In the dark of a Canterlot night, five cloaked and hooded ponies made their way to one of the smallest and least known castle entrances. High winds caused the arid air to swirl around them, filled with a bitter dust that made one of the smaller of the three mares cough; such was the misery of a thunderstorm with none of its sorely-needed rain. From far away in the hills, the five could see flashes of lightning and hear the booms of thunder, with the sickening pops and hisses that indicated more forest and farmland was now on fire. They glanced at each other, and the same desperation leapt in all of their eyes.
“Can you use your magic to open the door, Princess?” hissed one of the two stallions.
One of the mares gestured the others to step back, and directed a carefully aimed jet of magic towards the lock—but instead of going into the lock, the magic swirled three times anti-clockwise, once clockwise, and four times anti-clockwise again. The lock clicked open.
“Inside, inside,” the smallest mare said quickly, bustling them all in, then remarked, “it’s a good thing that the lock has not been changed.”
“It is a terrible thing,” the princess said sorrowfully. “The door was unprotected. I will change it until morning,” and she cast another protective spell upon the lock.
They hastened up one of the twisting back stairwells, clinging closely to the stone walls and prepared to drop to the floor if necessary, but fortunately, they were not seen, and reached the fifth floor in safety. Then the mare who had not yet spoken rapped gently at the stairwell door.
“May we speak to—”
“Allow me,” said the smallest mare, and she rapped on the door more firmly. “The Glass Council demands entrance and a royal audience.”
Two Royal Guards opened the door and held their weapons ready. “Nopony demands a royal audience at this hour with the realm in turmoil. It is the hour for sleep. The Glass Council, indeed!”
From the end of the corridor, a grayish-brown unicorn stallion approached, his mane swept back by a simple diadem and clad in a soft red robe. “Indeed, it is the Glass Council,” he said, smiling. “Welcome, my old friends.” The five cloaked ponies slid past the guards.
“Thank you for your diligence,” said the unicorn stallion to the guards. “But the Glass Council must always be permitted entrance when they ask it. And there was no royal slumber to be interrupted. You may go, and tell the next watch that they needn’t arrive until dawn. Do as I say,” he insisted, at their looks of concern. The guards dropped their necks in a silent bow, and withdrew.
The members of the Glass Council also began to sink into reverential bows, but he held up a hoof. “Please,” he said, “among friends, and you are my friends, I am only Sombra."
~~~
The King levitated a candelabra and led the way towards a private chamber near his bedroom—a comfortable room, with a round wooden table and well-worn chairs. One wall had four stained-glass windows, small replicas of those in the Great Hall four floors below. “Allow me to take your cloaks,” he said, gesturing towards the chairs. “I apologize for the lack of a fire, but I dare not risk the sparks from the chimney.”
“We do not wish for one,” murmured the blue alicorn princess.
Sombra brought back a flagon and a tray of glasses. “I can offer you refreshments, at least. Some of you I know will refuse food, but I must insist that you drink water.” As he filled the glasses, he looked from well-loved face to well-loved face, those of the figures in the stained-glass windows: the twin justices, Flim and Flam, the Elements of Fairness; the alicorn princess Trixie Lulamoon, the Element of Humility; and Lady Chrysalis, the Element of Love. The last was an unprepossessing gray pegasus mare, blonde, and with thick glasses. “Welcome, my Glass Council,” he said, “and my friends.”
The gray pegasus frowned. It was one of her eccentricities that she did not care to be addressed by her proper name. The reasons she gave varied from the superstitious to the caustic: “I’ve only got one name. Don’t wear it out.” But such was her wisdom—for she was the element of Wisdom—that all indulged this whim of hers, and did not press her. “I wish,” she said, “that your Majesty had not insisted on depicting me with my corrective lenses. Surely Wisdom has nothing to do with personal appearance, and I would rather appear as I am.” She removed her glasses, and her eyes rolled into their natural places, wildly askew.
“Sombra,” said the King. “Not ‘Your Majesty.’ And you are quite right. But for your comfort, dear lady, please wear your glasses. I’m sure you didn’t come here at such an hour to discuss art.”
Flim, Flam, Trixie and Chrysalis all gazed at each other uncomfortably. They knew that the suggestion they were to make would not be received well. They turned to the gray pegasus, who nodded and drew out a small stack of books, filled with carefully-placed bookmarks.
“We know what keeps your Majesty sleepless—or we think we do,” she amended, as he looked up sharply. “It is what concerns us all—the misery of our land, our ponies, and all of Equestria.”
