“You dawdle, fair Hyacinth.”
I did not, but it profited me little to point this out. My mistress is not a harsh or cruel one, but she is not soft in the way that some mistresses are. She is not the wilting flower some noble mares make of themselves, nor is she the iron edged ruler that others aspire to uphold. She expects that I be diligent, courteous, and intelligent, and that is all she requires. Of myself, I require far more, but that is my own doing.
And I do try to be the kind of aide that she deserves, but palace life is hectic and all of us, from the lowliest runner to the hoofmaids of the Princesses themselves, are never given a moment’s respite whilst there is work somewhere, anywhere, for anypony at all. Strive, strive, strive. That is the motto of Miss Honeycomb, and even though she has gone on to her sweet reward I and all of her many charges have never stopped hearing her warm, sweet voice ridiculously preaching in our ears.
“Forgive me, my Lady,” I say instead, levitating the small tray over to her table. It is the usual evening tray, the one she takes after waking, but before meeting her sister for dinner. Light fare, as always: coffee from a press, a cup, a pastry from the kitchens, a napkin. Princess Luna takes her coffee black, sometimes with honey and sometimes without. I always make sure she has the option.
My duties are simple but taxing. The everyday normalcy that my Lady craves, nay, that my Lady deserves is not as simple or as everyday as she knows or cares to know. My evenings are devoted to securing the easiest, calmest, most perfect route for her royal hooves through every encounter. She is early by five minutes to all meals, always on time with paperwork and petitions, always provided with exactly the small luxuries she wishes for in a timely manner, and never lacks for assistance.
“There is little to forgive. It was only a moment,” she says, and I note that she has not looked towards me at all. This is not so unusual. My Lady is so very often at work at her easel and she is hard to pull away from it. Not that I would wish to.
“Would you like honey, my Lady?”
“No. Bitter seems fitting,” she says, and sighs. “Hyacinth, tell me: have you received any word from a certain Summer Rose?”
I blinked. “Ah… no, I have not. Pray, if it is not overbold of me, might I inquire as to their identity? I could send a missive along for you and have them summoned hither with ease.”
It is a rare and frankly troubling thing to be caught unawares by my Lady in regards to seeking company. Generally, her seneschal Swift Eclipse handles such matters as scheduling, but he always provides me with a thorough account of our mutual liege’s expected visitors, that I might best serve their collective needs. To be left in the dark is… new. Novel, and not in a way that I like. But I swallow this.
She waves my offer away. “No, no. You misunderstand. If she has sent no word, then I have no use of her.”
I blink. “Of course,” I say, repeating what is and has always been the frequent prayer of the servant. Of course, sir, whatever you say, my lady. It means little but affirms much. And, in a pinch, it does help to slow down the inevitable.
Princess Luna sighs again. It is a deep sigh. It is, I am quite sad to say, a very familiar sigh.
For a time, she is silent. I wish that there was something small and unintrusive I could do, something that would devour the time between her sighing and her speech. It is obvious that she wishes me to stay and listen, for oft when my Lady wished for privacy she flatly requested it. Yet in the meantime, standing still by her table, before her opulent couch, seems improprietous in the extreme. I am a servant. I should serve. Whilst I am about my night this should be the core of my being.
As I shuffled, perplexed, I remembered something that the late Miss Honeycomb had told me when I still worked on the lower floors: They serve also who stand and wait.
So I stand, and I wait.
“Is it so much to ask for,” said my Lady at last, “that a pony I invite—in person, no less!—should at the very least send word if she cannot arrive on time? Or at all, even?”
“No,” I say. “It is very reasonable, my Lady.”
“So I thought.”
She says nothing more, whatever goes on in her mind. Instead, she turns at last to the tray that I had brought for her. My Lady may not be one of those wilting noblemares, nor like any of the myriad sorts of higher persons, but she is still the Lady, and she takes her morning tray quietly and with practiced grace.
I continue to wait. Much of a servant’s life is in the waiting. One waits to do everything, it feels like. Or at least, the parts of the servant’s life one experiences that are not numbed by effort. I guess that is a sign that my life has changed! When I lived and worked on the lower floors, I never waited. Everything was motion and act, everything was work. We collapsed, giggling, into our beds at night exhausted.
But when I began to move up, both figuratively and literally, I worked less and less. Oh, I worked just as hard! If anything, I worked harder. But it was a different kind of work. I spent less time scrubbing floors and more time standing by doors in anticipation of some summons to do… well, anything. The ponies of the Palatial suites are either indolent or incapable. I’ve not decided.
When the Lady is done, I wait a moment for her to settle back into the couch. She always keeps her cup. It may sound odd, but I appreciate that. The others would have one cup or just half of one and then I would have to awkwardly attempt to carry the tray back to the kitchen without spilling it. But my Lady finishes hers and has me leave the rest so that she might pour her own and ponder. She says that it helps her to think, if I leave her for a time and return.
One may imagine my surprise when, as I am leaving, she speaks to me.
She has never spoken to me at this juncture. It is not that she has never spoken to me, for she obviously has many a time. Princess Luna is not as, ah, sunny in her disposition as her sister. It is true that she is not quite as sociable as Princess Celestia, but she has her moments. She often talks to us, her attendants. Why, I myself have spent nights with her in the great observatory, the Tower of Stars, and have read to her from many a text. She loved Hoofrace the most, for she would ask of me again and again to read his odes.
“Hyacinth, stay yourself a moment,” she says, as I begin to levitate the tray and its contents. “Or, rather, there is no doubt other…” she waves a hoof. “A cup of some sort, for yourself. Stay awhile and sit on the other couch.”
“I…” I blink, my magic still gripping the tray. “If you wish, Princess.”
“I do wish. Have a seat.”
This is irregular at best. The Princess always asks for privacy after her late afternoon meal. But… what can I do? Her attendants are bound by her word and whim.
Her couch faces another couch, with a small table in between where sits the tray I brought. Carefully, still a bit nervous, I I sat as properly as I could on the soft, opulent cushion. Finding a cup was trickier. It was true that there was a cabinet behind me against the wall, and it was true that it had tea cups. It was also true that each one of those cups was a priceless artifact gifted by Germane dignitaries a century before I was born.
This makes them worth more than me, and this obviously a test of some sort.
I try not to show how nervous I am as I turn my head and pick out a single cup. Does the choice hold any meaning? Or, rather, I mean--does the specific cup spell out some secret? Her eyes are upon me, I know they are, yet as always her intention is opaque.
I swallow, select my cup, and levitate it over, constantly imagining it falling out of my grip and shattering. The rest is a nervous blur.
