Where Her Story Began [prologue]
It was in September when she first used a quill for the purpose of recreation. Every time her magical grasp held a quill, a raven crowed due to her words of fake cheer. They were scribbled on old print paper provided by the agency, whose iron hooves dictated her every move. With a smile to match her words, she dabbed the white feather into the black inkwell and began to write her first journal entry.
Celestia sighed. Writing herself into her own novel would not be appropriate. She wanted her characters to have life beyond her own measure and one that does not mirror the royal life of a Princess trapped in her own viewing gallery. Maybe this character would live in a luxurious mansion in a land on the far outreaches of Equestria, or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe her character would live in a small, warm, cozy hut made out of old, enchanted oak wood. It was beyond her measure, right?
Having had her nighttime tea to soothe her aching body near her desk, Celestia took a very careful sip and dabbed her quill in her inkwell.
It was in September when she first wrote her own story. Before this moment, every time she wrote something with her favorite quill was when she needed to turn in a report to her mentor, who asks of her to learn something new about friendship her life.
Celestia could not believe her mind traveled to the current times, where she lacked the interesting life of her own student. Her student’s friendship reports had been scarce as of late, and since she has been meeting her personally when she could, Celestia did not need many of the reports written by her student. All the writing for the oral reports was done by Celestia, who documented that the adventure had taken place and what her “student” had learned. Heck, she wasn’t really her student anymore, but Celestia promised her that she would never stop being a student, since her life was always an experience to learn from.
So Celestia didn’t stop calling Twilight her student. And here, she mustn’t use her student’s lacking to try and respond to said lack. It would be rude of her, unbecoming in more political terminology, which she had been trying to deviate from but cannot, since her life revolved around the language of politics.
Also, the beginning line proposed the thought that the main character is writing her own story, and the narrator could be interpreted as the main character’s writing. Celestia did not want that in her story. She was the writer, not the protagonist.
The writer dabbed her quill again.
It was September.
Celestia paused. Why September? Was the month important for her story? Did it have to be stated or was this an overstatement to the cause of her story? Plus, September is not a very pleasant time for some, since love falls out of line and peak hot summer times foreshadow the beginnings of the trees’ ends, where their leaves dance in the breeze and their bark crumbles to the cold crisp air of a fall day. Celestia simply could not write this for her character. Summer time—maybe even Spring—that would be nice—would benefit her character’s personality.
It was May when she began her story.
She set her quill down beside her paper and stared at the words on the page. Celestia could not understand the vague depravity of “she began her story”. What was the story? Was it a novel? A short story? Was it… a start of a page-turning adventure? Her mind could only spin the words in the way that she wanted them to, and here the words gave her the proper springboard.
If only she knew how to word those words properly, then maybe she could be more explicit.
It was in May when she began her story. It was about a little filly, whose name would capture the sun, the moon, and the stars.
Hidden undertone. It was something that she liked to slip in, see if the readers saw what she jested, how her mind created a slight reference to something that she wrote previous. Of course, this letter was not in the public eye all that often. During her sister’s banishment, there was a rumor circulating around the nobles that Celestia had also banished her sister to allow her to gain a better connection with her moon and stars. Celestia wouldn’t lie either, she really did hope that she would connect with her celestial bodies, especially with the stars, since the stars would bridge a connection to her again. That was the first step for Luna, to love her stars like she loved her sister, the biggest star of them all.
As Celestia stared at her words, a teardrop splattered on the page.
It was in May when she began her story. It was about a little filly, whose name would capture the sun, the moon, and the stars. She was to be the bridge between the sun and the moon. That bridge was the representation of the stars. And I mean, a literal representation. Her name was—
“Her name…” Celestia muttered into the darkness of the room. She tapped her free hoof (she was right dominant) on her old, enchanted oak desk. A bridge for the sun and the moon? It had to be able to represent both entities without letting the other be dominant. At first, the word “Star” popped into her head. Of course, since it was written in her exposition, but that would be wrong for two reasons.
The first reason was supplemented with the fact that Luna has complete control of managing the stars. If this is the case, then the representation cannot be as straightforward, and the name of the filly cannot contain the word “Star” in it.
The second reason was that she could not even make this representation without having to reference her own student. Twilight was already that representation. Her name represented a bridge between the two lights. The sun was full of bright light for all to see, while the moon emitted enough light to be seen during the night. Not to mention she already had a star as a cutie mark. All she needs is for her stars to connect and twinkle in the sky together. An orchestra of lights…
“Then what would her name be…?” Celestia whispered as she turned away from her desk to allow her thinking to be more “open”. What could she name her?