“The land is sterile,” said Chrysalis.
“The ponies grow hungry,” said the justices, “and with hunger comes lawlessness.”
“And those of my tribe can no longer provide rain,” finished the pegasus.
“We are dying,” said Trixie.
Even in this solemn conversation, Sombra smiled to himself. Princess Trixie never used the royal “we.” When she said “we” or “us,” she meant the ponies of Equestria. She thought only of them, and asked nothing for herself. It was an endearing characteristic, he thought, and he was very proud of her. Then he brought his mind back to the matter at hand. “I know,” he said. “That is what Celestia and her sister have brought to us, and the havoc they have wrought. I thought I was trying my best to protect my ponies. It isn’t enough. I will redouble my efforts.”
The council members glanced at each other, and the gray scholar spoke again. “We thought perhaps,” she said, “that our common misery does not arise from Celestia’s cruelty, or at least, not entirely so. Your Majesty—”
“Sombra.”
“My friend. Perhaps you know of the theory that the king and the land are united—that the pain of one is the pain of the other. When the King suffers, we all suffer. The King and his ponies are one.”
“I . . . have heard of such a theory,” the King said cautiously.
“Then perhaps,” she said gently, “it is time to give way and accede to Celestia’s offer. The King’s misery is afflicting us all.”
Sombra knocked over his glass. “You know, then,” he said. “You know of the other world.”
Flim nodded. “It was the Gray Lady who deduced that there must be another world, and that it was Celestia’s greed to acquire it that was motivating her attacks.”
“We called the others and we met in our chambers, where she explained it all—the other ponies, the other Canterlot,” said Flam.
“And the other Celestia,” said Chrysalis. “The one you love. I am sorry, King Sombra. I have done my best to keep your secret, but when our friends here had all the other pieces of the puzzle, I felt I had no choice but to tell them.”
“And we beg you, your Majesty,” said Trixie, with a rustle of her feathers, “please to accept. Your unhappiness may be the cause of our misery. If she is right, and you are happy with your princess, perhaps the land will heal itself.”
“Our Celestia may honor her promise—” said Flim.
“Something I never thought we’d say,” said Flam, finishing his brother’s sentence.
“And if not, we would still rejoice to see you happy. You’ve sacrificed such a lot, for such a long time. You’ve made your ponies’ unhappiness yours. Please let us make your happiness ours. In this sense, the theory is true. The king and his land are one,” said the gray scholar.
“And how can love, especially love that has lasted over a thousand years—how could that bring anything but what is good?” said Chrysalis.
Sombra smiled faintly. “There was a time,” he said, “when I would have said exactly what you have. But my answer is no. There must be another way.”
“But, your Majesty—” said Flim, but Sombra cut him off.
“If you know that there is another world,” he said, “then perhaps you know that there is a counterpart for each of us, just as there are for the two Celestias. Your two,” he turned to Flim and Flam, “are petty shysters who care nothing for the truth. They have your cleverness, but none of your morals. Yours,” he said to Trixie, “wastes her magical talents on cheap tricks and thinks of nopony but herself. You, my dear,” he said to Chrysalis, and paused, for he did not want to hurt her.
“Must be a monster,” she said softly. “I can imagine. I know.”
“As for you, Councilor,” he said to the gray pegasus, and smiled, “there is no world in which you are anything but good, simple, and wise, though perhaps not as appreciated as you ought to be.”
“Mine,” he said, “is, or was, the worst of all: a tyrant who tortured and enslaved his ponies and reveled in cruelty and greed. Celestia has not told me whether he is alive or dead,” he mused, tapping his hoof to his chin. “I think she assumes it would upset me. If he was half what she says he was, I cannot shed any tears over his death, and I would hope that none would shed tears over mine, were I to become like him.”
“Celestia’s ponies have borne a great deal from ponies like us, and if there is happiness and kindness there, can’t we take comfort in the fact that it exists somewhere? Why should they live with our misery? What have they done to deserve that?”
“What have we done to deserve this?” exclaimed Flam.
“That, too, is fair,” said the other justice. “And think what would follow for your ponies, with a wise and kind princess by your side. The land healed, our cities restored—”
“—an heir to the throne,” Justice Flam hinted slyly.
Sombra slammed his hoof down on the table. “Enough!” he snarled. “Do not tempt me!”
His friends and councilors saw the gleam of red in his eyes, and they felt something they had never felt before in his presence. They felt fear.