Luna says nothing. She just… She sits. She sits and she listens. Or perhaps she waits for me to speak. Or she merely thinks. I don’t know! I am unsure and have no script to follow. Such behavior is not simply unlike my Lady, but unlike all of those ponies who dwell in the Palace, who sleep in the great chambers.
“It is a shame, really. I had been looking forward to company,” she says. I nod, because nodding seems the appropriate action, and she continues. “Summer Rose is a fascinating pony, or at least, I believed her to be one. Beautiful as her name, whether she is worth attention or not. Our conversation was lively, and as lovely as her form. I had hoped for her company.” She shrugs and looks away for a moment.
Usually, I would say something. When I have a conversation with another pony, it is not merely one of us talking and the other listening with worry. At least, it is not usually that way. But how else can I be? I am a servant. I should not be conversing with a Princess as an equal.
But… her voice. She seems so sad. I try to imagine this Summer Rose but my mind only draws blanks. Whoever she is, I find myself frustrated with her. Indignant on behalf of my lady. How dare she! Princess Luna only wishes for company.
And here I am, not giving her company.
“I am sorry she did not send word,” I say, before I can think twice of it.
She smiles, still not looking at me. “Thank you. But is really of no consequence. Not in the, ah, grand scheme of things. Probably not.” She takes a sip, and I wonder if I am expected to do the same. What if I am too loud? Or don’t appreciate it enough? Should I be thanking her? Or would that be annoying?
My mother had always told me that I was a nervous filly, and she was absolutely right. “If there is anything we can do to help, we will all put our very best effort forward. Myself especially, seeing as I am here in person. If that isn’t too forward.”
“It is or isn’t.” She smiles again. “That is also a thing which matters not. No, put that mare far from your thoughts, fair Hyacinth. Instead, for your uncharacteristic boldness this night on my behalf—little as it was—I believe I shall make of you a surrogate. Tell me of yourself.”
I blinked, not understanding at first. “W-what?”
“Yourself. I would like to learn of you and your comings and goings, your works and days, so on and such. Go on.” Only now she turned to look at me, and her smile kept me from protesting that surely she did not wish to know.
For, suddenly, I felt that she did, and I had no idea why.
“Well, I guess that you know most of my current duties,” I began. “As most of them involve you, my Lady.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Yet there is much I do not see.” She lays her saucer and cup down and sits looking right at me now. I’ve always thought that she was lovely, but I had forgotten that she could be… intimidating, and in equal measure.
“I… well. I guess I could…” I purse my lips, gather myself, and begin again. “I am sorry, my Lady—”
“Would it help if I allowed you to use my name? Or would that make things worse?”
“I-I couldn’t!”
“Why?”
I set down my cup, worried that in my shock I will drop it. “W-Well, my Lady—”
“Luna,” she says, grinning. And that is when I see them. “Call me Luna.”
All of us, the maids of the high towers of Everfree, whisper when we are finally safe in our quarters, away from the ears and eyes of our betters. Much of what we said is best described as gossip, both idle and harmless. That such and such Lord had tried to impress one or both of our Ladies and been unsuccessful, or how another had done some great deed and been praised in return. The nights and days after formal events were where this trade in hearsay grew thickest, as those who had been serving related delicious tidbits to those who had not.
But there was one story which was widely known among us, which we did not repeat.
It was said that Princess Luna was not like her sister. There were signs, so the whispers related, that showed this. Eyes with a reptilian aspect in the full moon. A baleful aura in the new moon. Hooves of ice that drained the very warmth of the air at her command. All of these were, of course, ludicrous. Having spent much time with the Princess in relative close quarters, I could attest to it. The other night-shift maids in waiting could as well, and we were protective of our graceful Lady. But there was one whisper that was harder to ignore, one that we denied as fervently as all the rest, but that we knew in secret was true.
When my Lady smiled at me, I saw them—fangs, long and sharp, bared to me like a wolf’s—and I managed not to tremble only by force of will. How can a face hold no threat yet terrify, all at once? How can one pony’s visage seem so obviously good natured yet fill my mind with images of dread?
“L-Luna. Oh, dear, are you quite sure?” I asked, trying to sound reasonable still. “It would be very improper. Miss Honeycomb would flay me alive even today if she heard me!”
Luna chuckles. “And come out of retirement?” But then she sighs. “I miss old Honeycomb. She was a good pony. Does she still live?”
I nod. “Yes. Sometimes, when I have a day or two to myself, I and whoever else can will go into the city to visit her. She lives near where the forest begins. The girls and I will bring her something from a bakery on the way… Or, if we remember, we’ll have the kitchens make us a cake.” I look down at my coffee before taking a sip, remembering the last time. “She was excited to see us, even if it was just myself and Primrose and Dust Bunny. Especially Dust Bunny, especially her—I think seeing someone so new, who didn’t even know her, meant a lot. She It’s always a little hard to adjust my sleeping schedule, but it’s worth it.”
“I do not know this Dust Bunny of which you speak.”
“Oh, she, ah… she’s new,” I say. “She’s only worked in the palace a few months, but she’s a dear.”
Luna hummed. “But what about you? You haven’t told me anything yet.”
The nervousness returns. I had hoped to leave that behind.
“I’m nothing of importance, my—I mean, Luna. I mean…” I work my jaw a moment, trying to come up with an answer, any answer. “I’m really nothing special.”
She clicks her tongue. “What? Surely you have something, fairest Hyacinth.”
Fairest Hyacinth. She’s always called me that. Hearing her call me that again makes me want to find something she will approve of, if only so she…
“W-well… I am far too busy these days for hobbies or idle pursuits. But when I was younger, I did enjoy singing. Not that I was very skilled, mind you! Just that I enjoyed it. Ah, and embroidery, my mother taught me and it was oddly relaxing. Simple things, my Lady. I’ve always been a very simple pony.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Ah, you sing! This I had not guessed, and it is a shame that only now I know. It has been too long since last I heard an honest voice. Would you not sing for me?”
My throat is dry. Sing? Sing for ponies? Sing not just for any pony, but for the Princess herself?
“I-I couldn’t,” I manage. “I mean, I’m so rusty, and I’m not really that good—”
She waves a hoof at me. “Nonsense, nonsense. The quality of a songstress is not merely in her tongue and in her timbre but in her heart as well! I beg a song of you.”
What song? It’s like every song I know has just vanished. I can’t remember any lyrics, or tunes, or… or no, I remember one. I could do one short refrain without totally botching it. Maybe. I lick my lips nervously, still feeling parched and like any moment my legs will give out, but I stand.
I clear my throat. My Lady smiles expectantly with her sharp eyes focused on me.
I sing.