Well, there were many names to chose from. But there would only be one that could define a bridge between the most important celestial bodies in all of the land.
It started off with the rambling of words:
“Evening Glow.”
The name had some truth. It defined the time between day and night. However, the name didn’t stick in Celestia’s mind. It was too long and too dull to really attract her attention. Plus, it sounded like a name taken from the foal’s story “Everlasting Glow”. An Equestrian author wrote that short story, with Evening Glow as the main character.
That book didn’t do so hot.
“Blinding Light.”
For a bridge between the sun and the moon, there needs to be a comfortable balance. Both her and her sister need to feel content with their bridge, and that name screams imbalance.
“Shooting Star.”
Despite her call to not name her character with the word “Star” in it, this name shined brightly. For one, shooting could infer that the star is moving away from them, giving them room to breathe, while it could also infer that the star is moving closer, bridging the gap between them. It was a double entendre in terms of thinking, and it could give her character more depth. However, it seemed too blunt-edged, and the name had already been used for several stories too. She wanted the name to be more defining of someone whose character consists of a bridge between two bodies, and someone who could bridge their emotions. Stars don’t do that.
“Ember.”
At the sound of the word, Celestia felt a twinge of regret surge through her body.
“How could I have been so blind…”
She trotted over to her desk.
“Ember would do wonders for this novel.”
Why?
In the words crafted on the edge of a sword chiseled by an experienced blacksmith, Celestia and Luna both controlled burning forms of light. An ember is just a small fraction of a star, and it burns with intensity even if the fire is dying. It lives on, happily bridging the gap between two different stages of life in hopes of maintaining balance. Little Ember begged for friendship and for life, and those two celestial bodies will cross her and be happy, for she will bring them comfort in her glow.
Celestia smiled.
Her name will be Ember. She was a light yellow filly with the eyes of a bright flame dancing in the fireplace alone, but given heed if another fire was to be ignited. She was a happy energetic pegasus whose family life brought her comfort. Her mother and father loved her very much—
This phrase drew Celestia away from her desk once again. It sounded like Ember had mommy and daddy problems with that wording. She did not want readers to draw a misconception that Ember’s parents were abusers, so she needed to find another way of phrasing “her parents were polite”.
So she scribbled some phrases underneath the sentence:
Her parents supported her in every decision she made.
Celestia frowned. It was good up until the word “every” appeared. She did not want Ember having permissive parents; Celestia would much rather favor an authoritative parenting style, since her own parents supported her good decisions and questioned her more unfavorable ones. So by supporting every decision Ember makes would imply that her parents actually cared less, which is not a good image for Ember, and certainly not a good image for Celestia.
Promoting bad parenting could get her more beef for banishing Luna.
Her parents supported her decisions if they were in good nature.
This phrasing screamed “too wordy” in Celestia’s mind. Not to mention that decision-making is not all that a filly can do. Therefore, this sentence should be discarded.
Her parents motivated her to do the best she could.
This sounded nice in Celestia’s mind, but upon reading the sentence out loud, she felt a strange disconnect, one that tingles the tips of her hooves with a foreign sensation. Why? It is similar to the sentences previous, where she received support for what she did, however, in this sentence, it is not placing a specific thing such as decisions, but rather as a whole both personally and academically without even mentioning it. It gives a vague sense to her as a reader, which made her feel less content with the sentence.
Should Celestia specify the areas that motivated little Ember? She could with further elaboration, but then it would still leave a gaping hole in Ember’s character. What about the unmentionables? Did they affect Ember’s life? It would lead too much for a reader to think about and provide very little comfort in trusting Ember.
So, Celestia tossed that sentence into the muck.
Her parents took her to school and gave her a kiss on her forehead…
This phrase completely eliminates the “one verb to define the whole” construct she had before. However, this sentence does not separate the duty of kissing the child on the forehead. Instead, it implies that both parents laid a smooch on their daughter’s forehead at the same exact time. Talk about being “in sync”. Celestia knew this entirely, her mind becoming hotter than a blazing coal in a campfire, but whenever she meshed the words, they fell into a bucket of water, dousing the perfect flame she had going.
With restrained anger, Celestia put her quill down on the desk and slowly left her seat.
“I need to take a break.”
Celestia walked to her bedside and grabbed her royal garb. Whenever she was in her room, her gold-plated crown would sit on her nightstand while her gold horseshoe clasps would lay near the stand. Sometimes she tossed the clasps beside the two lanky doors, but she only did that when she was exhausted from doing hours and hours of day court proceedings. Tonight was just a mental break from writing.
