Twilight knew it was a long shot. She had a lingering hope that the procedure would have worked as expected, and in a way it did. She’d successfully reanimated a corpse, just not in the way she wanted. Was it considered self defense when the victim was dead once before? Did reanimated bodies count as the living in the eyes of the law? Huh.

She and Spike had cleaned up the mess in the basement. Spike offered to quietly dispose of the body, but it was a perfect opportunity for further experimentation. At the very least it might give her enough data to properly modify the next procedure. It wasn’t smart to conduct an autopsy while deep in the night and operating on little sleep, but the more the corpse decayed, the less viable her data would be. It would be an autopsy this time around, and a fresh array of tools and clothes for both.

Twilight unlocked the door to the basement, a fresh pot of coffee in her other hand. She was normally a tea pony, but she needed something high enough in caffeine to make it through the night.

“Now you need to resterilize,” Spike said.

“I know, but I’m not going to be doing anything correctly without a pick-me-up.” She set the pot down and filled an already cleaned cup with a straw. Sterilizing took another ten minutes and a draft of coffee. Spike had put the body back on the table, wiped up the little dribble of blood still coming from the wound, and waited for her to begin.

“Alright... Cause of death?”

“Me.”

She snorted. “Heh heh, prior to embalming and an unfortunate encounter with a dragon.”

“Renal failure.”

“Cancer?”

“Kinda. Drank two gallons of water every day for the last twenty years because he was afraid of stomach cancer.”

“Huh. While there is a correlation between magnesium in hard water and lower risk of gastric cancer, that’s not a preventative measure.”

“Hey, the cause was simple. I didn’t say it made sense.”

Given the draconic trauma, Twilight’s primary concern was the state of the vital organs. Some incisions and a rib spreader later, they cracked open his rib cage.

“Extensive trauma to the left lung and both heart ventricular cavities. Subject expired in seconds. Expected.”

Twilight started coughing. Spike took the initiative and wiped his glove hand on the table. A few droplets of bright red blood clung to his hands and he smeared it between two fingers.

“We’ve got some pretty good coloration here. Bright red equals good oxygenation. Despite the hole I’m pretty sure shouldn’t be there, vascular system was working up to scratch. Musta rolled high with his strength and dex stats ‘cause rigor mortis didn’t mean all that much when he jumped off the table. Coupled with the esteemed professor’s bruised throat, it shows some decent muscle control and fine motor skills after reanimation. Good blood flow to extremities.”

She hadn’t even thought about rigor mortis. “Good c-catch,” she coughed.

He continued, “Extreme mania upon awakening. All the causes I know are mental. Nervous system problem?”

“I concur.” Twilight couldn’t help but feel a small swelling of pride in his deductions.

Spike was browsing the remaining internal organs. “Liver’s good, but kinda gray. Kidneys are shot to shit.”

“Language, Spike.”

“Spleen, gallbladder, stomach, intestines. All fine considering how long we had him on the table. Hard to say what should or shouldn’t be damaged due to the short reanimation time, or whatever snafu we made to make him lose his mind.”

“It was my mistake, Spike, not yours.”

“Ours. I’m in this with ya, Twi.”

His eyes demanded no objection. She nodded her thanks.

“We also have to consider that the procedure is fundamentally flawed from the start.”

He shook his head. “Consider it at least a partial success. Got up and went for you even if he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe not sapient, yeah, but sure shows some thought, even if he’s just like a wild dog going after a piece of meat.”

Did he just call her a piece of meat?

“Time to crack him open?” Spike took a slug of coffee.

“Find the vibrating saw. And give me that.”

Spike was the one to split open the skull. She’d been coughing on and off and didn’t trust herself with a saw of any kind. A little aerosol spray stained his apron as he cut around the head. Twilight was carefully waiting as he removed the skull and placed her hand inside to hold the brain in place.

She jumped as the liquefied remains dripped through her fingers. What hadn’t putrefied into a disgusting mess was ridden with tumorous growths.

Spike looked down. “Well, there’s your problem.”

