Starlight Glimmer Battles Existential Dread at Sunrise
Two weeks after moving into the Friendship Palace, Starlight Glimmer sat in a crowded train car, headed for Canterlot. She tried to ignore the drooling old mare slumped against her side and focused her attention on the small invitation in her hoof.
For the tenth time that train ride, Starlight squinted to read it in the dim light of the lamp above her head. Sunrise was still hours away, and Starlight knew she should have been sleeping, but she couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes. Not with so many ponies around.
Besides, as long as her stomach kept tearing itself apart with nausea, sleep would never come. What could Princess Celestia possibly want with her? Did she just want to meet Starlight? Talk to her? Punish her? Maybe ‘scones’ was a code word for some type of ancient alicorn torture.
And so early in the day? Starlight never got up anywhere near sunrise, lest she bump into Twilight going on an early morning coffee run. Running into Twilight meant talking, and talking to Twilight inevitably meant being invited to go out somewhere. Just yesterday, Twilight tried to invite Starlight to a picnic with all her friends. The letter from Celestia had come just in time to give Starlight an excuse for not going.
But Celestia's invitation still meant that Starlight had to leave the Palace. It still meant that she couldn't spend the day as she usually did: locked in her room, doing nothing and saying nothing. She couldn't curl up under her sheets, or pray that nopony remembered she existed. That would be a much safer use of her time.
Starlight tucked the invitation away and shrank into her seat, trying to make herself as unnoticeable as possible. She hadn’t even arrived yet, and already she wanted to go home.
Looking into Princess Celestia’s eyes was like biting a lightning bolt. She radiated brilliance, and under her unflinching gaze Starlight felt smaller than a parasprite. Taking her seat at the edge of the Solar Balcony, Starlight kept her head bowed and her mouth shut.
The two sat at a small table with a plate of pastries between them. Celestia sipped her tea thoughtfully, perfect face illuminated by the glow of the rising sun. Starlight, shivering and shuddering in the early morning cold, tried to keep her eye on anything but the alicorn that sat before her.
She froze, however, when a tingling warmth surrounded her. She looked up with wide eyes and found a golden blanket wrapped around her.
“Sorry,” Celestia said with a chuckle. “I often forget that not everypony is as used to waking up before dawn as I am.”
“It’s fine,” Starlight said quickly. She paused and ran a hoof along the soft cotton. “But thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’m still incredibly grateful that you accepted my invitation. Not many ponies would agree to meet with me so early, no matter how many scones I make.” Celestia took a swig of her tea and looked out over the horizon. “Call me an egotist, but I’ve always loved sunrises. There’s no better time for tea, in my opinion.”
“Uh-huh,” Starlight said, following the Princess’ gaze. Pale yellow light smeared across the sky as the sun approached. Starlight couldn’t remember the last time she’d watched the sunrise; back in Our Town, she would wake up early every morning to see it. She had almost forgotten how beautiful it could be.
“Ponyville has a wonderful hill to watch sunrises from,” Celestia said. “Has Twilight ever taken you?”
“No.” Starlight rubbed her foreleg. “I mean, she offered. A few times. I just said no.”
“Oh?”
Starlight stammered a bit, then said, “I was busy.”
“You certainly look it,” Celestia said.
Starlight went rigid as Celestia reached across the table and ran a hoof through her scraggly mane. Limp locks of hair hung in streaks across her face. Celestia brushed the hair out of Starlight’s eyes, then offered her a grin. Starlight nearly collapsed.
“I—” Starlight gulped. “I haven’t had much time to brush my mane lately.”
Celestia nodded. “I see.”
Silence washed over them.
“Starlight,” Celestia said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “You seem nervous.”
“What? No!” said Starlight. She put on a grin and lifted her still-full teacup exactly two inches off the table. It shook in her magic. “I’m fine. Just perfect, Your Highness.”
“Do you know why I invited you here?” Celestia asked. She paused and looked down at Starlight, but got no response. “Twilight tells me that you’re having some trouble making friends. More specifically: you’re not even trying.”