The fire of friendship lives in our hearts
As long as it burns, we cannot drift apart
Though quarrels arise, their numbers are few
Laughter and singing will see us through
We are a circle of pony friends
A circle of friends we'll be to the very end
The last note dies sooner than it should. My voice is shaky throughout. It was never shaky when I sang before! But I always sang alone, or just to my family. Singing in front of the Princess is like somepony is sitting on your lungs, and you don’t have time to get them off, and even if you had time you couldn’t, because you have to sing now and it’s like being apart from yourself trying to understand why your leg won’t stop nervously shaking.
But she smiles even wider and claps for me. “Superb, Hyacinth. And an interesting choice. What compelled you to choose this song among all songs?”
I sit back down, straightening my uniform as I do. “Well… to be honest, my—I mean, Luna, I picked that song because I couldn’t remember the words to any of the others. I hadn’t expected to sing.”
“This is a fair reason,” she says. She returns to her coffee, still smiling, and I think perhaps that I am free, but then she begins again with new questions.
“So, you are an artist of a sort. It is even more fitting that you would be a part of my court, if even a small part. Pray tell me more. Hearth’s Warming. Do you visit your family still?”
“I… I try to,” I say. “I wasn’t able to last Hearth’s Warming. We were preparing for the celebration, and then when we drew straws to see who who would stay and who would go home, I drew poorly. My parents understood, but it was not my favorite,” I say, and then sit up straighter. “Not that I’m complaining! I’m not!”
“I did not see it as such,” Luna says calmly.
“Hearth’s Warming here was lovely in its own way,” I continue on, hastily. “After all, the palace was delightful! I enjoyed decorating the halls, and even though I was working, I still was able to be at the Yule Ball. Seeing it was good enough for me.”
“You did not wish to dance?”
“I didn’t really have anypony to dance with,” I mutter, and then shake my head. “I mean, no! No, ma’am. My—I mean, Luna.”
“So formal! So nervous. Do relax, fair Hyacinth. You act as if I am come to claim you for some awful crime.” She leans in, and just for a moment as her smile twists into a smirk—playful! I’m sure—I see the tips of her fangs. “And you’ve done no wrong, I am sure.”
“N-no. None at all.”
“Then the matter is settled! So let it be done, and so on.” She sits back, lounging and sipping and waiting, I think, for me.
It is not that I am afraid of Princess Luna, for I am not. She has ever been kind to me, in the way that mistresses are kind to servants. She has never once scolded me harshly, nor has she been unfair or unjust. If anything, she was kinder than I had expected her to be!
But seeing her now, I realize that there is more to her than I know. Before, she has usually seemed reserved. Were I sure of privacy, I might have described her as almost sullen at times. But now she seems so animated and full of energy. Not once has she been so eager to converse.
I am ashamed of my own behavior. I want to feel comfortable, if only for her sake. Is it not a lonely thing to be a Princess? I have thought as much before, but it was not my place to say anything about it or do anything about it, and yet here I am now. It is my place to alleviate some of that burden, if it is not just my imagination.
But I do so wish I could keep my tongue from betraying me.
“Your parents live, then,” she says. “What of your family at large?”
“I have a young brother. He wants to join the guard,” I say, and then, before I can think better of it: “I am worried that he will be hurt and that it will come to grief, but I do not wish to hamper him with my concern. He may choose some other path! Joining the guard is still a few years off.”
She nods. “That is a wise concern. What regiment draws from your hometown?”
“I live in Shady Vale. It was actually one of the reasons that I was recommended for your service, m—Luna. Oh dear, it is so strange to be so casual with you. I apologize if I overstep myself… But the Lunar First draws from my home.”
“So he shall be one of mine then! This is good to hear. Perhaps I shall keep an eye on him, if he does declare. Would this ease your worry?”
I nod. “Oh, thank you! It would, to know that someone is keeping an eye on him. You needn’t go to any trouble for one such as I.”
“Nonsense. You have been faithful to me, and so I shall be faithful to you. Think nothing of it.”
I swear that my face is flushed, and I look away for a moment. Blushing like a school filly! What she must think of me, I scarce can imagine.
“Tit for tat! Fair exchange. I have asked after you, and now you should ask after me.”
I look up. “After you?”
She nods.
“Well…” All of my first thoughts are ridiculous. I need something safe. “What is night court like? I have never been. My duties always take me elsewhere.”
She rolls her eyes. “Here I am, in relaxation, and you speak to me of work!”
I cringe. “I’m sorry, I—”
“It is a jest. Nothing more,” she says, soothingly. “It is interesting, at times. I shall see to it that you accompany me in such matters shortly. But I sense that you passed up many questions to arrive at this one. What else teases at the edge of your mind? Be not shy. A good conversation is the pinnacle of a night well spent.”
“I… I am not sure what to ask.”
She smirks again. Again, I see her fangs. Just a little. More the suggestion than the reality. Does she see me stare? Oh, stars, I hope not! I’m being rude. More than that, I am being far too forward. Yet I cannot help but look and wonder and fear, perhaps. I cannot look anywhere else, either. Her eyes are too sharp, too focused. They see right through you and they always have.
“Ah… ah, I see now what tugs at your mind.” She grins even wider, and now they are not suggestions but the concrete reality. Fangs, long and—surely I imagine them glinting, surely—and I shiver. She seems less pony in this moment, and more beast. But I cannot bear to think of this.
“I… I don’t know what you mean.”
“Am I a fearsome creature?”
“No!” I say, almost shouting. But instantly I retreat. “I mean, no, my Lady, you are not. Not to me.”
She tsks. I know that she is making sure I see them.
“Hyacinth, Hyacinth, what are we to do with you? Your body gives you away, you know. The body always does.”
“I… I am so very sorry. I have been terribly rude to you, and—”
She holds up a hoof to stop me, and I do stop.
“Be still, and let me speak. Here, I shall tell you a secret that few know. This is the form that I was, ah, born with, but it is not my only visage. Do the maids and scullions whisper also of this, in addition to our other attested abilities? I have heard many stories, though none knew I heard them.”
“You… I do not… I do not understand.”
But I do understand. I know what she’s trying to say. And hadn’t somepony suggested once that my Lady surely possessed such a talent, to alter her appearance at will? How else did she seem at some times to be almost a shadow, and at others to be so regal, so very emphatically present? How did she seem to have no fangs or sharp eyes at times? We whispered of inconsistencies. But I do not think that any of us believed a word of it.
They are, in the end, so unlike us. They walk as we do, talk in our tongue. They have horns like unicorns do, and fly as the pegasi, and they walk with great resounding steps, sure of hoof as any earth pony. Yet even in these things they are alien. My Lady’s magic is not simply superior to my own. It is different. The Royal Sisters fly as pegasi do, but with power and skill that no pegasi born of mare could hope to match. Their strength is beyond a platoon of the strongest earth ponies many times over, and I have heard it said that they sing songs which cause the earth itself to tremble in anticipation.