There was an ornate silver and glass chandelier in Twilight’s office, although she rarely used it. The desk lamp alone was always enough It reminded her of the library, of her old study in Canterlot. Something about a single light at her desk just felt homey.

“Spike?”

He already had parchment in hand.

“October fourth, zero nine thirty hours. The first trial run was a failure. Granted, achieving a successful reanimation had fantastically low first time odds to begin with, but I couldn’t foresee the violent reaction Spike and I would end up seeing. I suppose I should treat my draconic companion to a special something in the future.”

Spike’s forked tongue darted from his smiling lips.

“Each bodily system, from the vascular, to the muscular, to the respiratory system, works as expected and within acceptable guidelines. Unfortunately, our subject was confirmed alive for less than one minute, so there is a recognizable possibility that it would not remain so. I do not expect that outcome to be true. A full autopsy showed all bodily organs were regenerating enough to sustain life before termination. This is easily explained. These systems are simple, and it starts with adequate blood supply. Blood diffuses oxygen and nutrients, and each system’s limits and secrets have been mapped out long before my time. All except one.

“We have hydroelectric dams, blimps to carry ponies into the skies, and steam trains capable of carrying more cargo than a hundred drawn carts. To this very day, the brain is as complex and mysterious as it was a century ago. Every answer only conjures more questions. My reagent gives the brain renewed life, my spellcraft gives the body the spark to begin again. But it is not the body that failed, but the mind. Our first subject awoke screaming and violently psychotic; he was only stopped by Spike’s timely assistance.”

Twilight sighed. There were quite a few unknowns, and none of them could be answered so readily.

“If I could theorize what went wrong, my reagent dosage was much too large and, coupled with fresh nutrients crossing the blood-brain barrier, it hyperstimulated the brain. The parts that liquified were dedicated to higher brain functions. The brain stem was perfectly intact, thus why involuntary systems remained functional. The cerebrum suffered massive damage. Less so with the cerebellum, but there was noticeable impairment. Additionally, it is quite possible that the growths we discovered on the parts of the brain that had not liquified were already there, and my reagent boosted their growth at a logarithmic rate.

“We shall see in time. I will need to lessen the dosage in further tests. I feel the need to alter the spell matrix in regards to the relationship between blood and the brain, but doing so might have unforeseen consequences. Let us tamper with one variable at a time. End log.”

Spike rolled up the parchment and labeled it for later. There was nothing more ungodly irritating than a catalog system that didn’t work.

“So the question is,” Twilight began, “what should be checked first? The possibility of a defective brain, or checking if the reagent had an improper dosage?”

Spike shrugged and sat on the floor.

“There’s a chair right there, Spike.”

“I’m good.”

“Fine. Any opinion?”

He scratched his chin with a claw. “Not really. The problem was neurological, we got that. If you’re talking about focusing on either the tumors or the reagent, I’d say try your hocus pocus potion first. Stretch goal is it’s going to be used on a bad brain eventually anyway. Might as well get it over with. You’re not even sure if the reagent made the tumors, or it it just egged on what was already there.”

Twilight’s ears drooped. “Yeah, but there was only one recent body buried in Ponyville cemetery. We’re not going to get another out of the blue unless we move the lab, which we can’t do.”

So close. So very close. She was tickling the power to stop death with her fingertips. Knowledge from ages ago, brought back with the viziers of old. Sleeping titans who were defeated long ago awaken and wreak untold destruction could be stopped when the heroes of yore rise from the grave. To give a family peace when they lost one too soon. To give a mother hope for her stillborn child.

Twilight remembered the weight of her body pressed into the shovel. Defilement, yes. Black magic, yes. Necromancy. Black mages were persecuted still, but she was so close. The body functions were there. She just needed to fix the mind.

Undead soldiers risen from battlefields, revenants, liches, grave robbery, and perverse sorcery There were countless reasons why the art was banned, but this was for the greater good.

“Well... there might be another way.”

Twilight perked up. “What?”

“The township doesn’t own the only graveyard. The hospital has a plot of land for life cases, drifters and strays, or those a little wonky in the head. We could give that a quick look.”

