Learning To Love

Chapters

Chapter 0 - What's Past is Prologue [edited]
Chapter 1 - Subtle, Tender, and Delicate [edited]
Chapter 2 - Innocent and Pure
Chapter 3 - This Thing Of Darkness [edited]
Aside I: Such Stuff Dreams Are Made On
Chapter 4 - A Piece of Virtue
Chapter 5 - True Love Never Did Run So Smooth

Chapter 0 - What's Past is Prologue [edited]

Author's Note

Sequel! First of many... maybe? Regardless, I hope you enjoy. I had heaps of fun writing this, especially Luna. I'm unsure of the quality of the story, as well as the actual quality of the clop, and I may as well throw my writing atop the list of things I'm unsure about. I can only cross my fingers that you enjoy this.

I won't comment on every chapter, but I will post some tidbits in the notes. Kind of like trivia, I suppose. Scraped ideas, plot points for the particular chapter, that kind of thing. Such as: The as of yet unnamed Mare in Luna's dream was originally planned to be her mother, but I scrapped that near immediately when I couldn't think of how to actually revolve a story around different types of love (which was my original idea for the premise of the story.) So, she was recycled into being a past lover. Additionally, all chapter titles are things I gleamed from the Tempest by William Shakespeare. One last little factoid about this chapter: it was originally 'innocent and pure' which you might notice is the name of chapter 3. It was originally in reference to Luna - who seemed neither of those things - but I eventually found a better quote for the prologue which spawned the word to begin with. Last little tidbit, there was originally going to be a solo Luna masturbation scene, but I decided against it in the end, due to the events of the next chapter.

Chapter 0 - What's Past is Prologue [edited]

Luna’s eyes wandered the plain of white – the somnambulist realm – jaw clenched, her breaths curt. Behind her she heard steps, which made her bottom lip shake; her eyes becoming wet with tears she couldn't stop from falling down her cheek. When the presence behind her edged ever closer, she forced her eyes to close, clamping them shut as she sensed her back become shrouded in white shadow.

“Do not cry, mine own love,” she heard a young mare’s whisper, gentle and loving. “Our fates art destin'd for us to meet again, lost in a dream,” the mare continued, and Luna felt a delicate hoof brush against her cheek. “May ye not fret, thine moonbeam,” the mare’s voice croaked, sounding considerably aged, the hoof strokes becoming sluggish “our bodies will dance again, darling, believe.” Luna wept, despite the mare’s loving tone. She kept her eyes tightly closed, jaw screwed tight, trying to command her cheek to move from the mare’s hoof. “Just wait. Thy fate will bring thy soul home to thee, love.”
“B-Be gone, apparition,” Luna whimpered, catching a sob in her throat. “Thy presence maketh tears run down our cheeks, like winter’s drops down a lamppost. Be gone!” she cried, pleading; unable to bring herself to look at the mare. “If thy love be true, truer than thy bodiless form suggest, disappear as flame does in rain, thine tears will maketh good substitute for it!"

Luna held her breath as she heard the hoof drop to the floor. The noise echoed for minutes until it had faded entirely. Silence filled her ears. She was reluctant to crack open an eye unless she was certain of the mare’s disappearance, whose presence Luna swore remained for long after she had demanded her leave. After a while, her hooves gave out from beneath her, falling to the firm ground and retreating into herself. Hugging her own body, and pressing her muzzle into her crossed hooves; awaiting the inevitable moment her eyes would part again and she’d be in her room: awake.

Luna, still feeling the hard floor beneath her, inhaled through her nose and parted her lips. “Dream, thou keep our body, thine master, prisoner,” her voice was a murmur, which travelled through the emptiness in echo for long after she spoke it. “Thou still art ours, thine realm which destiny herself hath given us control. Our precious first – and beginning - tis not to be summon on thy whim. Dost thou wish sorrow upon us? Dost thou wish to mock love, which infects us? Do not remind us, we beg of thee. There exists no torture greater than lost love’s shadow, dream. Too austerely thou punish us. Pinch us with sharp teeth, fill only a quarter of our lungs till we choke for all our days but never come to life’s much sought end. Burn us in tar both out and in. Have us prickèd daily by a hedgehog’s pin; stick maggots beneath our skin! Do anything that thou wish, but we beg thee for mercy from the whip of acrid, tainted memory…” she ended weakly, ears twitching at hearing nothing but her own breaths.

She parted her eyes, her room submerged in the light of day’s near end. She glanced at her bed, seeing it empty apart from herself; its softness a nice substitute from the ground in her dream. Her room remained unchanged from what she recalled it was before she lay down to sleep. She eyed the door, seeing the last of the sun’s rays shining off the chamber door knob. Otherwise, it remained locked, just as she had left it. She was certain she was no longer in her dream’s bindings, and released a relieved sigh as she propped herself up, readying herself for the lowering of her sister’s sun and the ascension of her moon.

As she climbed out of bed, her hooves clopping against her marble floor; her maw parting wide to release from her gullet a yawn, smirking at the recollection of what else was planned for today. Feather Duster, thou wishes to teach us how to love in this day. We do hope it goes well, she thought with a blissful smile as the image of her love appeared in her head. Whomever needed to learn love in any case? Teacher and maid? The only mares that occupy the role of both cleaner and educator are often more commonly seen in brothels, rather than a castle, she reflected humorously, opening the door to the bathroom. Oh, sweet, darling, Feather. Thou art a feather from a wing that maketh my heart flutter. Our appentency for thou is unquenchable. Sweet fortune that thou should happen to be in our own head just as we depart into the shower, her smile, much like her mind, dripping with lustful intention, with what we will do in there thinking of thee, our body will need to be washed twice – nay – thrice, over. Fortune’s will, will, will, we do no more. Temperance with one’s bodily pleasures is necessary, if I am to share pleasure with thou, dearest Feather...