So it is easy to speculate. It is hard to feel that one may be comfortable. Because, even one such as I who spends day and night in the presence of Alicorns may at some point in time find herself confronted with such frightening possibilities.
“You mean an illusion? A charm, My—Luna. I mean…” I cough. My throat feels tight. “A charm like the mages of the College can perform.”
“Aye, those too. But no, I mean something far more simple. I need not cover my form with glamour. I may, if I wish. That is foal’s play.” She begins to rise, and even though I feel it would be prudent and proper that I also rise, I find I cannot. I could almost imagine that she worked some magic that held me rooted in my place, but surely not. I’ve seen no evidence of that. “When I assume a new form, I do not merely cloak myself in light and sound. I alter myself. I reconstitute, I reconstruct. I am what I wish to be, no more or less.”
And then, before my eyes, she works a miracle. Is that what I should call it? Is that the right word? It is not ordinary. It is beyond the pale. It is unlike anything I have ever seen, and unlike all that I have ever wished to see. A dark miracle, perhaps.
There is no great magic glow. There is no snap or crack or any other noise that heralds her change. One moment, she is my Lady as she has always been, aloof with the knife-eyes and the studied chill, and the next she is changing, she is nebulous, amorphous, like… like a cloud of stars, but her eyes peer out still by some unknown skill and pierce me through. No, they pin me here. That is what pins me to my seat as the cloud loses her shape, as it becomes… as it becomes nothing at all, and then coalesces. Those eyes are like the pin that transfixes the beetle in some colt’s prized collection.
What stands between the little table and the couch which my Lady so loves is not her at all.
It is me.
It is not me, exactly. It is mostly me. It is the Hyacinth that might have existed in the mind of one who saw me in passing as I went about my duties in the halls of the Palace. Her mane is too long, and… and, Stars, there is no cutie mark on her flank. The tail is too short, and braided as I often have mine when I’m on duty. The eyes are still her eyes.
“How have I done, hm? It is but the work of a moment. With time I could perhaps do better.”
Finally, at last, I feel that I am free to move. But I do not. I so desperately wish to put the couch between myself and this… this broken image, but I dare not.
“My Lady, is that you? Are you…” I do not even know what it I hope to hear, but she answers regardless.
“Oh, do calm yourself.” She advances, gliding around the side of the table. And of course she sits beside me, as if we were just old friends.
I do not want to fear her. I do not. It feels wrong to fear her. More than that, it feels cruel. Yet I do not understand what has come over her, or what has prompted all of this. And there… there I am, but it is not me. It is a caricature drawn of me. Like a mockery. Its very existence hints at malice, but what have I done that my lady would revile me so?
“I… I am sorry,” I say, my voice hitching. “Please, if I may, ah, be so bold… Please wear another form.”
Her smile freezes and then fades away, until she is simply regarding me, frowning with my lips and regarding me with her eyes.
“Does this frighten you? Do I?”
“To see myself reflected in this way does,” I say quickly. “Please.”
She draws back. I can no longer bear to see this wrong reflection, and so turn away, so I do not see whatever there is to see in her face.
But in a moment, there is another pony on the couch.
This one is smaller than my Lady is usually, but still very much like her. If anything, she seems… herself, but younger. Far younger. Gone is the ethereal, flowing mane of stars and nebulae and in its place is a light blue mane, cut short. Everything about her is smaller, more manageable.
“Does this suit you?” she asks.
“It is less frightening. I am sorry.”
“No, it I who am sorry.” She shakes her head. “I wished to jest and I troubled you instead. Forgive me. I am in high spirits and let myself be too bold. It is to be an… eventful night, you see.”
I felt guilty. “No, I overreacted,” I say, turning to her. “Forgive me. Thank you for sharing your secrets, Lady Luna.” I grin as I say her name, putting just the tiniest bit of emphasis on the title so that it bounced. She chuckles.
“You wished to know about this,” she said, pointing to her open smile. I nod.
“If you don’t mind. I’m sorry about being nervous.”
“It is quite alright. Understandable, as well. Shall I tell you a story? Perhaps you will understand, then.” She pauses, and hums. “More than that, even. You know, I was to paint.”
“Paint?”
She nods. “Aye. Summer Rose had agreed to stand for me, but I have no model now. Would you be so kind as to do so? It would not be burdensome, and I shall tell you a story while you wait.”
And, like that, she leaves me flustered again. “Me? But… Surely not! Surely there is somepony more suited for such an honor.”
“Ah, but if they are so suited, why are they not here? Here we have a perfectly fine specimen, ripe for the call of duty. Or, more accurately, a request of a friend.” Luna smiles at me, and… well. The thought is still galling, but I want to say yes. Almost despite myself, I want to.
My Lady’s paintings are famous for a good reason. They adorn many of the higher floors of the Palace, and each is a stunning work of absolute mastery. Each one is precise but somehow wild, perfectly composed yet seeming to be the work of an unschooled and radically free imagination.
I have always loved them.
I am about to say yes, just a simple agreement, but somehow that is not what comes out of my fool mouth. Almost as if it is dragged out of me. “Will you hang it in the halls with the others?”
Before I can say another such horribly embarassing thing, I clamp both hooves over my traitorous mouth.
Luna blinks, shocked no doubt by my arrogance and—
Laughs. Laughs openly and honestly. “For you and your boldness, young mare of Shady Vale? Certainly. In fact, I think I shall entitle it thusly! A Mare of the Vale. How would you like that?”
“I would love it,” I say between my hooves, which still hide my face.
“Then it is decided,” she says, laughing as she nudges me to my hooves with a light magical touch. “I shall make you my muse for the evening. Come, fairest of the daughters of the Vale!”
She walks towards the door leading to her private suite by herself. I hurry to follow.
But first I think to myself that it was odd that I didn’t feel her magic the way I normally feel another unicorn’s. Just a push, no tingling touch or quiet thrum or anything at all.
Clothes were uncommon, to say the least. At least, they were uncommon for those such as myself. Oh, sure, I wear a uniform, and it covers most of my body. But that wasn’t clothing. It was a badge of office, if you want to call it that. Few commoners wear clothing in their day to day. Expense aside, there’s no real meaning in it for us. Clothes are showy. They can be uncomfortable. Oh, farmers love their hats and I’ll wear a scarf in the street sometime during the winter, but otherwise?
So wearing clothes like this is strange. If it were only that, maybe it wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary, but…
Luna smiles around the edge of the canvas. “Do stay still, Hyacinth!”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” I say, biting my lower lip.
