Twilight's recent ascension to alicornhood comes with some great abilities... like inmortality.
[Bad Comedy] - [Teen (gore)]
"—and, without any further comment, I, Princess Twilight Sparkle, shall end this session." The lavender alicorn raised her head from the papers, a slight smile in her muzzle.
Her violet eyes scanned the room full of reporters, all of them looking at her expectantly, was she forgetting something? "Uh," she murmured, hesitating. Twilight's ears lowered and she gulped, her fear of failing resurging.
She shook her head, Celestia had trusted her this task! She just couldn't fail
After a moment of thinking, Twilight said, with a subtly nervous tone in her voice, "Oh-oh yes... Any questions, anypony? -" the minotaur at the end of the room snorted, doing it loud enough to be heard "- sorry, any questions, anybody?" Twilight grinned, her white teeth gleaming for the cameras.
Most of the ponies present—and minotaur, too—raised their hooves, or hands, respectively. One of the ponies, with a red fur and brown mane, made a question even before she pointed at him. Following the example of this reporter, the public started to get louder when all of them remembered that shouting was a good way to draw attention to themselves.
Trying to make order out of the mess of interrupted questions and loud—and unnecessary—comments about the Princess' sexuality, Twilight raised both forelegs, her hooves going up and down in a gesture of hushing. "Okay, calm down, everypony! -" Twilight heard a loud snort that was getting familiar by then, "- calm down, everybody!"
Her magically-amplified words resonated through the room, silencing the public of anxious reporters.
When she was absolutely sure that silence had been regained, she lowered her forelegs and, with a tone as serene and firm as Celestia's, she spoke again, "Now, I know many of you have questions, but order must be maintained so I c—" her sentence was abruptly cut off as a loud bang filled the room.
In the fraction of a second, her clear vision went black. Her wings twitched as pain went through her entire body, every nerve tensing up, only to stop as her body dropped dead on the wooden floor. The last thing she saw was an unicorn standing by the open doors.
The audience gasped, everybody turned around, where a dark blue unicorn with a white mane stood, his head lowered and his horn pointing where the Princess once stood. He smiled, his left eye twitching. "Eat dirt, bitch!" he shouted, grinning.
"Get him!" one of the guards ordered, running to grab the murderer.
The blue unicorn turned around with the intention of escaping through the doors he had opened, only to be stopped by another guard; one he had knocked up earlier. Knowing that there was no way he was going to escape, as he has used all of his magic reserves, he surrendered in the spot.
"Whatever, the bitch is dead," he said, trying to make the ponies around him accept that was just happened was real.
"Nuuuuuhh..." a squeaky, almost annoying, voice said. "I'm nuuuuuhhh..." A lavender hoof was raised, trying to find a place of support. The public gasped again as the hoof moved, found the pulpit and brought some balance to its dead owner. Following the first hoof, another came out, and when this one found support, its owner's dead body came out, almost stumbling in the way.
As if three was a number really important that day, the public gasped again. Over Twilight's shoulders, on her neck, a small part of what appeared to be her throat twitched, confirming that the voice was, indeed, coming from Twilight Sparkle's dead body. The magical blast had blown off most of her head, with the exception from her throat; now exposed for all to see.
Most of the members in the public felt their stomachs churning at the gory sight. The dark blue unicorn's eyes narrowed, his jaw open in surprise and disgust; even forcibly prostrated, he had a clear view of the body belonging to his victim.
"I'm not dead," Twilight repeated, this time more clearly. Her throat's walls were pulsing with every word, as if trying to confirm that, even when it was impossible, that she was speaking. "Just... just wait." Twilight moved her right hoof in a dismissive gesture, as if an—attempted?—murder was an everyday activity scheduled in her list.
After a few seconds, a small white bulge appeared behind the remains of her throat, growing rapidly. Accompaining her ever-growing spinal column, nerves and muscles followed.
"Ugh, this process is always a little gross. So, if any of you want to get ou—" she was cut off as the herd mentality of the ponies kicked in, the entire public escaping through the door. One brave pony with a camera took a photo, and then ran behind the others. Only the Royal Guard and Twilight's murderer stood in place.
"What. The. Everloving. Fuck."
"Can't see you," Twilight said, as of now, most of her head was restaured. Without skin. "Just waaaa—"
"What kind of demon spawn are you?"