Her horn lit with a blue aura, and seconds later a hiss filled the bathroom, as hot water streamed from the showerhead. Luna then sat on her haunches, closing the plughole with her magic. “And Sister calls us old fashioned. Well we shall be using a modern invention!” she exclaimed, smiling triumphantly, before her expression sagged as she watched the meagre puddle form in the bath. “We do not see the difference in using a shower to fill one’s bath over a tap other than the height in which the water must fall…” she remarked, watching the bath fill slowly with stern eyes. “Perhaps a difference our eyes will notice this time ‘round.”

Chapter 1 - Subtle, Tender, and Delicate [edited]

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 2 - Innocent and Pure

Feather lay still on her bed, eyes closed in full contemplation of the night that was lain out before her. She did, after all, have the time to think. She booked the night off, which was rather easy to do considering she had been punctual and on time for all her duties ever since she began her service for the castle. Although she could never have guessed that this particular boon would be the payoff. A date with Luna. Her accumulated years of stagnant work made such an event like being suddenly vaulted forward alike a catapult - or maybe trebuchet - her imagination left her filled with thoughts rich with many possible routes the night could go, most lacking any sort of intervention on her part; rather musing the possible insanity of a love drunken Luna. She had not seen the Princess in week, which while not unusual, the next thing to come of their meeting added a whole new layer anxiousness and eagerness to the whole affair.

Luna informed her via a letter midway through the week on a Wednesday to not be alarmed the next time they meet, which to Feather’s surprise was not told to her elaborately nor in rhyme. She considered what Luna meant, that perhaps she left it to interpretation like one of her many poems. She thought over it for a time, but the train of ideas came to too many unsatisfying ends that she resolved to wait and see instead. She found it much more satisfying to consider what a Princess could plan for an intimate outing. Perhaps a picnic under the night sky? That way Luna could bombard with Feather with unending metaphors of the night and her beauty – it wouldn't surprise Feather that Luna would find a way to make the night all about whispering compliments into Feather’s ear – and as flattered Feather would be, Luna would be missing the point of what a date was supposed to be. However, a night of flattery was the thing Feather Duster least worried about. She felt unease in her gut at the prospect of Luna being excessive – half the realm’s coffers spend on making the most grand ‘date’ ever conceived! – with balloon flights across the nation, swapping aerial for ocean, cruising to Griffonstone to Vanhoover, all the while fireworks marking every mile of the journey; blue roses planted along every stretch of earth that Feather walked upon.

It wouldn't be out of character for Luna to plan something utterly bonkers to show her adoration for Feather, but if the Princess had truly done her research, then chances were it would come to something like that. In truth, Feather didn't know what Luna planned, nor did she know what kind of date she’d like the best. However, as the hours passed; her stomach grumbling, she did find the desire for something simple and conventional.

Partly because she found thinking of the date made her more and more anxious rather than excited, and partly because she wished to distract herself from the grumbling in her belly, Feather Duster climbed out of bed with a sigh. She tried darting her thoughts to anywhere but the date. She stomped over the stool jutting out from under her desk, plopping her flank upon the aged thing and stared deadpan into her mirror. She took the usual steps of preparing for the work day, although this time around she wasn't prepping herself for professionalism, but rather – as difficult as it was to even say the word – to be sexy. Her mane was tied back into a bun, with a few intentional strands hanging down the side of her face. The hairdresser – whom she was sure was just telling her what she wanted to hear – said the style was both classy and beautiful, and Feather hoped to Faust she was right. She fawned over how much make up to wear for nearly an entire hour. In the end, she decided to be minimalist, applying the lightest amount of power to her muzzle to hide her freckles and nothing else. Around her neck she saw the collar of her humble dress – the apparel was the finest she saw that was also affordable for her maid’s salary – and brushed her hoof down the gentle blue garment. It was no coincidence that she picked blue. She took a considerable liking to the color after being first intimate with Luna. It was a way for her coyly parade the fact she was officially ‘with’ the princess, but also because it served as a sweet reminder of the mare, from how soft it was to look upon. The next few minutes were spent thinking about nothing. Aimless thoughts about colors, her freckles and an etched mark on her desk. Her stupor of aught was broken by a sporadic rapt at her door, the woodpecker like strikes prompting her brow to raise in confusion.

“I’ll be right there,” she called, stepping off her stool, yet the knocks didn't cease. “I said I’d be right the- oh… who are you?”

The mare that stood before her stood at her height, yet seemed much larger than her figure suggested. The pony was a unicorn – that was obvious – and the smile she wore was distinctly roguish. Her mane was a very light azure, her coat a grey tinted phthalo blue, the combination of which had a very lulling effect on the maid. Feather cocked her head to look at the mare’s flank, which upon it was a suspiciously ordinary cutie mark – the black outline of a white heart. It wasn't until Feather was forced to look into the mare’s eyes – pressured by such a cocksure countenance – that something sparked in her brain. The cyan eyes the mare wore had a skewering effect on her, that only one other mare in the entire world had the ability to do.

“L-Luna?” she gave the verbal equivalent of a fumble, squinting an eye. “Is that you?”

She smiled. “We art- a-are ready for th- your lesson – ha!” Luna ended triumphant, smug in expression. “Th- you saw through our disguise. Tis true. The heart sees what is invisible to the eye.”

Feather blinked. “You’re… different,” Feather said bluntly, still taken aback.

“Yes. We took a meagre amount of hours to train our tongue to better be unassuming. And our visage? Merely an illusion, taking minimum concentration to maintain,” Luna explained, sounding every bit proud of herself. “This mirage is like a coat, tis also based on our younger self, before a millennia upon thine own – our own – moon, caught up to the present.”

“Uh-huh?” Feather tilted her head, looking over Luna’s form with a slight curiosity, before looking back at Luna’s confident expression. “So, aside from that, what else did you prepare for tonight?”