“Do not tempt me,” he repeated. “I do not know how the other Sombra became what he was. Perhaps his tyranny began like this, but I know mine would. Small indulgence after small indulgence, all with the lie that whatever pleased me was for the good of my ponies. Petty acts of selfishness, each one leading to the great selfishness, and the destruction that a king or a magician can wreak with unchecked power; and I, like him, am both. For all I know, his corruption sprang from what he would have called love, although I certainly wouldn’t give such greed and cruelty such a lovely name. In any case, my answer is no.”
His councilors all surged forward, speaking over each other in a babble of reasons he should accept, reasons he should give in to the great temptation of his life, and in his mind, the image of Celestia sprang up, too, for she was never far from his thoughts. “No!” he roared. “Why are you all torturing me? Is this all for me, or is it something you want for yourselves? You, Trixie—are you hungry for a real court filled with celebrations and feasts, where you would receive praise and honor, instead of the daily misery that makes you place the needs of others before your own?” Trixie flushed. “Chrysalis—do you want to feed on love, as your kind in that other world do? To see happiness and suck it away?” Chrysalis looked at him, reproach in her eyes, but did not speak. “As for you, Flim and Flam—would you live through me? You know my great secret, and I know yours: the private sorrow of your bachelor hearts. The singing and dancing may deceive the world, but it does not deceive me. Would observing a happy marriage relieve some of your pain?” Flim and Flam’s mouths tightened. “And you, Councilor—” he paused, “I cannot think what your motivation is. But my answer to you all, now and always, must be no.”
“What we counsel—we have only done so out of love,” whispered Trixie.
“I know,” he said softly. “I know. And I know I have said cruel and unforgivable things to you all. I would never have said them if I were truly a good king or a good pony, but I am neither. I do not dare give in to myself on this. Do you understand? Do you forgive me?”
“That other world,” Flam muttered, “they have magic that we do not.”
“They prosper and we perish. How is that just? How is that fair?” said his brother.
“We cannot bear to see one more foal with a big belly and thin legs, and eyes too big for its face. It hurts our heart too much, your Majesty,” said Trixie, the alicorn princess, and she gave way at last to tears. Sombra stroked the blue mane.
“Not you, Trixie,” he murmured. “You are our hope, should something happen to me. You, of all of us, mustn’t give up.”
“There must be a better way,” he said to all of them. “There is another way. She promised to send help, and she has never failed me, not in over a thousand years.” He rose and gazed at them all fondly. “As for you; you are true friends to me, and very good and kind to suggest that my happiness would be yours, but you know in your hearts that it isn’t true. Please stay with me tonight. We can say our proper goodbyes in the morning.” He opened the door for them all with a bow. “Lady Chrysalis, would you please remain with me?”
The Element of Love waited patiently until all the others had left the room. “Chrysalis,” said Sombra, walking back to the table and seating himself, “I require your services tonight.”
“Your Majesty is too weak,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Not for this,” he insisted, loosening his cravat. “Never for this.”
“Just as you wish,” she murmured, and she touched her horn to his.
The Lady Chrysalis’ gift was perhaps the most peculiar of all. She ate love, or rather, not love, but the thousands of small meannesses that masquerade as love: pettiness, jealousy, envy, vanity, possessiveness and shame. All of these she removed, and left only that which was good, selfless, and noble. Even the Gray Scholar could not explain by what alchemy she and her kind turned this ill into good, and for this sustenance based on transmutation, they were called the Changelings. But the process was painful, and few submitted to it willingly. Sombra had done so countless times. He did not cry out, but he paled and the muscles in his face tightened. When she had finished, he did indeed seem weaker, but far more at peace.
“Thank you, Chrysalis,” he said, gesturing towards the nearest chair. “I could not bear this if it were not for you.”
“It is no burden to me,” she said. “For me, it is merely food. I only fear that I and my kind cause pain.”
He shook his head. “You remove pain,” he said. “The sting is short. I wish Flim and Flam would speak to you, but they confuse the pain of love with the reality of love, and I think they fear they would forget. I could tell them that isn’t true.”
“It is their decision,” said Chrysalis calmly. “And your case is unusual. Yours is—difficult.”
“Say ‘hopeless,’ Chrysalis. I don’t really mind.”
“I don’t like that word applied to love, but they must have more hope than you.”
“No,” said Sombra, “and they will never speak, for the happiness of one brother would mean the unhappiness of the other.”
“They love the same lady?” said Chrysalis in surprise.