"—aaaaaa—" Twilight continued.
"What. Is. This."
"—aaaaaaiiiiii—"
"Stop it!"
"—iiiiiit." Just in time, two eyeballs appeared in what was once two black, empty holes in Twilight's face. "Alright! The process is finished," she exclaimed, cheerily. "Pew, that was the third attempted murder this week. Who was this time?"
One of the Royal Guards, still stressed out by the events, pointed at the white-maned blue unicorn with a shaky hoof.
"Uh-uh, what is your name, little one?" Twilight asked, trotting over to pick up her tiara, which had fell during the attack.
The dark blue unicorn answered with silence, too stunned to form the words. Twilight Sparkle raised a questioning eyebrow.
"What was that?" he questioned, not wanting to say his name.
Twilight's eyes got a sudden spark of excitement and, out of nowhere, a big—ridiculously so—old book appeared on the pulpit, the dust it had collected over the years going out on a cloud.
Smiling a smile that could rival Pinkie's, Twilight cleared her throat and clasped her hooves. Opening the book on the first page, she started to read. "Alicorn Anatomy, by Thesaur Quill."
Twilight decides to stop running.
[Sad] - [Offscreen Adventure] - [Teen]
Sometimes she wonders why she does it. Why she runs. Why she doesn't stop. Maybe she was destined to be like this, to be on a permanent walk to nowhere in particular, helping people along the way—And she means it, not simply helping 'ponies', just... helping, everybody whenever she can.
'I will stop,' she promises herself. 'I will stop tomorrow.'
It is just a coincidence that when she stops, it is in a forest, and she can't stop there, can she? There is not a way to get food everyday, or water—yes, water, very important—, there are dangerous animals in every corner and there is nobody to say 'hello' to.
She ignores the fact that she can conjure up food and blast a tree to splinters with a simple beam and continues walking.
'I will stop,' she thinks under the shadow of a tree. 'I will stop tomorrow.'
A bird sings, almost mockingly, at her old promise. She remembers to herself that birds, at least not ordinary ones, can't read her thoughts.
Sometimes, she lets her thoughts go wild. Not exactly wild, per se—though, that had been funny the first few centuries—, she just lets her thoughts wander to that part of her mind, brimming with happy memories of a life lived in a small, rural town. Of a life with friends, with family and achievements.
She wonders why she let that life go.
She wonders why they let her go.
Because if there is something she knows, is that they could find her if they wanted to. Or maybe times have changed, and they had decided that she is too much of a nuisance to even look for.
She stops by the palace, just a quick visit to say 'hello' and leaves before any pony of relevance can recognize her. Though it was not likely, as her enchanted cloak hid her from the public eye.
As she walks down the road, she says to herself, "I will stop. I will stop tomorrow."
Sometimes, she thinks of that day. That day she left town.
It was dark, the full Moon was on the sky, countless stars shone in the firmament, and she had been having a stressful day. So, she had decided to go out and walk a little.
She walked all the way to the Castle of the Two Sisters.
That should have been a warning.
Next day, she said she would be out, traveling. Gathered all her friends, she did. "I'm going to go traveling. Love you all, take care."
She noticed something was off when she appeared in Baltimare.
Maybe her silly idea was going too far.
'I will stop,' she thought, for the first time, on a boat destined to a minotaur island. But she knew how her mind worked, so she added. 'I will stop tomorrow.'
Sometimes she goes to visit.
It doesn't really matter, because all her friends had passed away—though they're inmortal in their own way, she reminders herself as she sees the stone statue near the town hall.
She walks in town—more of a city, times have changed, after all—with her trustworthy cloak. Says hello. That sort of thing.
She finds a little colt curled up in a ball over a crumpled box, crying. He has lived in that dark alley his whole life. He has no one to care for him, no one to look after him and no one to love him.
She doesn't take on companions, because after a few years they go and settle down and leave her behind and alone and sad.
So, when she puts her cloak around him to warm him up, and tilts her head in an unspoken invitation, she promises herself that she will find him a family. A family that doesn't consist of herself, obviously.
She wonders how people see her and the little colt right now. A scared, whimpering little brown foal, and a big, intimidating lavender alicorn.
When the little one smiles, however, she decides that, maybe, she can have a family for once in her life.
This time, she leaves city with a companion—the first in decades—humming a song from a long time ago.
