For the second time that evening, Princess Celestia flared into existence in a wash of golden light.
Frail fingers of grass traced against her coat, the stems still bristling from her abrupt arrival. Her coat hairs prickled as a faint wind brushed past, rubbing at the skin and toying with her tail. The dusk chorus strived for symphony around her, birds cat-calling and rabble-rousing out in a manner ignorance cohered into melody. She shook her mane out, crown tugging at a few trapped strands of hair, and looked around.
Paintbrush strands of grass painted the floor in a green stained yellow under the midsummer’s sun. Wild shrubs of lilac grew not far away from her, their blue heads bobbing as they tossed scent out into the world. Flies drifted lazily through the air: dark motes of dust swirling without aim.
The land rose ahead of her, the vegetation balding away into a welt of rocks and red earth that then abruptly weren’t. The world past the cliff edge was the faded grey of distance, forests tilted a pigment away from pure green and the fuzz of a distant town’s smoke broken by its yellow lights all winking on.
The sky bled over it all, stained an angry red at the edges and white where the full moon was; Celestia turned her attention to the setting sun briefly, watching its progress with an attentive air that ended in a snort. She returned to looking about the landscape.
And in a flash of purple, stark against the green, Celestia spotted her: Twilight Sparkle was sat next to a frozen explosion of yew tree, its verdant leaf-flame branches rising high into the air. Her back was facing Celestia, attention pointed out towards the horizon, but her ears were swivelled to the side, listening. Celestia could see them twitch.
She paced through the field towards Twilight, dandelion puffs erupting into the evening about her like confetti flung in reverse. A few brushed against her chin whilst rising; she waved them off in a flare of gold magic. A swallow swooped past her, darting between her outstretched wings. She wrapped them in close.
“Good evening, Princess Twilight,” Celestia said, close enough now that words became required. Twilight tilted her head, but said nothing. “I arrived at your home in Ponyville just a few minutes before you left.” There was a pause; Twilight’s ears lowered. “Rainbow Dash was most upset that you chose to leave midway through your conversation. Spike is... Spike understands.”
Twilight Sparkle said nothing. She was sat so still it barely looked like she was breathing: the wind playing with her mane was a greater sign of life.
Celestia sat next to her, grass tickling as she lay and the bare earth crunching against her forehooves. A cranefly, disturbed, pirouetted past her nose.
“I heard it all started over a blanket,” Celestia continued, speaking in the hope that she’d soon be spoken to. “One of the ones I gave to you as a filly, Spike told me.”
Celestia craned her neck backwards and looked up at the sky. “I don’t mind that you tore it, Twilight, really. Accidents happen, and –”
“It’s...” Twilight interrupted. Celestia quietened and looked down.
“It’s not that, Princess, really.” Twilight wasn’t looking at her, but out into the distance, her gaze following the trees fencing up a distant river. “I’d actually forgotten you gave that one to me, to tell the truth.”
Celestia said nothing, her face still and serene. She did not even blink.
“It’s just that I’ve unfolded it magically loads of times in the past, back before I...” She hesitated, and then shrugged a wing. Celestia nodded. “And it never broke then, didn’t even tear.
“But I do it now, and I... I break it.” She swallowed. “I tore it clean in two without even thinking about it. Like it was pap – no, like it was air.
“What happens if it happens again? If I try and levitate an apple and send it flying up into Cloudsdale? Or... or if I teleport to Canterlot and end up in Leoquillia? Or worse?”
“You don’t feel in control?” Twilight nodded and Celestia looked away. “Princess Twilight, the very first time we met, you were middway through turning your parents into a pair of potted plants and Spike into a half-hundred foot high baby. Do you remember what I told you then?”
“That I need to learn to tame my abilities through focused study, yes. But I’m not a unicorn anymore: ‘With the marks of our destinies made one, there is magic without end.’ Without end. How can you tame the infinite? How can you reduce the irreducible?”
“Practically?” Twilight nodded; Celestia sighed. “You cannot. But I would not have sent Starswirl’s journal to you if I didn’t think you were ready, Princess. I believe you to be more than capable of handling the responsibility.”