“Exactly,” said Sombra, rising and steadying himself against the table. “The one they love is no longer the honest country mare she once was, but if she ever were to become so again, they still wouldn’t speak. One of them might be unhappy. And that, as Flim once informed me when he had had a bit too much cider, wouldn’t be fair. I think they would even humbly accept half her heart, but they still wouldn’t ask it of her! Are all of us mad?”
Chrysalis smiled. “I think we must be,” she said, “if trying to be good and noble is mad, but we follow your example in everything, sire.”
Sombra nodded and tried to smile, but hobbled back to the table and half lay on it in exhaustion. “Someday, I am going to ask you to take my heart, Chrysalis. But then again, I can’t, because it is hers. Never and always, never and always. There must be another way.”
Author's Note
Note on the note: This fic was originally written just prior to the release of the last issue in the Mirrorverse arc, and the second chapter was added a day or two afterwards. What follows is my original author's note:
And in honor of the end of the Reflections Arc, here is what will probably be my final story based on the Mirrorverse. I do not know what will happen when the comic releases tomorrow, but I am preparing myself for the worst.
You may have caught a hint of a rather unusual ship. I shall say no more about it, but I hope it will please one of my favorite readers and critics.
The End, and the Beginning
“There’s cake, if anypony wants some.”
Everypony else seated around the table—a small gray pegasus mare, the Changeling, Lady Chrysalis, and the speaker’s twin brother—all shook their heads. It was the first cake any of them had seen in years, brought to the Justices Flim and Flam’s courtroom by some admirers, and none of them were hungry for it.
“I thought not,” said Justice Flim.
“But we thought we’d ask,” added his brother.
The light of a glorious summer full moon slanted through four stained glass windows, replicas of the small ones in the former King Sombra’s private chambers, casting multi-colored shadows on the floor. The Justices sometimes quipped that they liked the stained glass window of themselves (“Pictures of us!” “Weakness of ours!”), but the presence of the other three windows with their friends in them put the lie to this. The windows belonged together, a visible sign of their friendship with each other, and with another friend, who was now out of the picture and out of their lives.
From outside, the four at the table could hear ponies celebrating. Fillies and colts squealed in delight, grown ponies danced, complete strangers grabbed each other and kissed, and impromptu parades and carnivals sprung up on every street corner. “Heartless,” said Justice Flam, shaking his head and refilling the glass in front of him.
The Grey Scholar slid her glasses down her nose. “They’re not celebrating his downfall,” she said. “They’re celebrating because the land is beautiful again. Their children aren’t starving. You can hardly blame them.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Justice Flim said. “At the courthouse, I’ve been hearing that King Sombra put a curse on the land. He put a curse on the land!—and the princesses lifted it! Stupidity. It’s enough to make you tear your mane out.” He levitated the bottle of apple brandy in front of his brother and refilled his glass, too.
“And question what the hay we’ve been doing all these years,” his brother added. “Justice, my left hind hoof.”
A sky blue alicorn burst through the door, blowing hard.
“I’ve been trying to break through to him all day!” she gasped. “All day! I’ve tried everything, everything he taught me. Nothing works.”
“Defensive shields were his specialty,” said the Lady Chrysalis. “I suppose they still are.”
The Gray Scholar looked at Princess Trixie sharply. “Is he protecting himself from us, or us from him?”
“I . . . I think it’s both,” she said, still breathing heavily. Justice Flam courteously pulled a chair out for her, and she dropped into it. “He’s sent all the guards away, all the servants away—and he’s pulling up the walls. He’s all by himself in there. There’s . . . there’s ice growing up the shield, too. Do you think he’s trying to—to die? He said he hoped that no one would shed tears for his death if he ever became like that other Sombra.”
The older mare shook her head. “That’s easy for him to say, isn’t it? But you do make an interesting point, Trixie.” She pulled over a small pile of books. The rest of them stared.
“How did you get those?” said Trixie. “Those were in his private library! I can’t get anywhere near that!”
“Perhaps not now, which is why I borrowed them shortly before that confrontation with the princesses. I’ll be certain to put them back when it’s possible to do so. Hmmm.” She flipped through her notes. “As you know, there is another world, another Equestria—and we’ve been speaking of it as though it were a mirror of ours, but that’s not strictly true. There are some important differences. They have the Elements of Harmony. We do not. We have science that they do not. Our Sombra cannot simply have turned into theirs. For one thing, their Sombra was a usurper who took over the Crystal Empire.”
All the others at the table looked blank.
“What’s the Crystal Empire?” said Flim.