She’d been to the hospital enough. That was part of the reason she started her research in the first place. Huh. Why didn’t she think of that? Twilight leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Spike, I don’t tell you you’re brilliant nearly enough.”

The biggest problem was data. Medical histories, blood types, past surgeries or medications, genders, sexual promiscuity, innoculations, past diseases, mental health. All of it was needed to choose the best subject. All of it was covered under doctor-patient confidentiality and not in the public record. Even then, there was the issue of procurement.

“Remind me to install some straps on the table next time.”

“I already had them ordered, Spike.”

Research and intel was the easy part. The fun part. It was like a game, or one of Celestia’s old logic puzzles. Everything had a place, even if its place was only a red herring. In order to put together the pieces, she first had to exploit one of Spike’s new skills: breaking and entering. It was not an easy task. Whereas the cemetery had no security at all, the Ponyville hospital had plenty. Twilight had the money and resources necessary to do the job, but in the end, it would all come down to Spike’s ability to not get caught. It just so happened that sneaking around for Twilight’s hidden gem stashes when he was still a juvenile had come in handy. It wasn’t even midnight when he returned.

“I don’t like this.” Twilight was flicking through the copied documents. Each deceased pony was assorted by blood type, and then further assorted by medical conditions. They had plenty to choose from, but none that would be whole, intact bodies.

“We don’t have any options, Twi,” Spike said quietly. His tail was flicking back and forth as he scanned each file. “The most important part is getting an intact nervous system.”

That was easy enough. There were several, but the hospital rarely had funds to spring for the full costs of funerals. No embalming, no caskets. She’d have to do a reverse vivisection and splice together bodies with matching genetic material and immunities. Not impossible, but it certainly complicated things.

“I think these two will be out best bet.” Spike handed her two sets of medical records.

“Screw Loose... and Screwball.” Any relation?

“None. Screw Loose was a life case and mother died in childbirth. Screwball just kinda appeared one day.”

Both female, O positive blood types, zero genetic abnormalities, minimal diseases. Screwball was non vocal, but Screw Loose wasn’t.

Well, it was worth a shot.

Twilight had once read a book about a pony physician that had set up shop on an island flush with wildlife and people. The mid-book twist was that the pony was an expert vivisectionist that had turned animals into ponies. The narrator saw ponies with boar tusks and cloven hooves, a lion’s mane and fangs, and a prehensile monkey’s tail rather than a pony’s own natural tail.

No pony was that skilled. Twilight was bright, even she admitted that, but even she lacked the ability to completely change a pony’s species with surgery alone. Splicing skin and organs together into one body however? It was almost like organ donation.

‘If only mom could see me now...’ Even Twilight was sure if she was wistful or lamenting.

Screw Loose’s body was the base, as she had the intact nervous system. What organs that weren’t salvageable were removed from Screwball, including skin grafts. By eleven at night, Screw Loose’s body was a patchwork of blues and pinks. Even Twilight had to admit her work was superb. She ran a gloved hand across her bare arm. Smooth skin with no dermal damage. Wonderful.

“She’s kinda cute for a stiff.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow at Spike. True, Screw Loose wasn’t bad to look at, especially taking into account her generously endowed chest. No organs of viscera on display, currently not in a frothing rage, and the patches of her skin were cleanly stitched together. She still looked like a patchwork pony, but a pony nevertheless.

“I’m... not sure how to respond to that.”

Spike opened his mouth, then closed it. “Uhhhh... Well, me either, I guess. She is, though.”

“...Alright, let’s just ignore that comment and continue.”

Everything was ready. Her reagent called to her once more. It was the product of five years of nonstop research and experimentation, along with a healthy dose of reverse engineering many spells and alchemical solutions from the restricted copies of Starswirl’s work. Science and sorcery, all in a glowing green package.

“No signs of cerebral damage or malignant growths.” She pulled the very same jar of reagent out of the fridge along with a syringe. “Dosage reduced to fifteen CCs.”

“That stuff looks like it could melt a hole in the floor,” Spike mumbled from behind his face mask as he strapped Screw Loose to the table.

“I have to use a glass syringe because it eats through plastic, if that’s any consolation.”