No, the clothes are not the oddest part. The posing is the oddest part.
She’s put me on her bed—which is also a bit unsettling. Uncomfortable? I can’t think of a way to describe it without seeming to question my Lady’s honor!—and bid me lay on my side, as if reclining on a gilded lady’s couch as if for symposia. As soon as I was positioned, it was if the boundaries between us had fallen away. Before I could say a word or try to regain my sense of decorum, she had descended on me, moving me with hoof or her strange, ghostly magic.
I did not complain. Why should I? She was working, and I was honored. Flustered, yes, but still honored. I almost cried out in dismay when she undid my bun and let my mane fall free around my face, but she seemed so focused and though I was a bit embarrassed… It is shameful to admit, but I was pleased to be fretted over so.
She outfitted me with selections from her own finery, and this I did attempt to protest, but she simply laughed and bade me accept them for her sake and for her art’s sake. She knew my weakness at last, it seemed. I relented—for the art.
For the art that I had admired time and time and time again, gazing in the halls, stopping at times to linger at this portrait or that one. I had only been witness to her work a few times, and only briefly, bringing her some small morsel or water as she worked. But I have always wished to stay and to watch. Several times in my stay here, working for my Lady, I had dreamed of something quite like this.
“I will try to be still,” I say, and she nods encouragingly at me before returning to work.
“If you do,” she says, her voice light, “I shall tell you the story that I spoke of, and you shall perhaps understand me better.”
“Your, uh, your fangs?”
“Yes, those. They are but a part.”
“Is it alright? I would not wish to intrude.”
I imagine her nodding her head, though I cannot see. “Of course not. To be honest, it would be nice to tell it to somepony. I have not told this tale in a long time.”
She hums, and I listen.
And I remember old dreams.
Shameful dreams, really. Things it would be better to forget. You know, I was infatuated with her when first I came to the Palace to serve. It is not so uncommon for young servants to find themselves enamored with one of the sisters. What is there but excellence? They are beautiful and kind and serene and regal. And Luna, she walks in beauty, like the night, all starry climes and distant galaxies that only the mages can hope to see unaided.
I was younger then. But sometimes it was a nice dream to entertain. Now it is just humiliating.
“Do you know wherein my sister and I resided, ‘ere we come to this place?”
“No. But I have heard that you lived in the West.”
“Aye,” she says. “The West, the truest west, beyond the great ocean. Beyond the ports and the veldt… at least at first. We wandered for years and years. But towards the end of our wanderings, I found a dark thing. A horrible, shameful thing. A thing that would change me.”
I blink. “What sort of thing?”
“Have you ever heard of vampires, Hyacinth? Sweet, innocent Hyacinth.”
“W-what?” I laugh, but its unconvincing even to my own ears. “What? Of course, as a tale in books and such. They are the sort of thing a pony talks about around a fire in the winter, to amuse friends and foals.”
She tsks. “They are now. I am glad of it, despite everything. Even now, I am glad that ponies can laugh at them.” She hums again, and I can strain to hear the touch of her brush upon the canvas.
I remember how wonderful the lighting was in her portraits. They were always dark… and now it occurred to me that they had probably all been painted here, in this room. There is little light. Candles, and a single magical lamp above us are the only things that supplement the starlight through her open window.
The sheets are soft. Part of me wishes that I could stay and sleep upon them, and the rest of me is mortified at the impropriety.
“So they were real, once?”
“Aye. Though perhaps not as you imagine.”
My sister and I came into the city of Sarnath around noon.
You see, Sarnath is in the farthest West, past the great now-acursed city of Jannah, which is the spoke of the world. The city, or what one sees of it at a glance, is not impressive. Not on the surface. The great veldt is given over to rocks there, and what starts as badlands is rough, craggy hills before long. Here is the dreadful and desolate region that the few inhabitants of the farthest reaches of our plane call The Thorns.
There are hundreds of crags here, hundreds of small entrances to winding tunnels, most of which were too small for myself or my sister to traverse. But a few were large enough.
We had heard of a settlement here, one Sarnath of the Thestrals, and out of nothing more than sense of novelty and adventure had decided to visit this place of which we were only now hearing after so many centuries.
The entrance is marked by a few towers where sit sentries that hailed us with an air of nervousness. Who and what were we, they called, but something in their eyes gave my sister and I pause. There was recognition there, but not of a long lost friend. No, they were seeing a ghost.
We introduced ourselves and were gruffly given passage.
I will not describe that place, except to say that I found a city of caverns so deep that they seemed to be a new sky and that there were halls that seemed more resplendant than even Jannah which once above all the cities of the world reigned supreme. Their arts were secret and beautiful. Their mannerisms reserved and honorable.
Except, of course, for the slaves that suffered in the dark.
For they did suffer, and I saw them in the dark, where I know now that they had hidden them from us.
But I go on and on. You see, this city of Thestrals—what you would know as batponies—was ruled by the viecroys of a being known as the Father. They were vampire lords, cruel and violent, capricious at every turn.
Things came to a head, and in our rage we confronted these lords of the great darkness that sleeps beneath the earth and we slew them. But their subjects were fearful that the Father would one day return, and they would not follow us into the light, save a few. We freed their slaves. All of them.
Those that accompanied us from that city became my first followers, and they settled at the bottom of Ghastly Gorge. Where before they had been slaves, now they served me willingly, living and dying under my sovereign word. Perhaps… I enjoyed it a bit less, at first. I worried once. Why did I ever worry? They are the silent, loyal scythe that makes guarding Equestria’s night easy.
But where do my fangs come from, you ask?
Did you know that the Father came for us, over the Sea? It happened shortly after our victory over Discord. He savaged our people, but they knew him not. He hunted in the night and they grew fearful of the stars because of him. It was the beginning of… Well. Let me continue.
It was my fault, or at least so I felt. I believe he would have come eventually. Eventually a creature such as he would have come across the great sea in search of new prey. Or simply fleeing the darkness that was born in Jannah. Whatever reason, he would have come.
I fought him totally in secret. My thestral warriors were brave but they could not fight vampires. Few can. So I asked for volunteers, and together we…
I was about to say we bettered ourselves, but I doubt that. Sometimes I think we went too far. Tonight I think that I did not go nearly far enough. We changed. Whatever I did to them, I first worked upon myself, and the Duskwatch was born. They were not like Him and his children, but they were not the same. Stronger, faster. They became creatures of the night in full, becoming part of it instead of merely living in it.
I let out a long, shaky breath. I could almost see them, these Duskwatch.
No one had actually seen them, of course. Many had heard rumor and legend of them, but few believed the stories. They were just stories. Vampires were just stories too, I suppose.