“I’ve never heard of it,” his brother said, levitating the bottle back and refilling his glass.
“Exactly,” said the Scholar. “As far as I can tell, we don’t have one. And his Majesty has ruled Equestria ever since the Three Tribes asked him to, well over a thousand years ago. The other Sombra enslaved and tortured his ponies. Does that sound like our Sombra?”
The Justices looked at each other. “No, of course not,” said Flam.
“He was always fair,” said Flim. “It’s . . . well, it’s one reason why we loved him. Flam,” he added, coughing, “pour me another glass while you’re at it, will you?”
“The other Sombra was greedy. Was ours?” she said, looking over her glasses.
“No.” Trixie shook her head. “The castle always had the poorest food. He saw to that.”
“The Sombra in these books cursed an Empire and had a ‘heart as black as night.’ Our Sombra sacrificed himself and saved the mare he loved, another mare who had done him and his ponies nothing but harm, and two universes,” said the Gray Scholar.
“And his heart was clean,” said Lady Chrysalis softly. “I am sure of that. I know.”
The Scholar snapped her book shut. “He may have turned himself into the villain,” she said, “but our friend could no more turn himself evil than red could turn itself into blue.”
“But he took in all that dark magic,” said the alicorn princess. “He cursed himself. He taught me that dark magic corrupts. It’s why he made me that protective amulet. It’s why he wanted nothing to do with dark magic—he knew what it would do to him. And I’ve tried and tried to get through!”
“Yes,” said Lady Chrysalis. “Dark magic does corrupt. It will eat through the heart in time.”
“The question is, then, what can we do?” said the Scholar. “What does he need?”
They all gazed down at the table, as though it would provide an answer.
“A reformer?” said Trixie, hesitantly.
Flam snorted. “Reform. You can’t reform a pony who doesn’t want to be reformed,” he said.
“We know,” his brother said. “We’ve tried.”
“Dozens of times,” added Flam. “Community service, thirty days, programs. . .” He hiccupped.
“‘Thanks for the second chance,’ she says, ‘only it’s the, the fifty-sixth . . .” said Flim, “only it’s sort of nice to see her in court again. ‘S’comin’ up again Monday. Petty larceny. Almost like she cares.” He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. What was this about?”
“Yes, well,” the Scholar said acerbically, “whether it works or not, he can’t be reformed, because in point of fact, he hasn’t done anything. And he certainly doesn’t need a new love when what’s left of his shattered heart is full of her. He doesn’t need to be reformed; he needs to be healed. If he were to do what the other Sombra did, we would have to follow his wishes. He would rather die than harm anypony: so be it. But he hasn’t. I won’t let him banish himself into the ice. I am his friend and I will not give up on him.”
“I can’t bear to think of him living for thousands of years with only his own dark thoughts for company,” said Trixie. “It seems so unfair.”
“Fairness,” Flim said bitterly. “Fairness is for suckers. Look where it gets you. If he’d done as we asked, he might be with his Princess and happy today, but oh, no, he just had to save everypony and her worthless sister.”
“He should have looked out for himself,” agreed Flam. “Bugger justice, it can look after itself, ‘cos that’s what I’m gonna do. ‘Cept for you, of course,” he said to Flim.
The small gray mare rose, trotted to their side of the table, and slapped each on the face. She did not slap them hard, but water stood in their eyes.
“Listen to me,” she said firmly. “You are going to go upstairs and go to bed, and tomorrow you will get up bright and early and get down to the courtroom. And you will play that organ and sing and dance, because. . . ?”
“The show must go on,” Flim said dully.
“What was that?”
“The show must go on,” they repeated.
“There’s my good colts,” she said. “Give me a hug.”
They rose and hugged her, one on each side. They towered over her, but she held them down tightly to her. “There’s my good colts,” she said softly. “Now off to bed. Tomorrow will look much brighter. You’ll see.”
They left the room, leaning heavily on each other. The remaining three could hear crashes and thumps upstairs as the Justices made their way to bed. “Poor boys,” said Lady Chrysalis. “They must feel their Element is worthless.”
“It hit them hard,” agreed the gray pegasus. “Fairness requires a certain level of optimism, and they’re all tapped out. They’ll bounce back by tomorrow, you’ll see. They always do—you can’t keep them down. And they know that justice doesn’t happen all by itself.”
Trixie sniffed. “Trixie is far better than that,” she said. “Trixie would not lose faith in her Element so quickly.”