She is known as the Lonely Goddess—ridiculous, she knows. She goes from somewhere to anywhere. She is a legend, or a myth, it depends.
She makes sure to go the places she hadn't visited in decades so they can get a good look at her new companion. If she could, she would grab him and rub him on their faces.
Last time it didn't work so well, though.
Sometimes, people ask what they do. She answers with, "We walk." And it is the truth, they do that. If they want the long answer, she would cheerfully sit down and write all of her adventures.
She is sure that if she does, they would die before she ends up writing the second century of her life. And that is without adding her adventures with her male companion—not that kind of adventures, mind you.
The gryphon's expression when she offered to write her adventures with Stone Hooves will be forever in her mind.
He leaves. Or rather, she does. But he left first, hurting her without even opening his mouth.
She should have known, he was a grown stallion, after all. They had just stopped in the Ol' Apple Barn—which is not a barn—to get a few drinks and make jokes about their adventures, earning odd looks from everyone but the barman and his daughter, who are the only ones who know who they are.
She had noticed the nervousness Stone Hooves had, the way he moved everytime the barman's daughter came closer.
They would stay for the night.
When she made sure that he was asleep, she picked up her things and left.
After all, she had promised him, long ago, that he would have a family that didn't consist of herself.
Because she is not worth it, she knows. And nothing will change her mind.
She doesn't visit again.
It happens one night, as she walks down a road on a hill, towards a small town. The Moon had just come out, stars following it. Something clicks in her mind.
She stops.
It is boring, her new life. It had been exciting at first, what with having the opportunity to settle down, buy a house, work, grow plants and similar stuff.
Even talking with neighbors had gotten boring.
So, when a new threat comes, she jumps at it with almost-maniacal glee, smiling all the way.
And when she defeats it, and is standing in the middle of a scorched area, with chunks of charred meat surrounding her, she thinks of how the people will say thanks.
A little minotaur comes to her, and she smiles at her. The girl points a finger and yells, not a thanks, not a praise, but a bloodcurdling, "You murdered it!"
She leaves the town in the middle of the night. She doesn't even collect her things, 'let them gather dust,' she thinks. Because it is better than blood stains.
This time, she is on a field. Not a tree disturbs her view of the night sky.
She counts the stars. She thinks that maybe it is time to see her friend, then remembers that he is dead.
Maybe she should visit his granddaughter.
Maybe. Probably tomorrow.
Sometimes she wonders how long has it been. Sometimes she struggles to find what language the people of the year speak—which includes snogging, but she doesn't want anybody to know that. Sometimes she has to ask for a newspaper. Or ask an old earth pony how old the city or town is.
Sometimes she has to find a book to know what is now considered history.
She is in some of them.
She doesn't wonder why they are in the fiction section.
The air is getting cold. She doesn't care.
She has had so many companions, her favorite moments is when they met her for the first time. Their expressions range from fear to weird enthusiasm.
But they always leave, and they always break her heart.
She keeps getting new companions, even if they're going to stop and leave her behind. Because she doesn't care.
Her favorite time of the day is when it gets dark.
It is not dark yet. She doesn't care.
People say that she has walked all over the world, to places impossible to describe. Places that go beyond a mortal's imagination.
Some of them still call her the Lonely Goddess, others call her the Wanderer. Others the Equine of Death and Destruction. Others go as far as calling her the Spirit of Chaos.
That title belonged to one of her friends, but she doesn't care.
Not much.
She lays down on the grassy hill, watching the sky. She is waiting for the stars to come out. She kills time by remembering.
People forget that she has walked down the memory lane, too.
But she doesn't care.
The sky is getting dark. It is a normal twilight.
She smiles despite herself.
And she doesn't care.
A few stars come out, sparkling.
She giggles.
And doesn't care.
The Moon appears, a full Moon.
She laughs out loud.
She couldn't care less.
It is dark. Many of her friends have passed away. Many of her deeds are now myths.
Sometimes she is called a murderer.
But she doesn't care. Because there is work to do. Somebody, somewhere, needs help. And she is going there, and she is going to help. Maybe change the world for that person, maybe get called a killer.
But she is going to do it anyway.
Because that is what she does. She is just an idiot, passing through, helping people. And she is going to do that, even if the stars burn out.
One day, she will stop.
But not this day.
'Maybe tomorrow.'