Luna’s confident expression faded at the question, a crease between her brow appeared and she audibly swallowed. “We. Have. Planned…” Luna emphasised every word, likely to ensure they were spoken properly. “Dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes. Dinner.”

“Oh.”

“Oh no,” Luna took a step back, frowning. “Thou are disappointed? Have we failed thee?”

“No, no, no,” Feather assured, lessening the space between them, “not at all, I’m just surprised you showed… restraint.”

It was Luna’s turn to cock her head. “Restraint?”

“Yes, restraint. I was worried you were going to spend most of the kingdom’s money on this date,” Feather explained in good humour, smiling.

“Ah, we see. You need not worry about that,” Luna reassured with a wave. “Our sister had capped our spending money as punishment for our proposal to invade the Griffon lands.”

Feather gave a nervous titter, unsure of Luna was joking or not. “You want to lead the way?”

Luna grinned. “Yes. We have been loitering for too long. Let us embark for-“

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

“Oh no,” Feather muttered, audibly conveying her frustration; cringing as the words entered her ear.

Feather brushed past Luna, closing the door behind her as the three antagonists walked up to them both, faces sneering and jeering doubtlessly; wearing their masks of cruelty in preparation to belittle the maid. Feather looked with a meek smile to a confused Luna, who looked from Feather to the three with a raised brow.

“From the looks of things it would appear she favors cleaning carpets with her tongue over columns,” the butler remarked, looking to the mare with blonde hair with a sly countenance.

“So you working as a whore on the side or did you spend an entire month’s salary renting this strumpet?” the blue haired mare jabbed, eyeing Luna with a sneer.

“Now be fair, Pristine. She looks to be worth at least two,” the butler complimented, albeit in such a manner it left a bad taste in Feather’s mouth.

Feather was silent. Her lips pursed and jaw tight. At that moment, alongside her general irritancy, when she glanced to the mare at her side, she felt a degree of pity for the three.

“Art thou done?” Luna asked, deadpan.

“What?” the three responded, flatly.

“We are in a hurry.”

“Are you some kind of Princess Luna wannabe or something?” the mare with a blonde mane jabbed, cackling.

“She really is a prostitute. Fancy a bit of the Princess, eh?” the butler shared a laugh with the other two.

Luna sighed. “A long time ago, we would have settled for killing all of ye for such insolence. In this day and age however, we are forced to settle for locking you in the dungeon, or with rendering you a pulp – just barely breathing. However, as finer eyes than our own are present, and we have a schedule we must adhere to, we will settle for simple and painless torture,” Luna dialogued calmly, occasionally switching her sights between the three bemused faces.

“What?” again, the word their mouths flatly.

Feather was confused by what happened next. Between a blink, the split second blindness of her sight before the world was lain out before her again, the three had simply disappeared. Confused, she looked to Luna, whose horn still sparkled with an ethereal blue aura; a smile just as smug as before on her face. Fear flickered in the maid’s body. Just what had Luna done? The question was just as fleeting as the fear, because as soon as it dawned on her what had happened, a sadistic satisfaction filled her. The bullies were gone. Even if only for the night, and if Feather were so inclined to consider this the beginning of the date…

It was off to a good start.

Canterlot. It seemed so much larger than it was prior to her banishment, yet her sister insisted it was precisely the same, exempting the changing stores. Not much room for expansion when you’re situated atop a mountain. Luna, ever since her return – and it was no secret – she hadn't gotten out much. She had seen many different places in her youth, but in the modern era, she settled for being vicarious. She had seen many places afar through dreams. Although she knew it for fact, on occasion the dreamer would create something so vivid she actually believed herself to be there. The fine soft sands of the South, the stone dwellings of the Griffons, and even the canals of the minotaur traders to the North. However, reality was something else entirely. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, would notice the little details that the dreamer would oft leave out subconsciously. The grey lichen on alleyway bricks, the faded whitewash on the less extravagant abodes and storefronts; the coarseness of the pavement beneath her hoofs, the passers-by who so clearly had a purpose in their movements. There was also the slight chill of the high altitude breeze. The mountaintop chill however, was fended off by the warmness of the body walking alongside her.

We loathe the shortness of these legs… but to walk alongside thee? We’d settle even for stumps, Luna smiled towards Feather, stealing a look of the beautiful mare; who at that exact moment had glanced off somewhere. Feather was beautiful, objectively. There wasn't a soul alive who could deny this… at least according to Luna. Under the illumination of soft unfiltered moonlight, Luna truly believed Feather’s beauty was unmatched, an absolute truth.

“What are you thinking about?”

Luna blinked, snapped from her love drunken stupor, cheeks burning. “S-such a silly question,” Luna stammered, looking off to nowhere in particular. “By now thou must know we always are thinking of thee,” Luna said, full of smarm, looking back to Feather with a grin.

“Nice save,” Feather giggled, nudging against Luna playfully. “Also: you,” she corrected.

“Salt on my wounds!” Luna exclaimed, laughing, uncaring of her volume in contrast to the night. “First you act immune to our charm, and then you mock our words.”

“’Act?’”

Luna was quiet, unsure even to herself if it genuinely hurt her or not. “…you jest?”

Feather smiled, leaning toward Luna and planting a kiss on her lips mid-step, making her heart flutter “Yes,” she answered, which put Luna at considerable ease. “It means a lot to you doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“Being able to say nice things,” Feather said.

Luna exhaled through her nose sharply. “Yes. You are not wrong. Aside from honey, the sweetest thing that we can offer to you is praise, of which you are greatly deserving,” Luna informed, scrunching her features a little. “But to be true, tis also something of a succor for our misplaced being. It may come as a shock to thee… you, but we are a little whiplashed from the change of our past to your present.”