“Hm? You are quiet,” Luna says, still working. If I did not know my lady to be better, I would swear that she sounds smug at this.
“S-sorry.” I swallow nervously. “It’s just a lot to take in. So you kept all the changes?”
“Not all,” she says lightly. “I did away with the surface changes, for they were inconvenient. The weakness, the dross, all of that I burned away. Only the strengths did I retain. Fangs to tear, eyes that see absolutely in the dark, the ability to become mist…”
“Just some, then. Why? If that’s okay to ask.”
“Sentimentality and vague notions of opportunity.” A pause. “And to honor the sacrifices. And perhaps I liked some of them. What do you think?”
“I think you are very striking,” I say, and then yawn. “Oh dear… this bed is rather soft, isn’t it?”
She hums in affirmation. “Aye, ‘tis. Do try to stay awake just a bit longer, won’t you? Though I suppose you could always simply have yourself a nice rest in a royal bed.”
“Of course, my La… Luna.”
She looks at me from behind the canvas, and winks. “You’re doing magnificently. Superbly. Is it what you thought it would be? Being the subject of one of my portraits, that is.”
“Oh, not at all.” I grin. “Not that I really imagined it. I just wanted to so much be your subject—I mean…”
“Oh, don’t be so coy! I know this well.”
“You do?”
She goes back to painting with a smile splitting her beautiful face. “I do.”
“Were you going to paint a portrait of Summer Rose?”
“I was. At first, it was quite a disappointment. Yet, I think that this is a blessing. You have been far better company than she would have been.”
“Thank you.” I close my eyes and smile.
“You are very welcome. Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, of course. Why would I not be?”
“You were so very flustered earlier, my sweet.”
I shake my head, and hear the slight jingling of the golden jewelry. Was it so heavy, before? I don’t think so, but I was a bit nervous about her proximity at the time.
“No, no. It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable… I mean, I was flustered. Just…” I yawn again. “I’m dreadfully sorry. I was just nervous, because I am so very used to being unseen and unnoticed…”
“Oh, you were not quite as unnoticed as you thought. I remember you well. I know all of my staff. I have so little contact with other ponies, after all. You have stood with me in the observatory many a time, reading with such dulcet tones.”
“Y-you remember?”
“Of course. I requested you by name several times.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip again, an old nervous habit. “Thank you. I am honored.”
“Oh, it was I who was honored by your performance. Do keep still.”
I nod slightly and then return to being still as a statue. It is hard to describe exactly how I feel. Giddy? Happy? Strangely drowsy? All of those. Like… It is like sinking into soft sheets and pillows after a long day of hard work. That’s what it feels like.
She paints in silence for awhile, and I confess that it was not so easy to stay alert. I have ever idled poorly. It is easier and better to be up and about, working or chatting or doing something.
“Hmm… is it alright if we talk more, m’lady?” I say softly. “I do not wish to find myself nodding off and upsetting your flow of work.”
She pauses and looks around at me again. “Of course! Of course, my dear Hyacinth. Shall I play an old, old game with you? It is a game of words only, so you need not move an inch. Stay right where you are.”
“I would love to. Tell me about it, please,” I ask.
“It is a game of postulates. An idea is set forth, and then it is considered. Does that sound too dry? I promise you it is not. In Jannah once they played at it and they say that the world’s lore grew with each game.”
“What sort of question?”
“Many kinds. Have one, just for you, just for this night. Tell me, how easily does a mare fall?”
I blink. “What?”
“Let me put it another way. Do you think it is easy for a pony to be corrupted? To break their word, or their vows, or their codes of honor?”
I frown. “I am not sure. Ponies are all very different…”
“Are they?” she asks softly.
“I think so. They have different names and likes… they look different…”
She tsks. “No, no. Those are surface things. Beneath that, what is there but a shared apparatus? Something copied over and over?”
I frown. “My Lady, ponies are not golems.”
She laughs, and I admit that there is a part of me that wilts in relief at that. For a moment… For a moment I had thought ill of her, but I see now that she is only playing the game.I slip a bit more, lose a bit more of that alertness that doubt and trouble bring.
“Well said. Hm. Are you comfortable, my dear?”
“Very. A little too comfortable.”
Luna chuckles. “It would be fitting that one plan be exchanged for another in such a way.”
I cocked my head to the side, but returned to my pose because she could glance back at me. “What do you mean? If I might ask, of course.”
“I had intended to use Summer Rose as a model. She is the scion of a merchant house, you know. A beautiful mare. I had been looking forward to maneuvering her into that bed. Tsk, tsk. What a wasted opportunity.”
I am suddenly very acutely aware that I am reclining on her personal, private bed. In her bedchambers. Being painted.
“O-oh dear.”
“Hm? Does that bother you?”
“Not at all!”
“Well, you needn’t be so formal on my account. The mere fact of things is not worth such fuss. But there is a sweet sort of irony to the whole matter. But let us move back to the problem.”
“What problem?”
“The question, of course. Allow me to rephrase it. Do you think yourself prone to weakness? Failure? Fragility? What stern stuff are maids made of?”
What a question. It was strange enough to push back some of the sweet drowsiness, if only for a short time. Myself. Was I prone to weakness? Was I prone to failure? Was I frail or fragile? None of this so much in the physical sense but in the figurative.
I had not really given it much thought before, and wondered if that was good or bad. Another voice, apart from this, asked why there need be such a question at all?
Perhaps it was more important to become something than to ask over and over if you were something. That felt right, in a way. It was more important to work towards being good then to ask if one were good at every step. Perhaps.
“Have you fallen asleep?” Luna said, and I could almost hear her smiling.
I flushed. “Forgive me, I was lost in thought.”
“Ah, so it is a hard question. Either you are a philosopher in disguise, or I should worry about your character.”
Sure that she could not see me through the canvas, and feeling bold, I stuck my tongue out at her briefly. “Neither!” I proclaimed. “I just think that it is more important to do than to speculate, if you can do, ah, whatever it is you happen to be thinking about.”
“Debatable. So is that your answer?”
“No, that would be a cheat,” I say. “You asked a question, so I must answer you. I think… I think perhaps that I am as flawed and as wavering as any normal pony. I can be tempted by all sorts of vices, and led astray into gluttony or sloth. But I think that maids are made of sterner stuff than that, and that I am trying.”
She hums, but does not reply. We settle back into silence.
“Hm. I find I quite enjoy shocking you,” she says.
“I had wondered.”
“Aye, it is rewarding. Shall I do so again?”
“If you wish,” I say hesitantly.
“I do so wish. You know, I hope, that the realm of dreaming and sleep is mine to command. I am the night’s shepherd. But do you know that I see all dreams?”
“All of them?”
I hoped not.
