Sand blew steadily cross the desert’s dry plains. Sliding across itself, it shifted around bare outcroppings of stone and slowly encroached upon the still figure lying in its midst.

The doors burst open, thrown by the mare rushing into the chapel, and the strong winds of the storm brewing outside. The Preacher, startled from his task, rose to greet the wanderer now standing in his hall.

“…There were two great goddesses, who ruled all lands. The lesser rose the moon for the night, the greater, rose the sun at dawn, to bath her children in its blessed light…”
“…What’s a sun?”
Chuckling, the dark mare bent down to nuzzle the curious filly. “The sun, my little light, was Celestia’s gift to all ponies. It grew our land, and protected us from harm. But it hasn’t been seen in Equestria for a very long time…”

The Preacher, unable to sleep easy with the violence of the storm raging across the wastes, walks through the chapel he calls home. Pausing, he approaches the pale mare sitting in rapture before a stained-glass window. Noting her wide-eyed gaze, he quietly sits by her, the regal image of Celestia blanketing them both with each lightning bolt arcing across the sky above.

A mare, standing upon an aged and rotting crate, calls out to the crows set before her. She preaches of happier days, with warm light from the heavens. She informs them that such days will come again, should the ponies prove faithful to the tenants of harmony. She implores them, telling them not to give up hope in eachother, or their goddess, who has surely not forgotten them.

A mare, teetering upon a ruined barrel, shouts to be heard over mocking cries. Mud and other foul things mar her pale coat. She looks imploringly, desperately into their jeering faces, and her reward is pain as a thrown bottle strikes the side of her face. Sobbing, she realizes their hearts are as dark as the turbulent clouds above.

The stallion leans close to his victim’s ear. Between grunts of exertion, he asks harshly: “Where is your goddess now, bitch? Where is she?”
Tears staining her once white coat, the mare beneath him can be heard muttering prayers amidst whimpers of pain. “…Mother of Harmony…save your servant…return your light…AAH!” She cries out in pain as the stallion, angered, bites down on her ear, redoubling his efforts.

The pegasi had provoked the clouds into a rage. Great gusts of wind and rain raked the barren wasteland, howling through the gaps in a makeshift shelter in the plain below. Within, a pale mare, barely more than a filly, cowered, covering her ears as the shack vibrated around her. Lightning struck, and with a yelp she curled into a little ball in the middle of the floor. With a crack, a beam loosed from the ceiling, striking her as it fell. Blissful unconsciousness follows.
When she awoke, the waste’s meager simulation of daytime had arrived. Wiping the last remnants of tears from her eyes, she looked to where the clouds were their thinnest, gazing towards the light.

“Will I ever see the sun?”
“Someday, my little light. Someday Celestia will come back for all of us who still live with harmony in our hearts. She will take us to a land without clouds, and you will see the sun then.” The dark mare bends low, nuzzling the pale filly now dozing at her hooves. “Someday, my precious little light…”

Gasping, the mare drug herself over the dune. With a cry, she tumbled down the other side, pale sand mixing with her pale coat. She lay still for a time, then opened her eyes to observe an empty stream bed, as dry and cracked as her own lips.
Rolling over, she lay on her back, half-closed eyes gazing at the sun beating down from its place in the heavens. “Celestia, light my hooves,” she murmurs. “As I walk the path to your blessed kingdom.”
“Where the sun shines eternal, and where your little ponies...never…”
A rattling breath, and she closes her eyes, to lie forever still.
“…Never…die…”

Author's Note

...Wow, that's... Quite a downer, isn't it?
Partially inspired by Gardener, (http://www.fimfiction.net/story/259/fallout-equestria-side-story-gardener) I took the protrayal of Celestia as a deistic figure and ran with it. The prayer at the end especially was key for that, as it gives reason and direction for the worship.

Hopefully the non-linearity did not prove too confusing. (Rough chronological order would be 3, 9, 8, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 1, 10, over a period of several years.)

Next up... Will it be the story of the survivors of the Enclave? A tale of revenge? The young zebra, with an unexpected companion? Only time will tell...