“What do you mean?” Feather inquired, and if it meant passing the time, Luna would indulge.

“The present is much more different than the past afore. No one spake the same tongue, nor carried themselves the same, nor ate the same, nor addressed us the same. The first time a pony called us Luna, absent of title, we nearly locked him in the stockade for his disrespect. We were dissuaded by our sister, but that was after we had learned there was no longer a stockade to be found,” Luna sighed, glancing to Feather - who had a crease between her brow – before looking up to her cloudless night sky. “Our night is reliable. Twas the same as we saw it before we were banished. Celestia wouldn’t dare alter the canvas we had painted… if the world changed despite us, then we would remain the same to despite it,” Luna spoke with a stiff determination, before looking back to her love, who remained just as interested. “One of the things we first noted upon our return was the lack of eloquence. Language became a club from what was once a regal rapier; so blunt and lacking in finesse. We act on pragmatism often, this is true, but such things should be left to ‘actions’ rather than ‘words’, so says we.”

“And I like that about you,” Feather commented, and Luna’s lips curved into a smile. “I wish I were the same sometimes. If I were even as half as direct as you, I probably would have dealt with those bullies ages ago.”

“Why did you not seek our help? We would have banished them to the moon for you, if only you asked of us.”

“I hated them… but not that much,” Feather giggled. “There’s a sweet spot to dealing with ponies like that. I tried being friendly to them. Ignoring them. I even tried to tattle on them with the head of staff. Things only got worse each time.”

“Such ponies give us conniptions,” Luna clenched her jaw. “To do such a thing to you… when we found out, our ire at that moment was immeasurable. It took all of our combined will and your presence to dissuade from something worse. But still, rather than combat them with wit and insult, we thought it best to retort with what bullies least expect from their victims: action.”

Feather was quiet. When Luna glanced her way, she saw a skewed expression. “So… what did you do with them?”

“I sent them away. Fifty miles someplace,” Luna spoke with a deliberate vagueness, a smug smile forcing itself into her face.

“Where exact-“

“There ho!” Luna interrupted, eyes focused ahead. ”Just around that street corner, our chosen restaurant of ‘fine dining!’” Luna quickened her steps, trying to escape the question. We cannot be dishonest is deftly avoided! Delightfully fiendish, Luna.

“Oh, a-alright!” replied Feather, hasty clops following her words.

“A-Am I under dressed?” Feather asked, self-conscious.

The restaurant Luna had chosen looked objectively more fancy and prestigious than the cafes and diners Feather herself frequented for lunch most days. Outside it was a misleadingly non-descript whitewashed little building adjoined to a cobbler next door. There was no mistaking it to be a place where food was made; Feather’s nose would not mislead her so, however the establishment reminded her more of a jewelers than any place of eating; with the multitude of silver and gold adorning the walls. Each precious metal was melded into the shape of a sun or moon; masterfully crafted, with arbitrarily placed jewels around the edges of each one. Everywhere her vision went to Feather approximated random patches of the establishment being worth more than the total sum of every item in her room back at the castle, at least monetarily. The ponies in front and behind her into the queue also contributed to this overall feeling, with each pony wearing their avarice proudly upon their bodies, their clothing so fine that Feather didn't feel worthy to even be looking upon it. She was a mere pauper, surrounded by gentry and aristocracy.

“We are dressed in nothing,” Luna pointed out, the disguised princess’ smile attracting her eyes.

“You’re a princess. Nopony cares what you wear. Me on the other hoof…” Feather spoke in a hushed voice, teetering on the name of her station like it taboo, frowning.

“We recommend that you care not for the opinions of the gentry. They measure their own worth with the amount of material things they own, and the number of flanks they have kissed for personal advancement. Many serve mammon second only to us. If it means anything, we think that you’re the finest looking mare here,” Luna assured, the accompanying contact between their bodies making it a success.

“What made you choose this place?” Feather asked, trying to distract herself from the feeling of being gawked at as she shuffled forward with Luna in the line.

Luna scrunched up her expression before speaking, “Well, we wanted to ensure that you ate only the finest food Equestria had to offer… but to due to my stipend, we had to settle for the finest food that Canterlot had to offer… but dining together in the castle seemed to distasteful, and we risked attracting our sister’s attention, so we thought it best to settle for second best, at least according to rigorous research looking at the reviews of many critics,” Luna explained, each pause elicited an unintentional tug at the corner of Feather’s cheek, Luna’s expression thoughtful. “The cuisine here should be satisfactory, we hope.”

“I’d eat anywhere, so long as it was with you…” Feather said, hanging overly long onto silence, rendering it awkward. “Sorry. I’m not good at saying stuff like that,” she apologised, feeling sheepish.

Luna lowered her brows. “Why? Compliments between lovers should flow from the mouth naturally.”

“Not much experience, unfortunately. Sometimes, you sound like a walking talking thesaurus,” Feather said, prompting a smirk from Luna.

“Yes, well, we have had many years to absorb words into our lexicon. But we can’t blame you for that. Compliments of the kind we speak don’t fit well into modern mouths. Apparently open displays of love, both physical and verbal, are met with mock disgust from onlookers. What a way to dissuade affection,” Luna sounded wistful as she spoke.

An idea formed in Feather’s head. “Well, just as I am teaching you, I should learn something as well.”

“Oh?” Luna’s brow rose, her interest piqued.

“I will add words to my ‘lexicon,’ and see if I can shower you with praise just as you do with me,” Feather offered.

“Would be most interesting. But you need not trouble yourself for something so frivolous.”

“Learning how to give affection is frivolous?”

“N-no, but… we… um…” Luna fumbled the retort.

“So it’s decided then. I will learn how to tell you how much I like you with words, just as you do for me,” Feather smiled, gratified in the comfort of finding adequate payment for Luna’s kindness. Of course, she hadn’t the faintest idea where to start, but that was future Feather’s problem. For present Feather, she’d be content at the sight of a blushing Luna.

