The Myth of Blueblood

Face to face, the two alicorns glared at eachother. All tension in the room, which was as wide and tall as two houses, was focused on a single point between them. Nightmare Moon’s breathing betrayed held-back laughter. Through the gaps in her teeth came wisps of purple mist. Celestia’s breathing was level, skipping a few breaths here and there.

She was first to turn away. “If mocking was all you wanted to do I assume you have no more business here.”

The dark alicorn’s full-toothed smile almost split her face. “Do you not wish to knoiw what I have done?”

The Princess breathed slowly. “Would it matter?” Her eyes returned to her sister. “You said it was already done and I was dull-witted not to realise it. Surely you would see my ignorance as another victory.”

Nightmare Moon spoke, each syllable dripping purple mist. “No, sister, I can take no pleasure in a prisoner who cannot even see their bars. To live in ignorance of your prison is to live happily, like all the others.”

The dark alicorn’s horn glowed purple before dying out. She floated back a few feet. “It all has to do with magic, sister. You should know. We were the ones to figure it out, after all. It’s why we’re here.

“I can still remember how you looked back then, sister. Pink mane, small form and not a single feather on your body. A unicorn, sickly and pathetic, whose horn was barely longer than a silverfish. I am not one to speak, of course. The two of us of a hopeless type back in that pretty, primitive time.

“We were always told we would amount to nothing. Our bones and form were limited by our race and the benefits of our race were limited by our unfortunate genetic lot. Although, sister, we were not as unfortunate as he.

“We had not even the magic to balance the scales. Our pitiable nubs were unable to hold water fleas. Yes, it would seem that we were the bastards of society: those without skills or use. The problem was, though, that we believed it.

“Belief. Magic is belief. If you believe it is possible then it is. These ponies, these sickening academics, try to document it, try to rationalise it, put a ‘science’ behind it all. It works, of course, but only because it is so easy to believe in rules and regulations rather than the idea that everything is within their power except that they are too small-minded and weak-willed to utilise it.

“He saw the truth before even us. Oh, sister, do not look at me like that. We must, at least, give him that. I suppose only he could have figured it out. Dismal though we were our deformities only bred bitterness within us. His malformations bred thoughts. He took in the world through broken eyes, unformed ears and unfeeling appendages, even face down in the dirt he would be ten feet from the earth. In that insulated prison one would have to see things differently.

“He saw the joke: how fickle reality was. Those patronising ponies tried to teach him, as if they were in on something he was not. They looked at that poor foal, said how sad it was that he could never bask in the day’s beauty, that he could never sit under a tree and take nature in. Not once did they consider how flimsy there sensory world was.

“What is a tree? one would ask. It is tall with green leaves and brown bark, they confidently reply. What is tall? They would answer: the opposite of short. Is grass tall? No, it is short, they would say, feeling more confident. Are you tall? I would say so, they would answer. Are you as tall as the trees? No, they would say. So you are short, one would venture. No, they would say uncertainly. Are all trees the same size? No, they are not. But they’re all tall, one would say. Yes, but some are taller than others. So there are short trees? No, they would stress. Am I tall? No, you are short. So I am the size of the grass? No, you are taller than that. So I am tall? At that point they would get annoyed and walk off. " She laughed.

“The great irony, sister, is that he who had no access to tactile reality had the best view of it.  His power trickled from this source. No reason did he have to believe as they believed, to ‘know’ as they ‘knew’. Reality was what he made of it.

“Oh, it was small at first: translucent butterflies; a twelve-leaf clover in every patch. But slowly he grew in power, like a virus he grew. The cows gave only sweet, brown milk. The rabbits were as tall as trees.

“We learned from him. We inferred what he was doing. I cannot quite recall how, millennia is enough to dull even my memory. Of course, we could not achieve his level of ability. We were far too indoctrinated by ‘perception’, although, perhaps that was for best.

“Remember the day he spawned arms. He had long since been able to feel by touch in his world, now he just needed decoration. One pony-hoof he achieved correctly you have to hoof it to him, or perhaps not. From him it seems rather unoriginal. The others changed from time to time. Now he could crawl and walk.

“He sprouted ears next: uniform and pony. Now he could hear the world, but as he had never heard a thing before he could not tell that the ignorant and befuddled masses were screaming at the beautiful and just chaos he had created.

“Oh, and the day he grew new eyes. Red and yellow each, but only two of them; I was rather disappointed. He could look upon his world, but still as he was new to sight and could not tell the sun from a leaf he avoided indoctrination.

"In his full glory we saw him: fur-coated, serpentine torso and all. The world was his.

“He changed then. In the beginning it could have been considered noble, not that he knew of any such concept. The chaos he wrought was good. Status-quo gone, no poverty for there was no wealth, each moment unprecedented, each second a miracle.