With her symbols of status now on, Celestia walked to the doors and with her magic, opened them swiftly. The large doors creaked loudly, echoing down the halls of the castle. Usually there would be guards set by her door, probably telling the other to move their keister out of the way before the door hit them, but tonight was not the time for them to be standing like statues. At this hour, her guards were doing their late night rounds, checking the castle for any intrusions, while other guards trained for the competition she and her newly promoted Captain of the Royal Guard will be hosting. Shining Armor had appropriated this competition first when he was in charge ot the guards at her castle, but now with him being with Cadance at the Crystal Empire, her Captain, Sir Talos, took his place.
And she couldn’t be more happier with the results.
“Should I ask Talos to accompany me on a walk…”
“He shall when he is spoken of, Princess.”
The sudden intrusion of Talo’s voice shook Celestia to her core. She quickly turned around to see his bronze plated armor glistening in the night light. His worn helmet covered the minor head wound he had gathered from the battle previous, but it never covered the nail on his neck. His greying coat and wrinkled face told of his many years of his life, and the scars he had been given show the battles he had fought.
Flittering his wings to a close, Talo’s continued, “My Princess, where shall we walk?”
Celestia blushed slightly. The way he talked to her reminded her of Luna with her old Equestrian folk language, however, his was even further back than the Equestrian language Celestia and her sister knew. It felt… different being addressed in such a manner.
“To the garden, Talos,” Celestia replied.
Talos nodded. “Yes, Princess.”
When she had told him to address her as Celestia a few months back, Talos was upset. She still does not know to this day as to why he was upset, but she knew she could not allow him to be upset. So when she mentioned the problem, he was wary of her health. He was wondering if any changelings braced her form. To his happiness, Celestia told him that she was not a changeling and that she did not want to force him into calling her by her name. He believed her straight away and he smiled happily at her. He trusted his Princess’s voice, and he would do anything to keep her status intact.
With a smile on his face, Talos led Celestia to the gardens. There, she walked.
And there, she talked.
“Talos?”
The night light shone down on the pair. They were on a stone path that led to placebo in the center of the garden.
“Yes, Princess?”
Celestia looked to the moon and sighed. “Do you know how to write a book?”
Talos stopped in his place, frozen on the aging stone path. “A book?”
Celestia turned to the frozen statue of her captain. “Yes, a story!” she excitedly answered.
“I have not written a book, Celestia,” Talos began, his eyes slowly moving from his Princess’s face to the flowers that surrounded them. “My main duty is to protect you and the castle, not write pleasantries in a book!”
The words ached Celestia’s heart. Was she just writing to keep herself emotionally sound? No, it couldn’t possibly be. She enjoyed writing for the sake of writing, not to keep herself sane.
“Books are not all about pleasantries, Talos. They are much more than that,” Celestia said. Her eyes glanced at the tall sunflower and watched as the night light grasped it in full. It shined brightly on it, and there the sunflower took the glow from the moon.
“Really?” Talos moved to his right and leant on a nearby bench in the garden. “Then what are books made of?”
The first words that Celestia came up with were the obvious: paper, ink, and a great deal of angst and stress. That’s what books were: a writer’s journey through designing the appropriate words to tell an engaging story. There would be times that Celestia would go through the same phases that a book would: there would be a starting point, like a thesis to a paper or the beginnings of a peace treaty, and there would be several events after to set the stage of agreement and happiness. However, not all happiness would stay, and the events leading up to the point would change, creating a peak that would soar to the skies above, where pegasi let their anger and stress be vented through the pleasantries of flying. Then the anger would subside, and the events would begin to calm down in intensity. The characters would live on for the next introduction, and the cycle would repeat until the writer had felt the story had came full circle, which signaled the end to the beginning, a resolution that would keep readers from ranting about the story’s lack of wholeness, and it would make them feel satisfied knowing that the story ended with a sense of fullness.
But there are other aspects of books that Celestia could recognize. For starters, books are made to bridge the imagination of the author and the words that the author felt needed to be said. Celestia always felt this bridge, and she always wanted to say words that would portray her for who she is really is. She really wanted her speech to akin to how she spoke with her sister in public. It was still formal, but it was not as forced as she was when she was alone in public. But she didn’t want to be too informal. She just wanted to be recognized as a Princess first, where those would bow before her or greet her as an icon to the Equestrian world, but then she would want to be down to Earth, and be able to speak with her ponies with the real her without them being afraid of her status.
