Author's Note
This is a story about depression. Yeah... it's a little personal. And I wish Luna could help. But we all manage in our own way. So if you know someone going through it, remember: they are fighting a battle you cannot BEGIN to understand. Be supportive. Be kind. Be their Luna.
In Dreams
Anya threw the covers off with a sigh. It seemed like it was going to be another one of those nights—one spent remembering every stupid and socially awkward thing she'd done since the age of five. She fumbled for her phone in the dark, her hand brushing against the bottles she kept on her bedside table- antidepressants, so she'd remember to take them in the morning, and the mood stabilizer for before bed. My happy pills... Anya thought bitterly, fingers finding her phone. It flared to life with a blinding light as her thumb activated the display.
4:32AM.
Well, fuck. It was too late to take an Ativan; she'd never be up in time for work, and it was far too early to call in and use a sick day.
Sighing heavily again, the petite woman sat up and rubbed her face with her hands. She was getting too old for this nonsense, and it wasn't getting any better during the day. The meds only made life something marginally less than tolerable. Instead of death weighing heavily on her mind every moment, she simply wished she no longer existed.
It was a step in the right direction, according to her therapist.
Ugh, her therapist... They'd be calling again about the bill soon.
Anya felt herself start to cry. Fat, hot tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. How did her life get to this point? She was an adult, for Chrissakes. She was supposed to be taking care of herself. Angrily, she spun in bed and hurled a clenched fist at her pillow. The force carried her fist through the padding and into the wall. Anya shrieked as her knuckles hit the plaster, sharp pain shooting through her hand and up her forearm.
"Why do you strike your chamber dressings?"
Anya froze at the voice that came from behind her, her spine rigid. The door was locked, the deadbolt thrown, and her boyfriend was not with her in the apartment tonight. She lived on the third floor, and there was absolutely no way anyone could enter the apartment through a window.
"Human. I ask, why do this?"
"This is impossible..." Anya murmured, her voice a whisper as she stared at the colbalt-blue alicorn standing at her bedside. Luna tilted her head to the side.
"I am all things possible," she replied plainly.
"You're... you're a cartoon!" Anya said. "You're not real!"
Luna laughed. "Do not your philosophies here claim reality is subjective and thus made true by what you observe?" the Moon Sister countered.
Anya blinked. "Oh fuck me, my meds need adjusting," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. Luna shook her head and took a step closer. The sound of her hooves was muffled by the thin carpeting in Anya's bedroom.
"Nay, gentle human, what you see is truth. Your eyes do not deceive you."
Anya took a moment to stop listening to her rational mind and actually look at the impossibility before her. Luna's fur, looking softer than the finest mink, covered her sleek, lithe form, and her large, elegant wings were feathered in a hue just a shade lighter than her coat. Her mane was... unreal. It hovered and flowed with a life of its own, sparkling and glittering like the starlit darkness of the Milky Way. Anya felt her hand reaching out unconsciously to touch it. Blushing, she snatched it back.
"You may," Luna said, lowering her head.
Anya reached out again, letting her fingers brush through the wavy ethereal substance. It felt like fog—cool, like a night's breeze, with the thickness and heft of mist. The sparkles tingled. Anya pulled her hand back. It smelled of clean rain.
"I can't believe you're—"
"I am," Luna affirmed her unspoken statements, watching as the pale human's face grew paler. Anya's large blue eyes stared unblinking at the alicorn.
"How?" she asked finally, clutching her blanket to her chest.
"I heed the calls of all distressed dreamers," Luna told her, ruffling her wings. The sound reminded Anya of her parakeets. "You—many of your kind—are almost Equestrian, in a way," she continued, nodding to Anya's laptop. "You watch us, write stories, keep us in your hearts and minds. You make us real."
"But I'm not asleep," Anya countered.
"You are troubled," Luna said, as if Anya had not spoken. "Young human—"
"I'm not young," Anya interrupted. "I'm 32."
Luna chuckled.
"I was on the moon for 30 times that," she pointed out. Anya blushed, feeling stupid. "Do not feel embarrassed. All of you are young in comparison... Anya." Luna stepped closer and nuzzled Anya's cheek. "You feel. It is not a crime. But building these walls not to? You might as well be on the moon."
"It might not be a crime, Luna, but I don't think you understand what it's like," Anya replied.
"No? I spent a thousand years on a cold, dead rock, not knowing if I would ever be with my beloved sister or go home again." She lifted a hoof and placed it over Anya's heart. "You feel you are dead inside. The two are not dissimilar."
"It's not the same," Anya countered bitterly, shying back from Luna's touch. "Did you wish it would just end? Every moment? That one morning you just wouldn't wake up? Were you riddled with irrational fears that something was going to go wrong at any moment and things were going to be irrevocably fucked up and it would be your fault and no one would ever talk to you or love you again? Or told your demons are all 'chemical imbalances', that your brain is the problem, that you're the one who's messed up?!"
Luna lowered her ears, and Anya realized she'd been shouting. The Moon Sister made a soothing sound, and, leaning forward, gently licked Anya's cheek. The mare's tongue was soft and warm, cleansing the dried salt from Anya's earlier tears.
"You are not as broken as you wish to believe." Luna met Anya's eyes, and Anya saw sadness in their emerald depths.
"I... I'm not?" she whispered. Luna shook her head.
"We all have our own Nightmare inside. And we are all strong enough to banish it."
It was all she had needed to hear. All these years, all the doctors, the medication changes, the failed relationships, the faded friendships... She was not a broken human being. There was nothing wrong with her; she was not defective, or damaged.
Sobbing, Anya threw her arms around Luna's neck. Luna smiled, embracing the crying human with her wings. The blanket had fallen from Anya's chest in her haste for contact, and she showed no shame at her nakedness. Luna displayed no shock, and the two beings enjoyed the simple moment of comfort and warmth between them. The Moon Mare allowed the fragile female to weep away her pain.
Sunlight streamed through the window, hitting Anya directly in the face. She grumbled, turning away from the beams.
"Crazy dreams..." she muttered. Concerned she had yet to hear her alarm, she reached for her phone—
Better check what time it is.
—and stopped dead.
Clenched in her fist was a long cobalt feather, too impossibly large to belong to any bird.
Somewhere in Equestria, the Moon Sister smiled in her sleep.
