The Mare Who Fell To Earth
I woke up from my hospital bed this morning with a long, rattling cough, watching the sun creep over the horizon for the final time. My children and friends surrounded me, tears silently kept at bay through stoic resolve or stealthy posturing. It wouldn’t be long now before I came back home. Back where I belonged. This fragile body lasted me an age of pleasures and pain, of sorrows and joys unbounding. I long once more for the feel of hooves on grass, of moonlit wings reflecting the stars in my glorious night sky.
This flesh I filled was not my own, merely a construct, a patois of dreamstuff that was manipulated as I slept in my ample chambers within a grand castle. I merely borrowed it for a time. Now it is going back to the earth I fell to those years long since passed, as my essence separates in a cloud of ethereal vapor. I rocket past my temporary family’s heads, passing the roof of the hospital until my face touches the blue skies above. Cold blue skies that feel neither anger at my trespass or relief in my transit. With a blink, Venus is behind me, and Mercury ahead. I hear quiet voices call to me, imploring me to stay, but I dare not look behind. The sun ahead speaks in whispers, short tendrils of light with gentle caress that say “Hurry home, sister.” How bright shines the source of life for all humanity.
Humanity. My sister would find that word strange, I imagine. The dreams and hopes of all ponykind occasionally cross those of humans, leading to such beautiful works of art and creation as any alicorn could envision. But the opposite is true; the fears elicited by the brevity of human life strike true into the hearts of Equestrians. Such matters are trivial to me. I’ve seen a hundred lifetimes, and I shall see a hundred more.
But the sun calls. I obey.
My mane is engulfed in the brilliance of a thousand beautiful mornings, and a million moonlit midnights. Another star appears amidst it, the strands of hair waving in astral solidarity. It twinkles with unmatched splendor and beauty, as they all do, at first. With time, they fade, as the raw emotion that births such stars weakens in intensity. My stories of Earth will pass as fables, then to myth, moving to legend. I watched as men dared to slip the surly bonds tethering them, to grace the surface of their moon and return, floating in a tin can across inky blackness. But still, they will not know me as I know them.
I have dreamed as a million sacred souls. Pony, griffon, human, inhuman. Sometimes, something in between. Not all of them become stars, only the dreams that burn with a fire so intense no mortal vessel could contain it, solely an immortal one. But the ones that do become part of something grand; something cosmic. I can tell this star burning brightly in my mane now was destined to be remembered.
My sister coalesces around me. I taught her the dreamwalking spell in ages past, but it is unfamiliar and alien to her; foreign, as though I were casting spells of love or raising the sun at dawn.
“You dreamed of the humans.” No accusation was implied. Celestia merely remarked upon the obvious.
“Yes, dear sister. A man this time.” I nodded, the new star catching Celestia’s eye.
“Even in the morning, a new star shines brightly over Equestria. Tell me how this one came to be, dearest Luna.”
Luna. My name gives me momentary pause. They haven’t called me by that name in so long. A lifetime passes in the blink of an eye, and a dream can last as long as I wish. I must admit, it was a long time for me to dream, living as a being so vastly different.
“I was beloved amongst them, Sister. They worshiped at my altar of musical enchantment, crying out their love for me even as I opened their eyes to the vastness of space. As I left, I could hear them calling out to me as I’ve heard for no other soul yet, expressing their disbelief and pleading with me to return.
“I showed them that through our differences, we are all the same; our hopes…our fears…our imaginations. I weaved tales of the cosmos, and became a god to the outcasts. I challenged them to dream. To swim against the current. To shatter the mold. I was the mare who fell to Earth, and sold it. Children loved me and feared me as the King of the Goblins, and both women and men fancied nighttime trysts with Ziggy Stardust. I was male and female; both, yet neither. I know of no other incarnation that touched so many, and inspired such greatness.”
“You were overdue, Luna. Could you not feel the body dying, consuming itself as the dream world crumbled?” Such motherly concern from my older sister plays upon the features of her muzzle.
I snap back in my haste. “Of course I could, Celestia. But I found myself wanting more. I was tempted to stay, for it was a life richly lived with little regret, but I longed for the open skies and the canvas of the night.
“The stars beckon me hence, and I heed their call. Our subjects can go for one night without my guiding grace, but not much more.”
A sadness graces Celestia’s face, her dream apparition fading. It is unbecoming of a princess to be sad. It is the sadness of one who knows pain and loss and grief and sorrows. I feel my own discomfort growing, and I awaken in my chambers, stretching my azure wings as the sun sets on Equestria. To awaken from a dream is to bring death and finality; you cannot return to the same dream once awakened. It hurts, and I shed a tear for the loss. It was a beautiful dream, but all dreams must end; the sleeper must awaken.
Celestia’s sun dips below the horizon, making way for my moon to continue on its eternal track through a vast sky sparkling with diamonds above. A new star appears on the northern horizon. By the heavens, it’s beautiful.
My sister is beside me now on the balcony in the cool Equestrian air. Her gaze points in the same direction as mine.
“That new star. What is its name?”
I think for a moment, or maybe a lifetime.
Author's Note
As we all know "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" goes, the last line is "Life is but a dream."
Whose dream? And what happens when they wake up? What if David Bowie was the product of Princess Luna's mind, a life lived within an eight hour span? Would you want to wake up from that dream?
These were a few of the questions I had as I wrote Starmare, which was only fitting for our Princess Luna.
David Bowie's legend will remain, until many thousands of years from now when our world is plunged into darkness and his name is synonymous with Paul Bunyan or Shakespeare.