“What if I’m not? What if... We all have stray thoughts from time to time, right?” Twilight’s hoof was grinding a circle into the floor. “What if I act on them without meaning to? What if I break something I can’t fix? Something big or important? Something that you can’t just repair.”
Her voice dropped to a mumble Celestia missed. She looked down to see Twilight looking up.
“I could break it,” Twilight whispered. The white dime of the moon was a second iris to her eyes. “You know, it wouldn’t even be that hard. I can see exactly the right places to push, the little fractures underneath its surface where one insignificant nudge would bring the whole thing down. Just a small push. Right... there.”
Her hoof rose up into the air and swayed through it, covering and uncovering the moon.
“When I was a little filly, I used to struggle with turning a single page of one single, measly old book. I couldn’t even perform an age spell three months ago. But now...”
Her hoof jerked downwards, cracking into the ground. Earth dirtied the air and silence flooded out.
“One small thought, and no more moon, ever. That’s what I am, now. That’s just how different I am.” Twilight turned her head down and scuffed at the ground a bit, trying but failing to cover up the crack marks. Blades of grass were left stuck onto her hoof.
“I could break it,” she said, her tone uncertain, but unwavering too.
Celestia was quiet for a while, pausing as the evening about them tiptoed back into some form of normality. A sparrow somewhere cheaped out a rhythmic cry; the background hubbub returned with it, insects, birds and mammals alike each murmuring out in their disrupt of quiet.
“Luna would be most upset,” she eventually replied. “She’s rather fond of the moon.”
Twilight chuckled, and the sound was so natural that Celestia found herself smiling along with it.
“It was just an example. You can tell Princess... You can tell your sister to rest assured that my first real act as an alicorn isn’t going to be putting her out of a job.”
Celestia nodded her head to one side, the action drifting through her mane. “I am sure the news will bring great joy to her. She’s never quite forgiven me for the rumour that it’s actually just the back of the sun no matter how much I tell her it isn’t one of mine. I’m not sure how she’d respond to someone actually ‘breaking’ it.”
Twilight did not reply, snorting out an unborn laugh through her nose. Celestia smiled and sighed out gently, grass tickling against her belly as her chest swelled and deflated.
Above them, the moon drifted higher into the sky as the stain of dusk around them faded into black. Clouds softly melted into existence over the horizon. The air cooled around them and the scent of lilac grew strong.
“We are not talking about breaking the moon, are we?” Celestia’s voice was quiet: calm enough that it seemed part of the background. “We are talking about breaking ponies.”
Twilight did not move. Celestia looked down at her, her expression a consideration of something unknown.
“I can tell when somepony isn’t being candid with me, Princess. I know you could feel the ripples of my teleporting into Ponyville, and I know that you expected me to follow after the traces of your teleportation. This was a conversation you wanted to have with me, not Rainbow Dash, because when you speak about this, I understand.”
Celestia coughed out a half breath. “Or at least, you hope I’ll understand. You hope that I’ve been through the same thing. That I have an answer or solution that can make all of your problems go away.”
There was a pause in which the dark rose around them, sliding out of the shadows and blanketing the land. The world turned grey as the moonlight claimed it, then eschewed the variety of colour in favour of a monochrome’s softness.
“There isn’t one, is there? A solution, I mean.” Twilight still wasn’t really looking at her, was still glaring out far into the distance. Her purple hoof scuffed, and a pebble flew, bounced and then fell forever. “I’m going to be like this forever. Always one step away from too far.”
Twilight’s breaths had quickened to shallow things that rock her chest as they leave and enter. “What happens if I take it? What happens if I... I...”
She looked up, and the blank moon refilled her eyes, the whiteness of it bleaching the twilight grey.
“Ah,” said Celestia. “I see. We are, in fact, talking about a broken moon after all.”
She straightened a little, shoulders rolling under her golden necklace. “Well, I suppose Cadence is your sister-in-law, and the relationship between love and friendship is similar to that of night and day. On the other hoof, ‘Friendship that lasts forever’ does not seem that terrible of a thing, on the whole, and hardly something to break a blanket over.”
Eyes blazing, Twilight turned and, for the first time that night, glared at her. “Princess, this is serious! What if I... I...”
