It's Always The Fall

Celestia slowly shut the door behind her. The room was as chaotic as it was when Enigma was rushed out of here. A thin layer of dust covered the messy room. Celestia was surprised the unicorn could even navigate in here, what with that leg of hers. She had tried her best to repair the damage, but, unbeknownst to the Sun princess, the disease had taken hold of the unicorn's bone. There was no recovering that leg.

Celestia sat down on the bed, sighing deeply. So many 'what-ifs' clouded this room. She wrapped her hooves around the pillow and breathed it in deeply, pretending to herself that she could still smell Enigma's rose shampoo. Reality took hold, however, and eventually, she had to admit that it smelt only of clean linen, not of the sickened queen that would draw her last breath on it.

She wasn't sure where to start. What to keep of all this junk, and what to be rid of. It seemed an impossible task. Celestia got up and tripped slightly over a bronze peacock directly in the path she had cleared. She chuckled and mentally added the statue to her keep list. Clothes seemed to be the best start to take with this room -- no pony was that skinny unless they, too, were terminally ill. All of them could be incinerated.

Celestia gathered them up into a bag and turned back around when the pile she was lifting let out an unusual 'thump'. A shoebox, distended at its sides, sat on the floor. It had, apparently, been buried in the clothing pile and had escaped when she lifted the mass. She set aside the clothes for a moment and opened the box. Inside, she found a pile of letters, some stuffed against the sides of the box so they would fit.

Forgetting her original task, she took a letter off the top and broke the seal, intent on reading its contents.

The scroll read,

Dearest MacIntosh,

How is the family doing? I hear that you have a grandson now. Of course you'd name him for yourself, you self-absorbed bastard. I'm still shocked that they'd leave children in your company.

The letter abruptly ended, punctuated by long-dried teardrops. MacIntosh? Where had she heard that name before? Celestia wasn't quite sure, so she continued onto the next letter in the pile.

Dearest MacIntosh,

I miss you, you know. I want to come home. Forgive me, please. I beg of you. Forget what I said in my last letter; I meant none of the things I said. I was angry -- I wanted you to feel like I did. Just, please. Please, let me come home ...

More tear stains and a few cuts through the bottom of the page ended this letter. Celestia leaned against the bedpost, just staring at the box and the letter she held. What had she just uncovered? She had her suspicions that Enigma kept a journal of some sort, but this was not at all what she thought she would find.

She climbed back onto the bed and made herself comfortable. She dug through the box, setting aside the rants and pleads directed at one MacIntosh. Deeply buried under the MacIntosh letters was a small package tied to a letter. Her hooves shook as she read the opening line.

Dear Princess Celestia,

She set the letter back down, her sight blurring. A letter, for her? Was this package also for her?  Wiping away her tears, she opened the small package. Inside was a white fire opal set in a thin golden choker. The opal sparkled in the light like freshly fallen snow, but its colors brought to mind the dawn. Her dawn. Together, it gave the impression of a winter's morning.

She put it on, not surprised it fit like a glove, and continued reading the letter.

Dear Princess Celestia,

Consider this a token of my gratitude and an offer of my loyalty. I would like to come to Canterlot. It is so cold here. I don't even need to be here anymore. Iron Ire is such a sweetie. He takes care of everything for me; all I have to do is sign things and continue breathing.

I wish all ponies could be this kind to me ...

Celestia re-read the letter to make sure that she was reading it correctly. Enigma had handed power to a tyrant?! Was there really something else behind the unicorn's constant headaches? Obviously, the constant head trauma couldn't be good for an aging mind but could it impair judgement that much? Or was it the sickness? Both? Celestia couldn't be sure. She would need to research the topic more.

She just hoped that she'd be able to keep suspicion from the box.