The line shifted along, gradually closer and closer they got to the rostrum, where behind Feather glanced upon a self-important looking unicorn stallion with a violet coat and a banana yellow mane. Feather heard not a single word from his mouth. He simply flipped open the green wrapped ledger his hoof rested upon, seemingly possessing of some kind of reservation bound omniscience; glancing for less than a second before slamming it shut; leading the couple off somewhere in the back before return. His expression still in stoic pouting. When she and Luna walked up to the stallion, he paused, his porcelain expression cracked; his brow raising as looked between the two mares.

He gave a grandiloquent smile. “Bonjour mademoiselles, and welcome to the restaurant Gourmete. Do you have a reservation?” he asked. However, Feather did not feel privileged to hear his voice. “If not, there’s a delightful little eatery around the corner that might be more befitting of your… financial position.”

“Yes, we do in fact have a reservation,” spoke Luna curtly. “Under the name, Moon-Moon.”

He arched a brow. “Um… okay,” the demeanour he wore shattered into one of visible scepticism. He flipped open the ledger, flipping the pages, brows low as he stared intently toward the book.

Feather had to hold back a scoff. “Moon-Moon?” she whispered.

Luna didn’t say anything, although Feather saw her lips quiver; no doubt holding back a laugh.

“Oh my!” the stallion suddenly exclaimed, earning Feather’s surprised eye. “I am so terribly sorry for hindering you!” the stallion became an explosion of energy, his stoicism fractured and replaced with panic. Feather felt a smugness welling up in her, no doubt acquired by proxy from the mare beside her, who remained silent all the while. “Follow me. Follow me, please!” he said frantically, his suit something becoming as befuddled as he was; tie loosening and buttons coming undone. The apparel was clearly unsuited to the range of motions the stallion was practicing, much to Feather’s glee.

Luna was a complex mare. So Feather didn’t know if she was being deliberately slow in following the energetic stallion or not. The stallion was trying to maintain a pace of leisure, but his body shook with the desire to rush his escort; Luna clearly not allowing the stallion to exorcise his energy. His body jittering like a sugared up foal. Everypony was capable of spite, it just never occurred to Feather that Luna would practice such a thing.

As they walked past the tables, between the gaps, wherever Feather glanced she saw eyes looking back. Feather smiled. Now she could see what Luna was doing. She was changing the intent behind the stares. Feather no longer saw pompous sneers, but instead curious ones – even a few envious ones, from mares and stallions who wished they could draw up the same fuss – and Feather, while still feeling out of place, was now comfortably so. She was tempted to strut… but that would be pushing it. Instead, she showed appreciated in the form of a coy look toward her partner, who caught the gaze without looking back – smiling.

Curiously, they passed by a few empty tables, yet none seemed to be theirs. They walked further into the hall, and with each filled table they passed – the conjoined aromas of gourmet filling the air – the more ravenous and hungry Feather got. It was after her gut groaned, she saw it.

Beneath the gold gilded chandelier in the exact middle of the hall, practically begging the attention of the eye. The space between it and other tables was larger than the others. When they drew closer, Feather noticed depressions in the carpet, where long standing surfaces for eating that were once there were now moved a little further away. Just to have this exact table in the exact middle of the room. In a way, the placement under the chandelier reminded Feather of the castle’s own dining hall, except on a miniscule scale. Whether it was done for that exact reason, or to have Feather centre of everyponies attention, she didn’t know.

And they walked up to it, the stallion pulled out both their chairs with his magic, his horn crackling with a dark green magic. “And here is your table, madam, Moon-Moon. Just as you requested,” his tone resumed the orderly portentous that Feather heard before the upper-class disposition cracked. “A pony will be by to take your orders soon, madams,” he smiled warmly, but Feather’s eye could see the lingering frost. “And thank you for gracing the restaurant with your presence…”

Even when they both sat upon their seats, he remained by the table, eyes expectant for something. What? Feather hadn’t the faintest idea. He wore his smarmy pompous smile, his hoof not so subtly brushing against the pocket of his blazer.

The quiet from Luna made Feather nervous. The princess, who managed to fit as many words as possible into a sentence, was uncharacteristically silent. It occurred to Feather, which was now her second realisation about the mare in such a short amount of time, she had never saw much interaction between Luna and other ponies. They rarely spent time in each other’s company outside the allotted rendezvous. Even then it was chance meetings in the halls or when Feather served her lover evening tea in the grand dining hall. Other than her interaction with the bullies, which was just as curt, Feather never observed her interactions with the ‘common folk.’ So, it was with bated breath that the maid watched the princess.

Luna turned to the stallion, pouting. Feather felt an indomitable weight suddenly fall on her back, and this wasn’t only on hers either. She saw a few other patrons looking on too. “…Go away,” she said, simply, politely.

“Oh,” he muttered, followed by a single quiet scoff, his hooves remained planted. “It is customary to tip, madam. All the patrons of the Gourmette are, as you can see, ostensibly wealthy. It has become tradition for customers to leave something of a tithe to the staff, who are diligent in their service,” he smiled, inflated with ego and pompousness, embodying pretentiousness. If Feather was a more violent mare, she would entertain the thought of punching him. “Well?”

Luna looked to Feather, unchanging in her expression and then back to the stallion, hardened. “Fuck off.”

The voice seemed to become a thunderbolt despite A new kind of quiet filled the restaurant – silence. The low voices, the sound of metal scraping against fine china, the smacking of lips and audible swallows. Gone. Feather didn’t dare to see how many eyes were upon her. Instead, she kept her eyes focused squarely on Luna’s face. Despite how different she appeared than usual in her disguise, the dignity that was etched in every contour of her countenance was still there. The way her hair fell down the back of her head and down past her neck, the slight clenching in her jaw, the firmness of her stare… Feather was breathless. Such an authority.