Spike lifted her subject’s head. It was time for the final touches, the last lap. She brushed Screw Loose’s lengthy hair to the side in order to get the proper angle and plunged the needle directly into the amalgamate woman’s head.

Both retreated. Spike could do nothing else now. Twilight consumed her elixir and became blinded to the world once again. It was a strange sensation, losing all the senses that made her life worth living.It was a resolute piece of her life.

No matter. Twilight brushed the errant thought aside and continued weaving her necromantic spells. They alone did not call beyond the grave; her reagent was a critical piece of the process. Despite that, her spellcraft helped give life to the lifeless. There was no mistaking what she was doing as the lightning arced from her fingertips. She could almost see the power shocking the muscles and mind into life.

Before Twilight knew it, she was looking at Spike again. “Three, now help me up.”

“You were out one minute and forty two seconds. A new record.” He reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. Twilight’s knees buckled, but held.

She was exhausted. Truly tired to her bones. Was the first revival this draining? All she could remember about the post-procedure was waiting and then the attack. Spike pulled up a chair so she could sit and checked the clock.

“Four minutes.”

Another waiting game. Twilight tapped her fingers against her knee. Five minutes. Six.

Seven, eight, nine, and ten.

“It’s taking too long.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Spike, look,” Twilight brushes a finger across Screw Loose’s cheek. The skin whitened and then took on a slight rosy tinge. “My spell worked fine, but the brain’s not responding. It’d only be a matter of time until brain death. Again.”

“But—”

“I’m upping the dosage another five CCs.” She filed the syringe before he had time to protest. “Lift her head.”

Spike was going to argue, but a sharp look cut him off. His eyes were on her as he carefully cradled Screw Loose’s skull.

The reaction was immediate and visceral. The patchwork pony’s hands clenched and her lungs gasped for air that it hadn’t tasted in almost a year. Her hands and feet were velcro strapped the bed, with additional leather straps holding her chest and knees to the cold table. Screw Loose fought her bindings but could not break free from the precautionary measure. Whereas the stallion was violent, hers was only panicked and uncontrolled.

Her chest heaved as she looked about and saw the pair of them. She opened her mouth, gasping for breath, but no words came forth.

Twilight leaned down. One eye was beady and vividly violet, the other large and purple. Beautiful. Twilight moved to the left. Those eyes followed her.

“Welcome back.”

Twilight watched the mare as she slept peacefully. She’d given her a mild sedative soon after revival. Data as early as possible was preferable, but this was no mere science experiment. This was life from the lifeless. Spike was checking her vitals, but the patchwork mare needed sleep.

She’d done it. Death had reaped his final reward.

Spike undid the belt cuff and walked to Twilight’s chair on the other side of the room. Twilight had three bedrooms for herself in the castle. The first was her normal but stately room. The other two were a small cot hidden away in her library, and a repurposed room in the basement. She always liked being able to get up and get back to work on a moment’s notice. Given that the newly living Screw Loose/Screwball hybrid needed a place to rest that was out of the public eye, her basement bedroom was the best option.

“Well, vitals are doing okay. Heartbeat is steady, O2 sat’s fine, respiration, all pretty good. Her BP’s low, though. Wouldn’t mind checking blood glucose while we’re at it, either.”

Twilight smiled at the drake. “Spike, have you ever thought about going to medical school?”

“Nope. After all the garbage that goes on in Ponyville on a weekly basis, I’d be bored out of my mind in any school.”

“Well, it’s something to think about. I’d gladly throw my name around or recommend you to a few professors.”

He returned her smile, only his was full of dagger-like protrusions. “Who will write your letters?”

“Spike, I’m not a complete invalid.”

“Does that mean partial invalid?”

She punched him in the arm. Twilight’s eyes returned to the sleeping mare and recalled her dual histories. Screwball suddenly appeared during Discord’s first appearance. She was quickly taken in by the hospital and kept there permanently until her death last year; she was nonvocal during her entire stay until she just simply died in the night. Screw Loose was taken in due to foalhood trauma and her condition devolved over time into extreme schizophrenia. Whereas the former’s heart gave out with the passage of time, mere happenstance killed off the latter. An accidental cut that became septic, and then full on blood poisoning.