“His down-fall was order. He whose very name stands opposed to order ushered it in in its purest form: A world constructed by a single, critical mind. No longer was he a facilitator, but a dictator. Thankfully, we had learned from him the ability of belief and pulled together the last vestiges of the harmonious aspects that exist solely in the intrinsic recesses of the pony mind. We turned him to stone, I believe.

“And then we decided to have our fun. A world restructured to how it was before, but with two changes: us.”

Celestia watched her sister, waiting to see if she continued. She noticed Nightmare Moon had stopped exuding mist.

She took a long draw of air. “While I do not put particular effort into memory I am able to remember everything you speak. I cannot see my ‘bars’ any clearer if that is what you were hoping.”

“I am merely reminding you, sister, that we are not gods. We can commit impossible feats, but even I am far too limited to claim that title.” She stood up in the air, spreading her wings to cause a gust that shattered the stained glass windows, revealing the outside world. “I ask you, sister, do you believe that this is within your power.”

Celestia’s horn lit up. Thousands of fragments from within and without of the Palace came together and reformed into their frames. “Yes, I believe, but I’m considerate enough to refrain.”

Nightmare Moon flourished her wings twice before bringing them shut and resuming her seat. “I mean this kingdom. Millennia is a long time for a civilisation, especially a peaceful one. How do you think it has survived so long?” She waited for Celestia, not expecting an answer. “Our beliefs are not the only ones that matter. In all kingdoms every resident believes theirs is immortal. The difference with this one is that it has a channel for all that belief, one who does it so effortlessly she cannot even realise it.”

“So all is well,” Celestia said, growing bored. “My perpetual existence ensures a self-perpetuating Kingdom. I am sorry for I still do not see my punishment.”

“Few do: their lives are too short to allow them to. But I know you are feeling the chains, sister. I see you sitting there, stern-faced, the model of a monarch. Oh, but how happy you once were. Surely you have felt it.”

Celestia looked at Nightmare Moon with lazy eyes. She did not answer.

Nightmare Moon’s expression deflated into a frown. She huffed a purple cloud. She tried to remain calm. Thick coils purple mist emerged from her nostrils.

“Belief!” she screamed. “I have been talking of belief in this much detail and you still have not figured it out? You still have not figured my painfully simple plan?” She waited for a change on Celestia’s face. It did not come. “Your punishment is stagnation!” Still nothing. She eyed her sister with pinpoint pupils, panting purple clouds. Still nothing. She calmed and sighed a deep colourless breath.

“Sister, I told you that the ponies’ belief perpetuates this Kingdom. It also perpetuates us. As I said, we are not gods; we are not even him. We cannot live forever. We can live longer than them, but, no matter how foolish it is, Death will always find a niche in our minds. By our belief alone we could live, perhaps, two centuries. The longer we would go, the greater the fear, and so greater the belief. Our Kingdom was not the only object granted longevity by the ponies’ naïve assumptions. We are gods to them, sister.”

       Celestia knew that if she ever needed sleep she would be feeling its approach by now. She gave a mock yawn. “I am not a fool. I have had millennia of long, still hours to assume and all but confirm what you suggest.”

“I mean, sister, that if your mortality can be affected by their collective consciousnesses: what else could they change about you.”

Celestia, who had been examining her left fore-hoof, stiffened for split-moment.

Nightmare Moon’s smile grew anew. “A perception of another is always is always a simplification of another. A consensus perception of another is simpler, growing simpler the more ponies that make up the consensus. You, by your nature, become this perception and as your character becomes simpler so too does the ponies’ perception of you, and on, and on.” She gave one hard, purple laugh. “All that remains of who you once were is a vague memory. The ponies’ have decided the purpose of your eternal life.” She watched Celestia who was desperately trying to hide her interest.

After a while Celestia spoke, “Well, I will have you for company in this suffering.”

Nightmare Moon smiled. Her body broke into smiling mouths, every inch adorned. She laughed through them all. The laughter could have pushed through lesser walls.

All at once she stopped. The mouths shut, sealing themselves into the unbroken blackness of coat. “We are very different, sister. We are day and night in a literal sense. Not only them, though, but everything they represent.”

She moved back over the red carpet, her form expanding into an ethereal mass that took up half the gigantic room. She had no face, now; no definite form. She was darkness dotted with dull light.

From somewhere in the mass a voice echoed, “I am night and all it entails. I am mystery; I am fear; I am dream.”

The mass sucked itself into its past form. “I am night: I am the unconscious. You are day: you are the conscious. That is our difference. They control you, for each pony controls their conscious mind. But I am opposite, the unpleasant darkness they would like to ignore. I ask you, sister: which pony can control her dreams rather than them controlling her.”

Author's Note: I have opted to cancel this fic at this point. I have lost enthusiasm for it and no one is really following it... Nobodies probably going to read this either.