She glanced to the stallion, whose eyes were wide, mouth agape. Shock, surprise, disbelief. However many other words existed for the same thing, the stallion was all of them. This was definitely not his night. It was, however, Luna’s. After all, she did own it.

He released a few nervous chuckles. “R-right,” he spluttered, “as you command, madam Moon-Moon.” He backed away from them, legs shaking.

“He looked about ready to buckle,” Luna quipped, seamlessly adopting a grin from sternness. “Me thinks he saw through our disguise, acting on his instinct to bow before his princess.”

“I think it’s because you told him to fuck off,” Feather giggled. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.”

Luna smiled. “Well, when you used it in bed we thought to do a little research on it. Apparently, it does not pertain only to coitus? It’s a very versatile word. We might have to employ it more frequently.”

“Please don’t,” Feather pleaded, giving her a strained smile.

“Oh? Why not? You were very liberal in its use in bed,” Luna said coyly.

“Well, that was different,” she replied shyly, feeling her cheeks redden.

“And why is that?”

“Because it just is. Like does and doth.”

“Oh?” Luna sounded surprised. “You have been doing some research of your own?”

“Well, only a little. It became very confusing very quick,” she chuckled. Thou, thee, thine, doth, tis. After receiving Luna’s fifth poem Feather needed to learn the vernacular as if she was relearning her own language. “I learnt the gist. I imagine if I hadn’t, I would have been totally lost the first time we spoke,” she smiled innocently. In fact, she partly was. Fortunately for her, she was good at picking up things based on context. “But, speaking of speaking. Do you talk to everypony like that?”

Luna tilted her head. “Like what?”

“So… brusque,” she put delicately.

“We did say we liked to be direct. Very much like our disguise, we are short when speaking to our subjects. There exist few exceptions to this. Our sister, the occasional sufferer of trauma in their somnambulist quarter… and you,” she wore a faltering smile. “It is very much similar to why we say… ‘we.’ It informs authority, importance, that we art greater than our physical body suggests. That our station is shared, as is our demesne. We are not merely just Luna, we art our station too,” Luna explained, “we be curt, because it comes with our position. We are a monarch – and besides acting like one - we must speak like one.”

“Do you… thank your staff?”

Again, Luna tilted her head. “Why should we?”

Feather cringed. “What was that you told me your sister taught you the first night we had together? Courtesy, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. And?”

“Maybe try to practicing it just for me?”

Luna scrunched her brows. “Are you asking us to go between the legs of all our subjects?”

“No!” Feather rolled her eyes. “Just try being… nicer. Like you are to me.”

Luna tightened her lips, considering. “To no longer devoid our words of kindness risks diminishing our authority. We would not wish to do so…” she sighed. Feather furrowed her brows, frowning. Luna looked at Feather weary. "We did, however, drop the usage of the royal Canterlot voice at our sister’s behest… we can try."

“Thank you. You can’t imagine how it feels to not be appreciated for your work.”

“…We know the feeling,” she retorted drily.

“Oh…. Oh! I’m so sorry,” her cheeks flushed, forcing a meek smile.

“Don’t be,” Luna laughed. “But this conversation does remind us of something. An anecdote mostly. From when we were young,” she disclosed, the simper appearing on her face kindling Feather’s interest.

“How young?” she inquired.

“So young, we were even smaller than we were now. A foal in mind and appearance, yet five times your age,” she

“Really? It’s hard to imagine you as a foal,” Feather said, regarding the princess’ statement with dubiety.

“Is it? Everypony is a foal at some point. Even us, as hard as that is to believe. Before we were ruler, but still princess, we were quite naïve. And what’s more, our sister was well aware of this,” she explained, leaning forwards. “One jape she played upon us, was getting us to believe that our mouths only had a limited number of words we could speak before out tongues would fall from our mouths, leaving us speechless forever.”

Feather giggled. “Really?”

“Yes, really. She put quite a lot of effort into it as well. She used our scullery maid’s lexicon of grunts as proof of this. Out of fear for our tongue, we said nary a word for months,” she spoke with humour in her tone, smiling whimsically.

“Months?!”

“You must understand. Our sister was our preferred pedagogue, much more entertaining and tolerable than our parents assigned tutor. We listened and believed without scepticism. A folly on our part, admittedly, but spawned many a fond memory,” Luna spoke with a genuine glow, a happiness that Feather liked to see.

“I’d love to hear more about you,” Feather was genuine.

“Well, we have many hours ahead of us. Perhaps our sister can be proven correct, and we can talk our tongues off,” Luna proposed factitiously.

“Lets,” she concurred.

“Good evening,” a mare’s voice joined theirs, attracting their attentions. They didn’t look out of the ordinary for a waitress, being dressed in red and black blazer, and white shirt. The unicorn’s crimson mane and blue coat was distinct, but otherwise, the mare appeared average on all fronts. “What can I get for both of you this evening?” she asked politely, voice twanged with an accent Feather couldn’t place.

“I didn’t look at the men-“

“We will be having these courses,” Luna informed, giving to the mare a small white note with her magic. Feather arched a brow at the pencil also in Luna’s grasp.

The mare took it in her own magic, looking over it briefly before slipping it into her pocket. “Okie-dokie then,” the mare beamed, “I will be right out with your orders soon.”

As she walked off, Feather looked to Luna. “Where did you get the pencil?”

“The stallion had one next to his ledger,” she shrugged.

“Isn’t that stealing?”

“What is there to steal? If we own the state, and we claim dominion over all subjects, that includes the business owners including their private businesses. And within the hold of those businesses, are factories. And from those factories, pencils are produced. So I’m merely taking acquisition of what is mine,” Luna said obtusely, with a self assured smile.