“Trixie just did,” the Scholar pointed out, and Trixie slapped her hoof to her mouth in horror. “And we can’t allow that to happen. It would make his sacrifice pointless.” She sighed. “I’m just a bookworm, and I really don’t know anything about magic. It will have to be up to you two.”
Trixie shook her head. “I’m not powerful enough to expel all that darkness,” she said, “and we don’t know where it would go. I think that’s why he took it all into himself.” She sighed. “And you know he would be happy with all this,” she added, waving her hoof at the celebrations outside. “His ponies well-fed and healthy again, flowers growing. I’ve always wanted that, too. Containing and imprisoning dark magic is the first thing I’d think of, and that’s what he’s done. If there’s a force overwhelming enough to obliterate it in our world, I’m sure he would have used it before.”
“Darkness does not have to be imprisoned or obliterated,” said the Lady Chrysalis. “It can be Changed.”
She saw the looks of confusion on her friends’ faces, and continued. “That is what I and my people do. We feed and transmute. We Change. Few beings are dark or evil in themselves, and Sombra certainly is not. The darkness in him can be broken down and turned into what is good. I have done this for him for years.”
“Can you do that now?” said Trixie eagerly.
“No,” Chrysalis replied. “I took only small amounts from him at a time. There never was very much,” she said, shaking her head. “But our friend has swallowed thousands of years of dark magic built up in two powerful beings. I and all my people could not remove it without risking poisoning ourselves. The process often leaves the patient weak. Sucking away so much at a time might kill him. And then he was willing. Now he will fight us all off, believing that he must remain evil in order to protect everypony, and Sombra’s defenses are powerful, even when he is not angry. And he must be very angry. He certainly will be angry at us for trying to help him.”
“And time is not on our side,” she continued. “The dark magic within him has already begun to eat him away. We would have to move quickly.”
“But we must try,” said the Gray Scholar.
“Yes,” Chrysalis said, nodding. “We must. Although you must make the decision, Princess.”
Trixie shook her head. “No longer a princess if he is not King,” she said. She rose from the table, and an expression of intense pain flitted across her features.
“Are you trying to un-princess yourself? Well, good luck with that,” said the gray pegasus, snorting. “I think you’ll find you’re stuck that way. You’ll be needed. You were Sombra’s student, and Celestia has no experience ruling a country in a benevolent way, only in trying to destroy it. You must offer to help, even if that offer is rejected.”
Trixie looked up sadly. “Do you think my help would even be acceptable?”
“It will,” said a new voice, and they all looked up to see Princess Luna framed in the doorway. All of the others sank into a deep bow. “None of that,” she said. “Come here, child.” Trixie ran towards Luna, who folded a wing over her. “I mourn for him, too.”
The gray pegasus stood straight, head up. “We intend no threat to the lawful rulers of Equestria. We want only to help our friend.”
“As do I,” said the moon princess. “He was like a brother to me. I know him far better than I know my own sister. He saved my life several times over. Of course I will help.”
She dropped the wing encircling Trixie, and moved to the center of the table, placing her right hoof on it. “The last favor his Celestia asked of me was to look after Equestria and to look after him. I shall do both. I shall not permit his memory to suffer,” she added, looking towards the gray pegasus.
“That will please Flim and Flam,” she said. “The injustice of that hurts them deeply.”
“Thank you, Princess Luna,” said Lady Chrysalis, a smile lighting up her odd face. “He thinks he is alone, but he is not. That in itself is powerful magic.”
“He will never see his Princess again,” said Luna, withdrawing her hoof and bowing her head, “and for that, I am partly at fault.”
Chrysalis hesitated. “I do not like to say ‘impossible’ where love is concerned, and they both may have thousands of years to live yet. They must both know that they will probably never meet again, but that doesn’t mean love dies. Like anything else, it merely Changes. But he can be healed, and he has the love of his friends, and friendship . . .
. . . Friendship is worth something.”
Author's Note
This simply required an ending, or at least an epilogue. And as this chapter title suggests, this is only the beginning of the next stage in the Mirrorverse. There is so much more to know—about the Justices Flim and Flam, Princess Trixie and her amulet, the Gray Scholar, the Other Mane Six (or as they’re described in a Wanted Poster, the Erroneous Equines), and most certainly about Good King Sombra. And his heart remains Good. I am sure it does.
I don’t have an overall arc planned for this, but I didn’t for my CheesePie stories, either, and you may have noticed that there are quite a lot of them. So I do intend to keep exploring the Mirrorverse, and I hope other artists and writers do, too.