“What do you suppose we should call her?” Spike asked.

“Screw Loose.”

“Do you think there’s a little of Screwball in that noggin?”

“Impossible. Only Screw Loose’s brain was used. One brain, one set of memories.”

“Yeah. Still...”

“Speak your mind, Spike.”

His scraped his nails across the floor, a sound that made her grit her teeth.

“Does she know she’s Screw Loose?”

She sighed.

“We’ll wait and see.”

“October fifteenth, zero ten hundred hours. Success! It’s been almost a full twelve hours since reanimation, and our subject’s still going on strong. We’ve set up a banana bag for fluid intake, but she’ll need solid foods before long. My colleague Spike and I are about to speak with her for the first time since she’s taken breath. There’s just so much to say and do, so much to learn! Ponies have the possibility to live lifetimes now! Should another academic come across these notes, let it be known that I would have never gotten this far without Spike. This will be a short log, but i cannot wait for those to come. End log.”

Twilight set down her quill. Spike was the one writing, but having something in hand helped her focus her thoughts.

“Ready?”

Spike was finishing up the log. “Never... gotten... this far without... the magnificent and illustrious... Spike.” He rolled up the scroll and passed it to her.

“If I go through past logs, am I going to find any editorials?”

“Maybe a few.”

The pair of them walked to the old bedroom, Twilight with a little skip in her step. Screw Loose was still sleeping peacefully, but moved when Spike quietly shut the door behind them. Her bedroom wasn’t all that large and just served the purpose of giving Twilight a place to crash. All it had for amenities was a cheap bed, a sturdy desk, and a couple of bookshelves holding material relating to everything from natural sciences to philosophy.

Screw Loose was wearing a pair of pants much too large and a shirt much too small. Spike had found an old belt to help keep her dressed, but her large chest would stretch even the largest dresses and skirts Twilight owned.

Twilight saw Screw Loose fidget as she approached. She put a hand on the stitched up shoulder. Warm to the touch. Excellent.

“Hello there,” Twilight said with kindness and a shake. Screw Loose started and blinked blearily.

Twilight got her first good look at the mare. Screw Loose had a light blue skin tone, whereas Screwball was of a light pink. Much of Screw Loose’s skin wasn’t viable dermal protection, so Twilight grafted what she could of Screwball onto her. It gave her a patched up appearance and she still bore the thread holding the grafts in place. She also bore a significant number of Screwball’s organs, the most notable of which was one of her eyes. Her right was Screw Loose’s original violet, and the other Screwball’s fuchsia.

She snapped away from Twilight’s hand and backed up until she pressed against the wall. Screw Loose opened her mouth to speak but nothing came.

“Easy, easy,” Twilight squatted down and Spike followed suit. “You’ve been through a lot.” More than anypony had ever gone through. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

Screw Loose’s mouth opened once again, but said nothing. A pink hand went to her breast. She seemed surprised by her own action and began looking at both palms. After a moment’s observation, as if she forgot she had company, her eyes returned to Spike and Twilight.

‘She’s nonvocal,’ Twilight noted. ‘She shouldn’t have speech aphasia. The frontal lobe was fine.’

She kneeled and held a hand to her chest. “Twilight Sparkle.” She put her hand on Spike’s shoulder. “Spike.”

Screw Loose looked back and forth between them. She put a hand to her own chest and prepared to speak, but expectedly issued only silence. A minute passed before she inched her way forward.

“Do you remember your name?” Twilight asked slowly. Screw Loose flinched, opened her mouth, then closed it. Another minute passed before Screw Loose started creeping forward. She reached out a hand. Twilight did the same, grateful that they were making some sort of headway.

Something that vanished in a puff of smoke when Screw Loose started running her hand through her feathers. She ran a hand through the feathers once, then twice, a look of whimsical wonder on her face. She looked over her own shoulder as if to check if she had feathers. She leaned forward a little more, reaching for Twilight’s wings.