“…you could’ve just said you were borrowing it,” she said, exasperated, a grin coming naturally to her face.

Luna spent a great deal of time planning out every facet of this night. Everything from the walk down a more secluded street to give them much needed intimacy, to the subtle smallness of the table compared to the others, just so that Luna could every so often brush her hind leg against Feather’s own. She also kept herself awake into the late hours of the morning just so that she could manufacture the perfect three course meal for this very night. The entree was a bowl of spiced lentil soup, joined by a couple of soft wheat rolls to soak in it. Feather had difficulty eating that course as she lacked the efficient means of making use of the utensils, who cutely chewed the inside of her cheek across from Luna, eyeing the nefarious bowl with a crease between her brow. Luna, trying her best to remain unwitting to the unfortunate predicament, and offered to aid the mare in the consumption of the course; empathising the foible of spoons for the magically challenged. At first Feather was visibly reluctant, responding to Luna deadpan and reddened cheeks, soon however she was happily – adorably, Luna thought – chomping around the silver spoon and swallowing down every drop.

“You know I could have just lapped from the bowl?” Feather smirked, licking the corner of her lip. “It’s how I’ve always done it.”

“We would never pass up the chance to help those most dearest to us,” Luna said sincerely.

“Right, right. I can’t imagine what would go through your head to see me lapping from the bowl like a dog,” Feather smirked.

“True. It would be most horrible to see you debase yourself so,” Luna nodded, half-smiling. “Such debasement should remain in the bedroom instead. There we could do many dog-like things. Panting, and perhaps with us leaning over thee,” she spoke lewdly, stoking a redness in Feather’s cheeks. “But, whilst talking of dogs is pleasant, we were thinking perhaps of moving onto a topic much more worthy of conversing about. Whilst we wait for the next course.”

Feather smirked. “What?”

“You,” Luna said plainly; leaning on the table and looking at Feather’s jiggered expression with a smile. “What more tantalising topic of conversation could there be than the mare who hath taken our heart?”

Feather wasn’t subtle in her diffidence. “R-right, you’re right. This is a date after all. Um…” she paused, head down and chewing the corner of her lip. Luna just watched, patient. She was aware of how on the spot she had put the mare, and thus afforded her time. Luna did, however, raise an eyebrow at the intent concentration Feather took with the discarded utensil beside her bowl.

“We were not aware you could look upon something so mundane so intently,” Luna remarked with a smirk.

“I was just thought of something, actually,” she took her eyes away from the spoon and looked Luna right in the eyes, a smile of remembered sentiment. “You ever wondered why I’m named ‘Feather’? Despite not being a pegaus?”

“Hmm, the thought hath once or twice entered the domain of thought,” Luna nodded. “Taking your full name into consideration, we thought that your parents were perhaps just alike thee. In some sort of servitude.”

“Well, they do serve. But not under anypony that I know of,” she said ambiguously.

“Oh?”

“They own a pub. In Trottingham,” she continued. “So, they do serve... pints!” she beamed as she finished the exclamation, uncaring of the few eyes attracted to the volume. “The Gilded Accessory it’s called.”

Trottingham? Daughter of tavern owners? Delightful, Luna smiled, her interest in Feather spiked even more with each information filled syllable that came from her mouth. “We did not expect that, but now that you mention it, our ears have always pricked at the sound of some accent from your larynx.”

“Yeah. It’s faded after so long in the West country, but if you know what you’re looking for you can hear it sometimes.”

“Yes, like the occasional twanging of a bell. Trottingham? Is that city still sharing the isle with the Griffons?” she inquired.

“Yep. But you don’t see many, and the few you do see, they keep to their own,” Feather informed. “But back to my name. You see, my father is a unicorn-”

“And we guess that your mother is an earth pony?” Luna blurted.

“No, actually. She’s a pegasus pony,” she corrected. “You’re not the first to think that though, considering what I am.”

“And what you are is perfect,” Luna couldn’t help but squeeze a compliment in. “But tis most puzzling, but not unheard of for a pony to be born of a different tribe than their parents.”

“I know that. But if you know that, then you know how rare it is to happen. Mother and Father didn’t even consider the possibility when they were coming up with names for me. But they’re both strong headed, see? They both had a name, and they both wanted their precious first born filly to be named it,” she explained effusively, a sentimental pensiveness on her face, barely giving Luna time to catch up. “Father had picked Cherub, but mother had picked Feather. Essentially picking between sweet and soft.”

“You mean Feather Duster?” Luna asked.

Feather tightened her lips, looking over shoulder before leaning forwards. “Between you and me,” she spoke in a whisper, “I added the ‘Duster’ so I’d look more appealing on the resume. Having a name associated entirely with cleaning makes you look more suited for the job. I was just fortunate to have half the name of a cleaning tool.”

Luna furrowed her brow, looking at Feather sideways. “This information perturbs me. ‘Feather’, or ‘Feather Duster?’”

“Either. Really, I’ve been called the latter enough times that I’ve forgotten to leave it off most forms I sign, but I digress,” Feather looked abashed, resuming her normal posture. “Getting back to what I was saying, they both had names in mind, but neither wanted to not name me. So they had something of a wager. If I were born a Pegasus, like my mother, she’d name me-“

"And if you were a unicorn, your father would name you," she interrupted, engaged. "But seeing as your not either, we are interested on how they solved that predicament.”

“Well, on the day I was born - or so they tell me – when my father held me, then and there he gave me my mother’s name.” Feather smiled fondly, “he says that when he took one look at me all he saw was my mother. From my beige coat to my tangerine mane, he only saw her. So he says it was involuntary when he called me Feather. Like it was instinct. I’m sure he and mother added a touch of drama to it, making it more special than it was. Who knows, maybe she just yapped his ear off, that she won on some kind of ‘technicality’ or something,” she smirked.

