, then grimaced, and finally bared her teeth just before she blurted out, “But-I-still-think-you’re-being-a-coward.”
Luna stared for a moment, then rolled over without saying a word.
“I’ll see myself out, then.” Artemis walked slowly out onto the balcony, and the doors gently sealed themselves after her with a light blue aura.
She sat with hooves rested on the rail of the balcony and head rested on those hooves, blowing out a sizeable sigh as the moon continued to shine brightly overhead. “Just doing my job, ma'am,” she whispered to herself, rolling her head to one side and releasing a hoof to trace small circles cross the curved surface of the rail. “Still, there’s something really odd about this whole thing... Octavia's way too calm and Luna's way too skittish. I feel like I’m missing something important.”
Octavia pulled the lever with both hooves. There was a loud, metallic clank from below, and she ran to the booth’s window to look out at the three lines of tracks than ran through Trottingham interchange.
“No, no, no!” she cried, dashing back to pull another lever. Her prized cello lay in the center of the tracks below, and the shrill peep of an approaching locomotive heralded its impending destruction.
“No!” she cried again as yet another lever seemed to produce the same, inevitable result. Try as she might, she could not change the course of the train.
Looking out the window again, Octavia froze. There, standing above her cherished instrument in the middle of the tracks, was Luna, nonchalantly examining an unshod hoof while tonnes of metal death bore down on her. “Luna!” she shouted, but the princess did not heed her call. The tracks wailed and protested as the train switched to the central line, an older brown stallion leaning out of the driver’s window and sneering at the obstacle in his path. The engine tore horizontally through the middle, opening into a gaping maw with jagged metal for teeth and billowing fire and steam like a dragon.
At the last moment, Luna flicked her head and the engine wrenched free of the track, the carriages snaking overhead and crashing on the other side in a thunderous cacophony of twisted metal.
Octavia galloped over, but even amid the carnage, she had eyes only for Luna.
“Your father again,” said the princess. “After today, I was afraid it might be me. I apologise for that, but it was necessary.”
“Today…” Octavia’s vacant eyes suddenly shone, as if aware for the first time. “Luna? What… where are we?”
Luna smiled. “Your dream, of course. I have seen several like it. I could tell you what it means, but you won’t remember.” She hopped up on a giant bouncy castle and patted the space next to her. A moment later, Octavia sprawled next to her.
“I love bouncy castles! They’re like a giant air-bed, except that—” Octavia froze and blushed.
“Fear not, young Octavia,” Luna said theatrically. “I know thee well already. We have spoken many times.”
The musician, lying upside down between two ridges, blushed harder before speaking. “But—what do you mean? We’ve never spoken before—wait…” She rolled onto her belly, bobbing up and down with the air cushion. “You said I won’t remember. We’ve spoken in my dreams... and I don’t remember?”
Luna sighed and nodded. “Twenty five times, including this one. Do you remember being saved by me in a dream of falling?”
The light in Octavia’s eyes shone intensely. “Oh yes! It was wonderful—I woke up the next day feeling better than I have in years. I couldn’t compose properly for days, but… oh.”
“Oh,” Luna repeated. “Twenty five times we have spoken since that night, and so far, twenty four times have you asked me to remove the memory. But know this, my little Octavia: after that first dream, it is I who has been drawn to you. I’ve never shared a dream like this with another pony. This time is not for you. It’s for me.”
The sky around them turned black, the view of the stars absolutely perfect from high up on their single cloud.
Octavia met the princess’s eyes without wavering. “I have this... feeling. It’s like I’ve known you for a long time—like you’re already part of my life. I don’t want to lose that.”
“I know, but your sonata is important to you as well. It is the spectre from your past that you must overcome, as I must overcome mine. Until it is done, neither of us will know where this goes. Don’t be afraid. No matter how many times you forget, you never forget how much you want to be here, and neither do I.”
She shuffled across and folded a wing around Octavia’s middle.
“It’s been months…” Octavia said quietly. “I haven’t even started the piano accompaniment. It’s hard: much harder than I expected. So much emotion. It could take… a long time.”
Luna leaned against her companion and sighed. “I know, and I promised I would wait,” she said as Octavia pressed back. “But... I miss you.”
The door creaked open slowly, and Luna poked her snout through the gap to see Artemis curled in the corner of the balcony, snoring quietly. Moments later, a midnight-blue blanket of crescent moons, stars, and clouds floated through the gap, along with a thick pillow that tucked itself under the paladin’s head. Finally, a small hoof-written note inserted itself under the edge of the pillow and the door creaked shut again.
The note contained a single word: sorry.
THE END
Thank you for reading!
