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How does one write a eulogy for a goddess?
One can hardly imagine, let alone the eulogy of a princess. And yet, today we gather to mourn the passing of somepony dear to us all – a leader, a teacher, a sister and a friend.
I don’t want to do this. If anything, it should be held in respectful silence. I’m sorry, Luna. Please understand that this is just as painful for me as it is for you, no matter if it’s going to be you or I reading it.
To state that Celestia was greatness incarnate would be an understatement of massive proportions. She has lived for years beyond anypony else, reached heights that others could only dream of, and saw this great nation carry on into its current age of technological revolution since the dawn of equine kind. Princess Celestia was the role model for generation after generation, her kindness alone an inspiration for us all.
I know you believe yourself capable, and I don’t doubt you; but I still worry about the ramifications of taking on the responsibility of both the sun and moon yourself. It’s already taken such an enormous toll on you, don’t tell me again that it’s only grief. Please, Luna. Let me help.
And, really, the problem does not arise for lack of praise to Celestia’s name. I don’t even know where to begin. She has prevented wars, overseen the protection and growth of her little ponies for time immemorial, gathered together so many as both allies and friends. Were I merely to list Princess Celestia’s achievements, I would be standing here from dusk to dawn another decade, at the very least.
Celestia provided us all with so much, and it pains me that I can offer so very little in return. I am sure, however, that she would have been glad in her heart of hearts that she could have seen her subjects so well and happy, even in our time of greatest grief.
Please, Luna. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I can’t do this. It hurts.
I refuse to claim that she is in a better place for sheer cliché value – however, for the mare that Celestia was, she had a tendency of making things better by simply being in the vicinity. So, I suppose that technically, if she has simply gone somewhere else in mind or spirit, then it has doubtlessly become better for her addition. This does not change just how much we, here, still miss her, though.
I can’t keep doing this. I know this is what you wanted, but all of this contrived minotaur manure is going to make me ill. You and I both know that she hasn’t ‘ascended’ or ‘moved on’. What are you and I, if not for the accumulation of comparatively vast power? Is that all a god really is? If so – if even Discord himself is merely, at best, a collection of strength tacked onto his persona – then perhaps Celestia was right, and we are indubitably doing her a dishonor. There are no gods, no true immortals. There is no such thing as certainty.
Faith is but a fleeting, hopeful dream.
Princess Celestia gave us a reason to have faith. She stood as a light in the dark, a vanguard and progenitor of her hopeful few, none of which fully bore her blood. The sun and moon will rise and fall, Princess Luna and myself have seen to this personally; and on that note, the Summer Sun Celebration shall continue to be held in Celestia’s name, regardless of changes made. We will not forget her name, no matter how many more millennia may pass.
For Celestia’s sake, Luna. Please.
This is a desecration, a sacrilege of her name. Please, just let us hold the processions in silence. Or let me make a few more adjustments, at the very least. It just all seems so… crude, so poorly constructed. She would have wanted better, please – I know I can do better, we just have to put it off a little longer.
For all the friends that Celestia had, nopony could have lain claim to being closest to her heart. Princess Celestia held all those she knew dear to her, each and every one by name. In a way, she reminds me of a hoofful of close friends that I, too, knew long, long ago. Were they here to see this day, I am doubtless that they would be as grief stricken as we are, and would shoulder this burden along with us as many of you are now. Celestia herself saw to them, just as so many others – myself included, when I lived happily with them.
We have so much to give thanks for, because of Celestia. So much so that I cannot thank her enough, and never can. I can only miss her, can only weep for her passing, can only remember the lessons that she taught.
There is no real point to this. You could have had anypony else, clearly more qualified and emotionally stable than myself to do this for you. They probably would have even written much more than this pitiful little scrap of tearstained papers. Whole tomes, Luna – libraries, all devoted to her. Why me?
I loved her. We all did, and we still do. Princess Celestia touched so many lives, left such an impact on history that the books written on her are as numerous as books on Equestrian history. For as ancient as she may have grown, from the beginning of the Solar Empire through the Storm of Scales, she has guided us through and protected all within her reach with a compassion that we can only hope to match. May this mausoleum last another thousand, thousand years, in memoriam to her name, certain to live on throughout history alongside those she loved so dearly, until the end of time.
The only certainty is death itself. This is futile, Luna. No medicinal advancement could preserve her any longer, and it certainly isn’t going to bring her back, no matter how well-preserved you keep her ‘sanctuary’. Keeping the remains in a case in the vain hopes that somepony in the future may find a way to resuscitate her is dishonorable, she wouldn’t have wanted this.
I shall not be attending.
Please, Luna. Just let me rest, leave me in peace that I may grieve in silence. Let me drown out the useless hopes she put in my heart.
Let me bury the lies.
Please.
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