A Good Year To Remember

by WrathOfGod519

Rating: mature
Tags: Random, Dark
Length: 522

Pointless clop between the royal sisters in an attempt to get into the featured box. yay.

Celestia and luna engage in their regular bout of wholesome family incest.
A story without any story, this is wraths attempt to get into the feature box using pointless Celeluna shipping, but with an edgy twist. Because this season has filled me with the jollies.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-12-24 09:15:49 UTC

Celestial Shenanigans.

31th December, 1786

Celestia and luna are caught in a year long time-loop and it is never specified how long they've been trapped. Hilarity ensues.

The room was silent save for the monotonously slow hum of machinery barely audible to anypony not explicitly listening for silence, the only other sound coming from the tattered cloth blowing gently from the shattered window panes. As always, the pale winter sun cast weak streams of desaturated light into the dimly lit room, barely illuminating the cracked tiling and frayed fabric laid haphazardly across the room. Dull ice, condensed from the late night fog lay in between the floor cracks like ancient glass flowing downwards through the passage of time.

No sounds came from the once great city outside the dilapidated Bedchamber, the room's only occupants uncaring of the dry, frostbitten winter breeze washing over them. The lone figure sat in the center, shrouded by the lack of light, it was vaguely tall, surrounded by shattered wine bottles aged in the centuries, each once worth a rather considerable fortune.

Worthless now.

The figure tilted back her head and took another gulp, swaying unsteadily. She coughed as some of the burning liquid went down the wrong way and splashed across it's bare chest, the rich fluid dribbling down between the patches of fur and stinging as it passed over the angry red sores covering her body. She didn't care about that.

Just like everything else

Celestia let the red liquid drip from her chin, not bothering to wipe it. No point. Her uncaring gaze wandered across the room, hovering briefly over the small splashes of long dried blood and vomit, marked by hoof prints and the occasional plot shaped indent in the sludge where she had previously felt the need to sit down in weeks past. Her compassionless eyes, bloodshot and beset by sickly yellow-green bags focused idly on a small insect casually sucking at the diseased sludge surrounding her work of art. The fly was her equal, the only being she knew of right now which understood her on a deeply personal level, eating shit, shitting and fucking. As she'd done many times before she starred as it cleaned it's face of filth, oblivious to the abomination older than time gazing upon it's form.

Her eyes lazily tracked the insect at it took flight, buzzing aimlessly around the room before landing on the dried kidney stuck to the wall via an embrace of rusted barbed wire. The organ twitched. The pudgy mare's mood darkened, she felt the need to lift a flabby appendage to scratch at the maddening itch nested in the bleeding rash between the loose roles of fat on her abdomen, be she ignored it. What was the point of satisfaction.

All her fault

She followed the veins desperately attempting to pump blood into the failing organ, following the circulatory web of arteries and veins sewn into the cold wall of her once grand bedchamber until they reached the open chest cavity nailed to the wall, lungs splayed out uselessly in a twisted mockery of where once was beautiful lavender wings.