Twilight saw the look of alarm just a hair before Screw Loose slipped and tumbled off the bed. The two of them fell in a heap and flailing limbs as Screw Loose panicked and grabbed onto Twilight, only to bring her to the ground with her.

“Ow...” Twilight moaned. Spike just chuckled to himself. “You could have done something.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as funny.”

Screw Loose rubbed her head and got to her knees. She blinked and cocked her head, and, now that she was almost in Twilight’s lap, began running a hand on Twilight’s wing in wonder.

“Screw Loose?”

Screw Loose looked at her and tilted her head. Good. At least she knew her own name even if she couldn’t speak.

Wait. Did she know her own name, or was she just responding to Twilight’s voice? She’d have to test that out. Right now, figuring out why she couldn’t speak seemed more pertinent.

“Spike, can you get a flashlight?” He wordlessly got up and left the room. “Alright, patchwork pony, I’m going to need you to follow my finger.”

Twilight held up a finger. Screw Loose looked at her own hand and held up a finger.

“No, I need you to watch my finger as I move it.”

Twilight pointed towards her heterochromatic eyes, and then to her own finger. She started moving it from side to side. Screw Loose ignored the implied request to watch her finger move and instead moved her own finger. Twilight facepalmed, another act Screw Loose mimicked much to her chagrin. Spike can back carrying a pocket flashlight and handed it to Twilight.

“Alright,” she said. Twilight turned it on and shined it at Screw Loose’s eyes. Violet and fuchsia blinked back at her. “Dilatations are fine.”

“Hmm?” Spike asked.

“Checking for blood clots. Speech aphasia is a common result of a stroke and you can sometimes tell by the pupil.”

Twilight’s explanation was cut off by Spike’s titanic belch. She leaned away in disgust before she saw the emerald flames slithering from his open maw. In a flash of dragonflame, a single scroll stamped with Celestia’s personal seal fell into his hands.

“Haaaah!” Screw Loose’s cry of delight was enough to make a smile tug Twilight’s lips. Of all things to break her silence, it was a vulgarity. The way she looked at Spike, smile wide and hands clasped together, made her think of a foal first seeing presents on Hearth’s Warming Eve.

‘At least we know her voice works.’

“Here.” Spike handed her the letter. “I’ll keep princess entertained while you see what’s up.”

Well, her attention was entirely focused on him. He sat down next to her and she clapped once. “Wanna see a magic trick?”

Twilight left Screw Loose in his more than capable claws. Crude, childish humor the sudden letter may have produced, at least she was bonding with someone now. Twiligh got up and walked back into the lab where Screw Loose had been revived the previous night.

Did something go wrong with the procedure? She had to have gotten it right, but Screw Loose couldn’t speak correctly. Screw Loose wasn’t in the best mental health when she died, but she was capable of carrying on a conversation. She could speak, and recognize people and words.

Perhaps... Yes, another means of expressionism instead. They could test her creativity, see if she could draw or write instead of speak. There was some colored pencils in storage somewhere. She’d have to ask Spike where they were now. Screw Loose was acting childlike. Start with a child’s tools and work all the way up.

So many questions, so much data to collect.

Sighing, she broke the seal on the scroll and unrolled it.

My dear Twilight,

I apologize for the tardiness of this letter. While I do ascribe the excuse partly to state business, the truth of the matter is I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. I am afraid you had caught me by quite the surprise. I’ve lived long enough that I have a response for nearly any inquiry, but this was one of the rare few that I chose to take my time to carefully word.

I do congratulate you in one sense. Death is not something to be feared, but embraced. I’m proud that you do not not suffer in that sense, but it is my understanding that you worry over the loss of loved ones. As contradictory as what I am about to say may feel, please take it to heart: that is good.

I don’t know how to love my subjects, friends, and family, and not feel the agony of loss. One comes with the other invariably in my experience. If you feel that ache, it means you have yet to fall so far you don’t know empathy, the difference from right and wrong. Death comes for us all. Not even I can stop death when he comes for me.

