Author's Note

Characters: [Sunset Shimmer] [Celestia]
Contains: [Sophistry]
By Flutterpony

Inspired by conversations I've had with my ecclesiastical leaders.

Manichean by Flutterpony

Permission to act?! The thought troubled her, not because she believed the words so much as because she feared what else her mentor might say.

Despite the calm noise of crickets, her heartbeat quickened, and she recalled the explanation she gave. “I... don't think I've glorified immorality, Princess.” Something had burned at the back of her neck, stung her in a way she didn't understand. “I do explain the characters' reasons, but I don't believe I justify them in the stories I've written.” Do I? She asked herself—had asked herself even as she'd spoken with the wise leader. If she had been commanded to withdraw the stories, would she have done it? She had already stopped publishing any more gratuitous tales among the semi-anonymous multitude of writers she frequented.

There were few recreational activities by which the diligent mare had found such satisfaction. From the heartbreak of her characters to each lewd detail, she felt it not only release her pent up angst and stimulate her fantasies, but, more importantly, she felt it connect her with others forced to live in a society that didn't understand. It was only a pity, thought Sunset, that she couldn't bring herself to try finding any of them beyond the network of letters and stories they'd exchanged by enchanted volumes similar to the one she and Princess Celestia used to communicate.

“It is one thing to write these things for yourself—a catharsis—but, when you share them...” Sunset Shimmer couldn't recall what the princess had said afterward. Her own conscience filled in the rest. My stories might be hurting ponies? 'Giving them permission' to act on fantasies similar to mine?

She admitted reluctantly that her stories might cause others to act on fantasy that ought not to be acted upon. Pride had tainted her “confession” from the very beginning. It wouldn't have been a confession at all if she hadn't let down her guard to one professor, one pony she trusted to offer counsel who had turned out to want to fix Sunset's aberrant attraction.

She wasn't really sorry. Though the princess's top student shivered to think about saying it to Celestia herself, she'd have been glad if somepony actually acted on what she had written—not imitated her characters' actions, having sex with little fillies, but acted in the spirit of her writing: what she thought of as healing self-acceptance at best and a bit of raunchy indulgence at worst. The benefit outweighs the risk... by far, she added, but still fought her worry.

She trusted Celestia, or at least wanted to trust her judgment, but she'd experienced firsthoof what agony there was in isolation. No matter how Sunset tried, she didn't think the severity of her loneliness had come across to her mentor, just as it hadn't come across to the professor. Make friends. Hah! The sun-orange pony's face twisted, angry and pained, by the light of the moon on the entry steps of her observatory tower. What friend would want me?!—the real me?

Her eyes shimmered as she thought about what any of her classmates might do or say, what the few she'd told face to face actually did say. Worse than rejection, they'd offered her a smile, what felt like token sympathy, then avoided the topic whenever they had to meet for study sessions. To be pitied felt worse than to be feared, she thought—to feel so powerless in spite of all she'd worked for. It was for the best that she'd never kept contact with those classmates when their semester had ended. Sharing her writing anonymously had been her only way of finding relief, the one safe place that seemed to take the edge off her loneliness.

The burn of the perceived injustice caused Sunset to tense, and she steeled herself against her fear and guilt at wishing to rebel against the kind mentor. If only there were a way she could force ponies to accept her, to rise above Celestia herself, then Equestria would have an even-minded, fair ruler, brave enough to defy their misguided culture—then nopony could make her afraid to be herself openly, and others who had endured what she'd endured could escape from painful isolation as well. She'd be a hero, a champion of love, ushering in an era free from repression of any kind of willing love.

She was right, Sunset thought. She had to be. Celestia must be mistaken—compelled by her own masses to wear blinders that she'd grown too used to. Equestria's citizens might be “free” to express themselves, but the consequences for doing so as a pedophile, to be stripped of all status as Sunset now was, was intolerable. Though she'd hoped for middle ground, now Sunset accepted there was only good or evil. She'd been too unfocused before to see the boundary. Sunset looked back momentarily at her dualistic cutie mark, light and dark swirls within a sun of an inversely mixed corona, wondering whether she was really on the side of good.

The young mare brooded and wrote by the light and magic of her horn until the moon was high in the twinkling night sky. She may not be able to gain power there in Canterlot, given the mistakes she'd made, but the portal to the other realm remained open until tomorrow evening, and she knew better, now. Secrecy and fear would be her only allies, no more trust or friendship, and, when the prophecy of Nightmare Moon had been fulfilled, Celestia would have to reveal the element of magic. By the time the portal opened again, she'd be ready to take what their world needed her to take.