“She told you...?” Starlight looked away and sneered. “Easy for her to say. Twilight doesn’t have to worry. She never worries about anything—” Starlight threw a hoof to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, that was rude, I really didn’t mean it, you have to forgive—”
“Twilight says you haven’t been going outside at all,” Celestia continued. “She says you barely even leave your room. When she tries to talk to you, you brush her off, or just don’t answer. Is this true?”
Starlight didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong?” Celestia raised a brow. “Are you worried about what ponies will think of you? What they’ll say?”
“No, that’s not it,” Starlight said. “Almost no one in Equestria actually knows about anything I did. And I gotta give Ponyville credit: even if they were to find out, most of them would probably forgive me anyway. That’s just who they are.”
“What’s the matter, then?”
“I—I’m scared.” Starlight took a hard swallow. “Scared that I’ll destroy the world again.” She forced herself to look Celestia in the eye. “Think about it. When I traveled back in time, all I did was say a few words, move a few clouds. All I did was stop a stupid race between some foals. And what happened? Millions of ponies died. I nearly destroyed the universe.”
Starlight dropped her head. “I can’t risk that again.”
Celestia frowned. “So you’re avoiding the risk by…?”
“Locking myself in my room, away from everypony,” Starlight said. “Making myself a complete nonfactor in the world. If I live, nothing happens. If I die, nothing happens. I don’t leave a trace.” She sighed. “The only way to beat the Butterfly Effect is to avoid the butterfly altogether.”
“Mhm.” Celestia sipped her tea. “And what if by doing nothing, you trigger something?”
Starlight went pale. “Princess, please, don’t say that. Goddess knows I'm barely holding myself together as is.”
“You can’t spend your entire life being scared of the future,” Celestia said. “Imagine if everypony thought like that. Nothing would happen!”
“Nopony would suffer,” Starlight whispered.
“Nopony would live,” said Celestia. She rested a hoof on Starlight’s. “Your cause is noble, Starlight, but the world is what it is. Ponies suffer, yes. Things happen. I hate to be blunt, but locking yourself away isn’t going to stop that. You’ll just be wasting your life.”
Starlight snorted and snatched her hoof away. “You don’t understand. I mean, you’re an immortal alicorn princess; what could you possibly know about suffering? About messing up so bad that ponies die?”
Celestia shook her head. “More than you might think, my little pony.”
“I’m sure,” Starlight said, narrowing her eyes. “With all due respect, Your Highness: I don’t care what you say. I’ve seen firsthoof how even the smallest of actions can destroy lives. I’m not risking everypony’s safety just so I can be comfortable.”
Another flood of silence filled the air. Starlight’s face burned. She kept her ears flat as she stared into her cup of tea. She had already been out of her room too long. She needed to get home, before she did something she would regret. She moved to stand up—
“Maybe you’re right,” Celestia said resignedly. “Maybe we should all just lock ourselves away in our bedrooms and not ever do anything again. Maybe that would be safer for all of us.”
Starlight sat back down and simpered. “I’m glad you’re seeing it my way.”
“Absolutely. Let’s stop everything!” Celestia said. She smirked. “I’ll start: I’m never going to raise the sun again.”
“Sure, that’s—what?” Starlight recoiled. “What are you talking about?”
“You said we’d be better off not leaving a trace. What leaves a bigger trace than the sun?” Celestia said. She happily scarfed down a scone. “And think about it: what if by raising the sun, I accidentally blind a pegasus, who then crashes into a mountain, which causes an avalanche and crushes some village below? We’re better off not taking the risk, right?”
Starlight frowned. “That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”
“Is it? By your logic, it’s reason enough to stop doing anything.”
“Yes, well...” Starlight searched her brain for a rebuttal, but all she could come up with was, “You have to keep moving the sun. If you don’t, everypony will die anyway.”
Celestia raised a brow. “So what you’re saying is that I can’t just lock myself away?”
“That isn’t fair!” Starlight said, stomping a hoof. “You aren’t a normal pony! You need to stick around for ponies to survive, sure. But I don’t. When I die, the world won’t lose anything but a potential threat.”