And that’s what Celestia thought she had missing for most of her reign. She wanted to be seen as someone more, but not in the sense of status. She wanted to be approachable and relatable, instead of feeling like she was worshipped for her wings and horn. That’s what books are. They were heartfelt connections to the writer and his or her characters. Without a connection, a story would appear flat, so writers immerse themselves in their stories to create immersion in their story. Maybe Celestia must establish this type of relationship with her citizens.
Maybe she should do that for Twilight too.
“Books are made up of a lot of things, Talos. They are not just set in stone. Every pony has a different view of them, much like how every flower has a different petal,” Celestia began as she cupped the sunflower with her fore hoof. “They all have something to offer, and if the insect that comes by desires their offering, then the plant offers it wholeheartedly.”
“So it’s an exchange?” Talos asked.
Celestia smiled and let go of the flower, which stood tall on its own. “An exchange of the love of words, and a conversation of the love of life.”
In the darkness, an onlooker grinned.
And the exchange continued on…
It had been in the late hours of the night when Celestia and Talos ventured into the castle’s garden. They had spoken of the love of words and how important they were. Celestia learned a lot from the conversation, such as how Talos views the words that he uses.
“Princess, I speak only when spoken of or to, and nothing more.”
It was true. In the barracks, Talos rarely spoke unless he was addressed by his soldiers, who struggled to put on the heavy golden-clad armor that was given by the chain of command. Of course, Captain Talos came up with the design. It allowed the soldiers to appear of great wealth and status with their shiny golden plates, but unlike them, Talos wore the bronze armor that signified his dignity and willingness to serve the Princess with even the lowest of valuable protection. Celestia did remember his claim that he would not only let the sword or talons of the enemy pierce him before they would even lay a scratch on her, but he also said,
“A kingdom is nothing without its ruler. And a guard is nothing without its Captain.”
So there he claimed that he must fight to preserve her and the kingdom, and nothing more.
Celestia admired Talos for his loyalty. It made him a respectable figure amongst the ranks, and even more of a perfect applicant for the job he had gained. But there was something to him that she could not quite pin. Even if he spoke the way he did because of his loyalty, then how long has this loyalty been around? And why is this loyalty only claimed to her and not her sister or the guard?
Or is it really focused on her? After all, Celestia hadn’t heard him utter his loyalty to the guard except for the vague reference to them in the claim he muttered to her. Did she just not see him vow to protect and serve both her sister and the guard?
Celestia sighed and entered the castle. Talos, who was nearby, was scoping out a position near the entrance of the castle. He stood perched on a stone slab and watched the daily motions of Canterlot. It almost appeared as if he was frozen, much like before, only not of surprise but of savage inspection, searching for that deadly assassin that Celestia thought he had always imagined would pierce his or her sword into her.
She had thought, for a brief moment, that she should ask him to follow her in. After all, a threat could still exist in the castle. But then, as she saw him scout the area for more threats, she closed her mouth and opened the door with her magic. She could not force him to accompany her to her room as an escort; that wasn’t his main duty. After all, he said it himself:
“My main duty is to protect you and the castle!”
So let him do as he must. That’s all she could let him do.
And so she let the doors shut with a resounding slap that echoed throughout the empty dark halls of a castle with an egg white shell. At any moment, Celestia feared that the walls of the castle would collapse and be smashed to bits, but there was no logical reason to have this fear, since her guards are still around her. They may lurk in the shadows, but it would be difficult since their armor made them an obvious eyesore. If they relinquished their armor, then they could be protected by the black blanket that covered the halls. But Celestia knew that their training would make that an impossible task. Guardsponies are taught to fight directly, and fight for honor and pride.
Celestia knew that’s what stallions wanted. Brag to their friends that they fought and came out alive with their coats still attached to their backs, or maybe even say that their experience in guard duty was worthwhile to their cause. Or maybe she was just insinuating a positive response attached to all of her guard, when maybe that was not true.
She sighed once more. She felt like she did that a lot. It was a habit that she could not break. Even as she passed the painting that captivated the Equestrian landscape as the lush green that brought peace and harmony to the world that it so lived in, a prolonged tired sigh came from within her. The sigh matched her worn appearance of drooping eyelids and bloodshot eyes, which was something that she might have not been aware of. But she was aware of her fatigue that held her body. She yawned in response.
Without a moment to spare, Celestia entered her room, shed off her status, and plopped on her fluffy bed.
She might need to rest for a while; let those thoughts become clear in the morning sun and shine brightly for her ponies to see.
She might need a filter for them though, since her mind likes to wander, alone… in the dark.