“Yes. After a fashion. If I do not pay attention to individual dreams then I see them as… hm. As shining things. The Aether is a great plain where many tall trees rest, and upon their branches I find the fruit of the dreamers shining and almost asking to be plucked.”
“P-plucked?”
“Aye, plucked. For I can enter a dream at will, unless it be guarded against me, and even if some dreamer holds the way firmly I can overcome her.” She chuckles. “But I do not. ‘Twould be most unseemly, and I understand the value of privacy. But I do catch glimpses. Sometimes, I will ask the dream for safe passage, its blessing that I might too partake, and often I am allowed. Sometimes I merely pass by and see something interesting, and for a moment I cannot help but be enthralled.”
I clear my throat, trying not to think of every embarrassing thing of which I have dreamed. “That sounds beautiful.”
“It can be. Were all the world like the quiet Aether, I would be a happy mare. But that is not what I am going to tell you. That is but a preamble. Here, this is what shall shock you and let me see the way your jaw drops so delightfully: I have seen your dreams in my watch.”
“Y-you have? Which ones?”
“Why, all since you came into my service. For I patrol most diligently around those that serve me, keeping their sleep restful whenever I can, knowing that they are often alone in the Aether during the day. There is little else to see, and with so few other dreams to whisper, the dreams I do tend to in those times are rather louder.”
This wakes me up. “I… Oh, dear…”
She laughs. “Do not be alarmed. I am not dismayed. Do you think you are the first?”
“N-no. I am sorry, I know that I am so impertinent…” I look down, feeling very small.
I feel the not-touch of her magic, or rather I feel my chin lifted by nothing at all. “That is not what I hoped for, not at all. Do cheer yourself, sweet Hyacinth. I meant only to tease you.”
“Yes’.m…”
“But you are not the first. I daresay your dreams were and always have been sweetly chaste, and I have often appreciated them from afar. I cry pardon if my attention seems strange.”
“Did you ever ask to enter?” I say. I have had other dreams of Luna, but mostly it was just of work. Had I served her even in sleep?
“No. I did not wish to, ah, darken your door. As it were.” She sniffs, and then sighs. “Do be still.”
“I cry your pardon,” I say, and return.
How long have I laid here? An hour? Two? It feels more and more like I have always laid here. The drowsiness returns in force, and slowly it grows harder and harder not to close my eyes or allow my head to droop. But I cannot disappoint the Princess… and I would not for the world disrupt my very own painting.
“Are you happy in my service?”
I startle, blinking at the canvas for a moment before responding. “Yes. Very much so.”
“Tell me why.”
“I enjoy being of service to you. I take pride in providing what you need so that you can do the work in front of you every night.”
“Ah,” she says, and then a bit more lightly: “But what is it you want, hm? Should ponies be automatons? I thought they were not golems, young one.”
I shake my head. “No, they aren’t. I am not. I could have refused your invitation. But I did not because I wished to make you happy, and because I wanted to. If it brought me no satisfaction, then I would not stay in your service.”
“Bold. One minute you are on the verge of fainting, and the next this. I am genuinely delighted.”
“Thank you… I think. You have guided us and shielded us,” I say. “That is a gift, from you and your sister to all of Equestria. Shouldn’t gifts be reciprocated?”
“So you would prostrate yourself as long as the dark was kept at bay? Let yourself be stepped upon.”
“No,” I say, frowning. “But you have never stepped on me or any of your staff. If I thought you were, or that you would… I do not think that. You are kind to us, despite loving privacy. One day, I shall have to leave, whether in old age or to pursue a different life, and I shall be sad not to read to you in the observatory or bring you your coffee.”
Luna hums. Only now do I realize she has been humming the same song all along.
Feeling a bit embarrassed, I fall silent, and the drowsiness returns in full force.
“I will be done soon, you know. Ah… I forget that you would not know. My paints are alchemical. I have made them the same way for a thousand years at least.”
“Do I… I cry pardon, is the portrait, ah…”
“It is lovely, as lovely as you are.”
“I’m not exactly lovely,” I say, slowly.
She just laughs. Again.
“A last question, as I finish. Do you think that Celestia and I are infallible? That we will never turn on each other or you? Do you think of us as being incorruptible, like forces of nature?”
“Not at all. You are a pony. A very different kind of pony, but I think… Mm. Sorry. I think that you both are ponies.”
“And so you think that I would not do the things necessary to change your opinion?”
I shake my head. “No. I think that you are Good.”
“Ah, yes, merely because I am senior, or because I rule, or because I shepherd the moon in its course. Oh, Hy—”
“No!” I say, a little bit more awake now. “I am sorry that I interrupted you.”
“It is alright,” she says. The brush has stopped moving, or at least I cannot hear it. “Go on.”
“No. I have always believed that you were a good pony. I think that you are a wise one, and that you can do great things. I… I saw your art when first I came to the Palace, and ever since…”
I expect an answer, but there is not one. Luna is very still behind her work, and the silence that fills out between us is not like the ones that came before it. No, this silence has some kind of edge to it that I do not understand.
“I have finished,” Luna says, almost too softly to hear. “Would you like to see? I shall bring it to you.”
“But mustn’t it dry?”
“It already is dry. I wearied of waiting, and so I fixed it. I have always been a pony that fixes things. Usually very directly. Shall I show you?”
“Yes,” I say, eager. All of the unpleasant feeling that has built in my gut vanishes.
The painting rises, and this time I do see the faint aura around it. But the painter looks different. Something about her is… I do not know. She is cast in shadow, but that is merely from the way the light in this room is focused on myself or natural and spread unevenly. She is not hunched over, nor does she appear troubled. I take heart. Surely she feels the satisfaction that comes with success.
Her steps are measured. They carry her slowly yet surely to the bed where I have half-risen. She bids me to sit, and I do, and then flashes me a brief smile.
“Are you ready to see what comes next?”
“Oh, yes! I am sure it will be wonderful. All of your work is so wonderful, my Lady. I mean, Luna,” I say, grinning sheepishly. “Thank you for your generosity and your kindness.”
Her smile fades. “Think nothing of it,” she says.
The canvas rotates in midair.
I am relatively unschooled. I am no scholar, and never shall be. My voice reads the words of the great texts to Luna, but my mind wrestles without much success. I know what beauty looks like and sounds like, but I may never know from what place it springs like water or feel what it is like to create rather than merely observe.
It is beyond merely beautiful. After a moment, I find there are tears in my eyes. Every single stroke is in accordance with some… some thing some idea that I do not understand. I do not look like this. I could never look like this. I could never be this stunningly beautiful.
I almost forget about the world around me. I lose sight of Luna in gazing. “Oh, stars, it’s…”
“Do you like it?”