“You don’t think anyone will mourn for you?” Celestia asked. “Not your family? Your friends?”
“I haven’t visited home in years. My parents probably don’t even know I’m still alive,” Starlight spat. “And friends? Really? You said it yourself: I haven’t made any friends. No one will notice when I’m gone.”
“I think Twilight might,” said Celestia.
A chill spidered down Starlight’s back. “I guess.” She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“No, not maybe.” Celestia smiled. “I know Twilight. I know that right now, she wants nothing more than to see you happy, to spend time getting to know you better. But you’re shutting her out. Your fears are keeping you from embracing what could end up being the greatest friendship of your life.
“Twilight didn’t invite you to live in her home out of boredom, Starlight. I didn’t order her to. She did it because she saw the good in you. She saw a mare willing to change and willing to use her potential to help others. She saw a friend.”
A tiny laugh echoed from Celestia’s lips. “Even now, sitting here, swearing to me that you’re nothing but a threat, you’re willing to lock yourself away for the rest of your life, all to help ponies you don’t even know. You’re more concerned with keeping everypony safe than your own happiness. That’s the sort of selflessness some would die to possess. The world needs ponies like you.”
“But what if I mess up?” Starlight asked, voice straining. “What if I hurt somepony?”
“What if you bring about the greatest day in somepony’s life?” Celestia asked. “In your life?”
Starlight chewed on her lip. “I don’t think that’s possible,” she said in a quiet voice.
“I know you’re scared,” Celestia said. “But there comes a time when you have to put away the hypotheticals. It’s true: when you step out your door, you’re taking a risk. And sure, you might save yourself some pain by locking yourself away. But you’re going to miss out on so much more.”
Starlight closed her eyes. She tried to imagine what she could be missing out on, but nothing came. All she saw were nightmares: the end of civilization, never-ending wars. She thought of herself, crying in the corner of a damp cave, run out of the prison camp she called a utopia. What part of that was worth living through?
“I’m gonna miss out?” Starlight asked, scowling. “On what?”
“How about going on a picnic with a good friend?” Celestia asked. She raised her teacup high. “Or the simple joy of talking over tea?” She turned to the horizon and lit her horn. “Or all this?”
Starlight glanced towards the east and found herself caught. Blazing blues and reds and oranges leaped across the sky. Birdsong filled the branches below. The rising sun, the full force of Celestia’s grace, grabbed hold of Starlight’s weary eyes and held them wide open. A tiny warmth sparked in Starlight’s chest, spreading throughout her body—it felt like a flickering ember, a sunrise of her own.
She didn’t flinch as Celestia tightened the blanket around her shoulders, nor as Celestia’s magic sunk deep into her mane.
“Life is always a risk,” said Celestia as she fixed up Starlight’s mane. She let one wavy lock fall to side of her horn, and brushed out the rest so it would trail down her neck. “But it’s one worth taking.”
For the first time that morning, Starlight drank her tea. The sunrise in her chest just grew warmer.
Starlight Glimmer returned to Ponyville in the early afternoon, just in time to catch Twilight heading off for her picnic. Asking Twilight if she could tag along was the single most frightening five minutes of Starlight’s life. The two walked to the park together, side-by-side. Upon arrival, Starlight gritted her teeth and waited for Twilight's friends to send her away—their beaming smiles caught her off guard.
As the day passed on, Starlight found herself astonished by Twilight’s fathomless knowledge of magic. She got caught up in a long conversation with Rainbow Dash, who wanted to know all about her younger self. Fluttershy wowed Starlight with her knack for speaking every language known to squirrel, and Applejack made an apple pie to die for. Rarity complimented Starlight’s new manestyle—“Très chic, darling!”—and offered to sew her a dress to match. And Starlight never could have guessed how well gut-busting laughter went with cupcakes.
When the time came to head home, Starlight didn’t want to leave—in fact, she didn’t want to spend another minute in the dungeon she called a bedroom ever again.
Author's Note
Check out this blog for some inside info on how this story came to be: Daria Glimmer, Princess of Snark (OR: Why We Should Air My Little Pony on MTV)