I have known ponies in the past who shied away from others until their hearts have turned to stone because they could not vanquish the constant fear of losing them. They would rather not make friends and avoid that pain rather than have them and risk suffering a tragic breakup or death. To them, pain holds more sway over pleasure.

Yet as I say that, I fully understand why they would make such a decision. I have seen soldiers with eyes of iron and hearts of ash. They know life can change and all company included may die in a single moment. For the long lived, we cannot help but retain the company and friendship of others. Age after age is a long time to live with one’s own thought. We need others to keep us in check, to keep us grounded if we stray from our path, to catch us if we fall. Some call it a necessity. Some call it survivor’s guilt.

I know what I am about to say may very well change your opinion of me. For better or worse, please hear me through to the end.

In olden times, my sister and I had each other until that night. Ageless need others, be it for companionship or like likes like. I am not an exception. I didn’t know what that lesson meant until a few centuries afterward. I’ve made mistakes in my life, Twilight. I’ve corrected what I can, but understand that Luna was my own anchor, and without her, I started to drift. It was small things, at first. Nigh inconsequential.

At this, Twilight saw smudged ink stained into the parchment where a single splash marred the page and was brushed away.

You are too young to feel the full burden of rule. There are those that place absolute stock in a ruler’s word, their every whim and desire. I could have had terrible things done for my amusement, and to my everlasting shame, all it took was a word. Power corrupts, dear Twilight. In darker times I would reflect on my deeds. I was a good princess, I told myself. I believe I am today, but good and bad isn’t such a clear, binary measure of one’s worth. A wicked pony can still be honorable. A good pony can still commit terrible sins.

I knew my sister would return one day, her wrath greater and more terrible than ever before. I didn’t care. I loved her, and I didn’t care. I could have faced a demon, or the gentle eyes of my Luna, but I had lost myself. I had been drifting for so long, I didn’t even know what I stood for anymore. As her return drew nearer, I had lost my sense of right and wrong. I was going through the paces of life and rule one day at a time. I firmly believe if I had met Nightmare Moon that solstice, I would have given myself over to the darkness.

And that’s when a miracle happened. You.

I’ve loved and lost subjects and students, but never in all my years had I met a pony who could surpass me, who aspired to so much with such a love of learning. You were my savior, my reason to be. I watched you grow and develop into a blade of hope and sacrosanct values. I dried your eyes when you were sad and praised your achievements. You were my anchor to keep me from a suicidal end.

Starswirl has passed. One day, Sunset Shimmer will pass. One day, you will pass. One day, my sister and I shall pass. Regardless of the inevitability, everyone in my life has given me so much joy. Love your friends, Twilight. Love them and never let them go until their passing is at hand. When that time comes, know there will be those around you to help you shoulder that burden. Remember the good times and bad, and share a drink with those that remain over a fire. The scar will remain, but the wound will heal.

No doubt I have given you much to think about. Day or night, you are always welcome in my walls. I understand the contents of this letter may have some ramifications, and I invite you to the castle for a personal talk at your convenience.

With you until the end,

Celestia

To keep oneself grounded.

Twilight's friends were there through the good times and bad. They laughed at the terrible jokes, and sat with her on a blanket under the warm summer sun. There were there to tell her when she was wrong and had taken things too far. Celestia would have known better than anypony what Twilight felt, or understood the impetus that would drive her to delve into necromantic magics.

Wouldn’t Celestia more than any other embrace her success? Maybe...

So why had it not crossed her mind until now to tell her mentor and oldest friend?

Necromancy was, to put it politely, “frowned upon”, and what would one as kind and benevolent as Celestia think upon seeing her practice such dark arts? As long as Celestia didn’t know, she would see the shy little filly, her innocence unspoiled by the utter terror of being alone. If Celestia didn’t know, she would remain a friend. The friendship wouldn’t die.

“I don’t want to be alone...”

The letter slipped from Twilight’s fingers and flittered to the ground. She made no attempts to catch it and instead slid down against the wall until she was huddled in a ball. Her breath hitched in her throat and at long last she began to cry.

Author's Note

I have a Patreon now that I am on the run from the king. He didn't approve of me climbing to the princess' bedroom.