“Break?” Celestia was not smiling, and her cheeks twitched under the strain of it.
“Break! Yes! What if I do go mad and start demanding eternal slumber parties! It may seem funny now, but I bet it wouldn’t after the first three centuries! Or what if I decide that the ponies of Equestria aren’t being friendly enough with each other and start trying to force enemies to become friends?
“Or what if I get angry at how love can come between friendships? We’ve all heard the stories: Two ponies who are best friends forever decide to take it that step too far and when they break up, their friendship’s ruined forever!”
Twilight slowed down, her tail no longer twitching behind her and encouraging the yew to litter. “What if I get angry about that and do something awful? What if I end up ruining my friendship with Cadence and everypony? What if I break?” Her eyes clamped shut and her chin nudged her chest.
“Twilight, that you are worried about this tells me more than anything else that I do not need to worry about you. Luna did not worry that she was breaking when she broke.”
Celestia reached out with a wing and tipped Twilight’s cheek up. Their eyes met. “If anything, I am glad to see you worrying: It is a relief to know that the paragon before me has the same faithful student inside her that sent me three letters over the course of her studies detailing the risk of unexpected atmospheric drop over Canterlot.”
“I was right the third time,” Twilight mumbled, pulling her head up and out of Celestia’s wing, holding it high. “Green Hock was so angry when the stormclouds got into his greenhouse.”
Celestia cheeks folded as the smile reached her eyes. “See? You care about ponies, Twilight. You care about how they feel, not what they think about you. You do not hate them for their weakness, but worry for them because of it. I do not believe you will ‘break’, Twilight, and even if I did, that you are worried reassures me.”
Celestia nodded, though to what went unmentioned, and then rose. “Stay worried, Twilight, and stay strong.” Her top lip curled as she tasted the air, then reformed into a smile. “It is a beautiful night tonight. Luna has done well. I think I shall fly back to Canterlot. Will you join me?”
Twilight shook her head. “Sorry, Princess Celestia, but I really should be getting back to Ponyville as quickly as possible. I can imagine just how worried everypony else will be.”
Celestia inclined her head, smiling and delighting at how Twilight’s eyes met hers. “I will see you at the next Princess meeting, then, though you know that you are always welcome in Canterlot.”
She paced forwards, hoofs going from the soft thump off grass to the steady clop off rock. Twilight’s voice stopped her before she reached the edge.
“Princess? There’s just two more things I want to ask about.” Celestia looked back over her shoulder. Twilight had left their sitting patch too, now a little way out into the field, the grass stems tall enough to tickle at her nose and muffle her as she spoke.
“I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but you made a joke about Luna’s banishment. I always thought that was something of a –”
“Raw subject?” She saw rather than heard Twilight’s reply, a bob under and back up from the waves of grass about her head.
Celestia smiled. “A thousand years is enough time to tire of anything, Princess. Even regret. What is the second?”
“Have you?” Twilight started forwards before thinking better of it when the blades of wild grass cut into her passage. “Have you thought about these sorts of thoughts, I mean. You weren’t exactly clear before, and I was just wondering if...”
She trailed off, wings shrugging and eyes bright inside the dusk. Celestia’s smile did not fade.
“Not for a very long time,” she said.
They wished each other goodnight and Twilight flashed from existence in a flare of purple. Celestia turned her attention back to ahead of her, and in a few short steps, she reached the cliff’s edge.
White hooves bit into the ground, and with the churn of dirt behind, she jumped.
Gravity clung to her, weighing her down. Her tail and mane blazed backwards in the conic shape of a comet’s wake till her wings slid sideways, and the air about turned liquid.
And she ceased to fall, and flew.
Author's Note
Problems:
1) Story does not really know what it's trying to say, and so spends a lot of time dancing around separate points in a helpless muddle
2) Rushed in most parts; feels horribly condensed
3) Twist works by switching focus from Twilight to Celestia last second to form a comparision, but doing so makes most of the rest of the story redundant
4) Humour feels out of tone: jars
5) Breaks the cardinal rule and is unsatisfying
Solid two out of ten, did not enjoy writing >:(