Her voice comes from beside me, right next to my ear. It is but a soft whisper.
“The… even the chain on the horn ornament… the folds… my eyes…” I try to explain what I feel but I cannot.
“Good,” she says simply. I feel something warm on my shoulder. “I am glad. It is… ironic, really.”
“Why?” I ask, still not looking away from this glorious image.
“Doubly, triply ironic. That you come to me at this time, in this place. That I feel and hear what I feel and hear in this time, at this stage. But I cannot turn away. Not now. No, I shall not be at peace if I lie defeated with no fight. I have built myself up to it.”
“I…” I blink. “What do you mean?”
“Sh, be not alarmed. Be not alarmed, poor Hyacinth. You have touched me. Nervous, and yet so naively kind are you, so blind to your own merit, and so willing to see my own where it does not exist. Oh, do be still. Yes, there you go. Look at it. Is it lovely?”
“Y-yes.”
“I am about to begin my last and greatest work. But you have been a witness to the penultimate one. Where I am going, you cannot follow. I find this saddens me. Perhaps… perhaps had I sought this night long before, I would not feel as I do. But even your words and your smile cannot move me for long. You will be safe, I assure you.”
“Safe?” I tear my eyes away. “What—”
But her magic has gripped me securely, and I cannot move my head. “Forgive me. Do not struggle. I do this for your own good. No, no that is a lie. I do most of this for your own good, but it is a whim. A chance encounter… and I confess that much of it is my own pleasure as well. Sh, please do not be afraid. Or perhaps, fear if you wish, but do not struggle.” She pauses.
My heart hammers in my chest. I don’t understand.
“I often wondered, in the old days when I fought a long war in the dark, what He must have felt like in times like this. The Father, the one who struck in the dark. How… powerful, how whole must he have felt in just… this moment…”
I have no time to cry out, no time for complaint. She sinks her fangs into the skin where my neck and shoulders meet and bites down hard, hard, and then I do cry out and struggle, but she has gripped me tight in her magic.
I can’t help how I react. The pain brings a heady rush on and I groan loudly and go slack in her powerful grip. There is no escape. She is larger than me, stronger than me, absolutely more powerful than I could imagine being in my wildest dreams. She can do anything she want and I would be absolutely incapable of fighting her.
“L-Luna? Luna, what have I done? I am sorry! What is going on?”
But the Princess doesn’t answer. Her forelegs fold around me, and she pulls away long enough to chuckle in my ear.
She pulls away and I am thrown onto the bed. And then I see her.
She is different. No longer is she the Lady I know. Dark coat, wreathed in her ethereal mane, but turned sinister, eyes like a dragon’s, taller and made of nightmares. I bring both hooves to my mouth to muffle my own horror, but she only laughs.
I hold my hoof to my shoulder and whimper at how warm and wet it feels. It hurts. It hurts so much.
“And that is done. I knew I would, if I lingered. Now I will not feel that I can return. So I won’t. Not until it is over. And it will end, one way or another, I assure you! I assure myself… and once my work is completed, I will return to you. Perhaps we will hold palaver. Perhaps I shall even regret what comes, if you are still so stout-hearted.”
“W-what are you planning?”
“Do you really want to know? I asked you if you were afraid before. Are you afraid now?” she sneers down at me. The change is so sudden. I can hardly tell that she was once my quiet, gentle Princess.
“Please, I don’t understand. I’m sorry that I have offended you somehow—”
“You have not.” For a brief moment, her sneering, scoffing demeanor cracks. “You did nothing wrong. But it doesn’t matter! You are going to stay here. I am not asking you, and I am not ordering you. I am informing you. Do you feel tired? Have you felt sleepy? Yes, you have. I have been briefly using my magic. All along we have been playing a game. Or, really, I have played a game alone. If you fell asleep, I would hold off until a different night, and I would finish our talk. But if you made it to the end…” She laughs and I flinch backwards as her wings fly open and she bears her blood-soaked fangs at me. “And you did! I am oddly touched, and I find that we have said all that I wished to say. I will talk no more! And you? You will sleep.”
“What? No, what are you…”
She stares me down. “What? Why, I’m going to overthrow the sun. The sky will be my canvas forever, then. Wait and see! You’ll love it when I’m done.”
Her gaze snares my own and.. Her eyes, I swear that they glow, grow… there is a humming in my ears and—
I awake aching and alone.
Daylight streams in, and outside I hear some commotion far below in the town proper. Otherwise, all is still.
Confused, unsure where I am and what I have been doing, I slowly rise. But my shoulder burns, and I gasp as I try to hold it and fall back on the bed. The bed which is decidedly not my own. Soft, luxurious silk—
Luna.
I rise swiftly, awkwardly, stumbling out of Luna’s royal bed and on to the hard floor. The Canvas sits on the easel that it had sat on before, still there and facing me. But I cannot love it now. It’s beauty is unchanged but it mocks me. Looking at it makes my wounds hurt more and brings tears to my eyes.
The great double doors are closed. I walk to them on shaky legs and try to open them, but they will not budge. Locked, and by magic I determine. I’ve no skill with such things.
There’s nothing for it. Whatever has happened, I will have to wait it out for now. When the morning guards are in the hall, I can call to them. Or when the Solar maid comes to tidy the room at the beginning of their shift. Someone will come.
I wait and wait for them by the portrait, not willing to look at it. I don’t understand. What did she mean? Had she been lying all along? Had I angered her? Had I given her some wrong answer?
But before I can continue, the doors burst open.
Celestia herself storms in, shining like her own sun, a sword wreathed in flame by her side. I know what it is like already to stand in the way of an Alicorn, and so I try to flee but her magic arrests my flight.
She tugs and pulls me through the air until I am hovering before her.
Her cheeks are streaked with tears. Her eyes are red from crying. Here and there I see grime and places where her coat was singed by some fire. The Princess has seen battle.
She speaks with a voice I have never before heard, louder and more terrifying than even the Royal Voice. “WHY ARE YOU HERE?”
“M-m-my… Your Highness! I am sorry! Please, where is my Lady, your sister? She… she h-hurt me but said I would stay here and be safe and… and…”
She drops me, but I land on my hooves as she roars and throws the great sword. It embeds itself in Luna’s wall, and the Sun’s chosen slowly sinks down into a miserable, crying heap. I do not know what to do. What is there, possibly, to do? But I have to try. Carefully, gingerly, I approach and lay a hoof on her trembling shoulder.
I don’t know what happened. Except that I do. I do know, and I do not wish to know. But I have to. I have to hear it.
“She’s gone,” Celestia says.
Author's Note
I hope you liked it. This was the fic I was working on during the AMA.