“Your parents sound like wonderful ponies. Do you see them often?” Luna asked.

Feather frowned. “Not as often as I’d like. There’s not much time off in the year to do so I’m afraid. Sometimes, I miss more than my parents. I miss all of it really, the Gilded Accessory.”

“What could you miss about a pub?”

“Plenty, I’d say. I spent so much time on the open floor that I only need to close my eyes and think, and poof! I’m already there,” and she did just that, closing her lids tight and wearing a small silly smile. “The smell of honey from the mead, the sound of laughter and music – Oh the music!” suddenly her eyes slammed open, her mouth opening into a large beam. “You’d love it. The strings, the accordions-”

“Voices?”

“No voices. It was like they were trying to add to the whole feel of the place, ya know? The laughing, dancing, drinking. Merriment and all that,” she explained, and Luna nodded her head. “Thing is, they didn't have a name for their band. It was just four ponies coming together to make music, no motive for fame or money. Although my folks gave them endless access to the tap, so there’s that,” she ended with short laugh, sighing with a breath Luna recognized as nostalgia – something Luna now knew she could consider herself kindred with the mare.

“Sounds pleasant. We understand your longing for it, but something you previous said has been gnawing at us,” Luna had furrowed brows. She had listened to every word Feather uttered, but one piece of her dialogue yanked at her interest. “’Tangerine mane?’ But your mane shares the same hue as chocolate, do our eyes deceive?”

“Oh…” Feather blushed, looking caught, her hoof swatting at one of the brown strands that fell down the side of her face. “Yep. I’m a natural redhead. Freckles too,” she spoke openly, and without care, which further added to Luna’s confusion.

“You don’t sound bashful for your looks. If you care not for your appearance, why hide it?” Luna arched a brow.

She tighten her lips in thought, exhaling through her nose. “Well, I’ve always done it since I’ve come to Canterlot. I did everything to try and fit in. Some things happened naturally over time, like my accent, but other things were harder to hide… I heard how strict and orderly the capitol was, so I made myself unassuming. Back then, I thought it necessary, but now? I’m just trying not to take risks. I heard a mare on the day staff was fired for dying her hair pink once,” Feather shrugged as she spoke the anecdote, expression neutral.

Luna frowned. “It hurts us that you should hide any part of yourself,” she pushed her hoof partway across the table, leaving it there as an affection offer for contact. “We would adore to see you as your true self, nature’s intended.”

“Really? You might not like what you see,” Feather forced a saturnine smile, a crease in her brow.

“Hast thou not been listening? Our love for thee goes deeper than skin, beyond your earthly vessel, our sweet.” Luna weaved back in the archaisms, smiling warmly as Feather met her touch.

“Alright,” Feather sighed. “But if you turn tail and run, I’ll leak your entire collection of poems to the press.”

Luna gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

Feather grinned like a playful scoundrel. “Want to try me?” she asked playfully, leaning across the table.

“We wouldn’t dare, you rogue,” Luna met Feather’s joking tone, and was about to also meet her lips midway across the table…

“Bon appetit!”

Interruption. Coming in the form of a cheerily disposed mare pushing a food cart. Normally, Luna would have acted against such insolence, but her anger was disarmed by the mare’s overly jaunty disposition. “Wonderful,” she spoke with forced mirth; leaning back in her seat, lips lacking a much sought kiss. “The flower bed of fruits?”

“Indeedy!” she affirmed jovially, levitating both the emptied bowls from the table and replacing them with two medium sized silver platters. Luna kept an eye on Feather to gauge her reaction. As the platter’s dome was raised with an amber magic grip, hiding Feather from Luna’s view for a fraction of a second; the disguised princess’ smile twinkly. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Wow.”

“Hath your breath been taken?” Luna asked rhetorically, Feather’s eye glued to the dish.

“This looks amazing,” Feather remarked, eyes aglow.

The ‘flower bed of fruits’ was a very pragmatic name for the main course. Eight varieties of fruit placed upon a bed of just as many types of flower, each sweetened with a peppering of saccharine sugars that were certain to make the mouth water, and hungry for more. “Not the most nutritious meal that we could have ordered, but we sought taste over sustenance. Taking a page from our sister’s book,” Luna giggled.

“I can’t wait to tuck in,” Feather said eager, licking her lips, learning down.

“And two bottles of strawberry wine!” the waitresses voice was marked by two heavy thumps on the table, forcing Feather’s attention. “As requested.”

“Wine?” Feather looked at Luna, puzzled.

Luna nodded to the mare who had dropped off the their course as she walked off with cart in tow. Luna levitated one of the bottles and two glasses, popping off the top and filling the glassware with a finesse trained over many, many dinners. “No meal is complete without at least one glass of wine,” Luna grinned as she placed the glass beside Feather’s platter.

“You say that like it’s a proverb,” Feather quipped, glancing to the liberally filled glass.

“And it should be, because it’s true.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if I should,” Feather said pensively, her hoof tracing the rim of the glass. “I’m kind of a lightweight… funny, isn’t it? Considering where I grew up.”

“We insist you should, Feather. It is our favorite concoction, as it dances a delight upon the tongue - so we would simply adore if you could partake in it with us,” Luna cajoled with a puppy-like countenance. “We believe that you will enjoy it as much as we do.”

“Hmm…” Feather screwed up her expression, her head tilting from left to right as she visibly thought over it. “A-alright, I’ll give it a go.”

“Capital!” Luna exclaimed, smiling wide.

Feather placed both hooves on either side of the glass, lifting it up to her lips. “Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Drunkenness did not come easy to Feather. It came hard. She was dreadfully drunk, and aware of it too. Her vision was as slurred as her speech, her eyes feeling loose in her own sockets, and she eventually gave up trying to eat all together. Much too giggly to put her mouth to any other task. She had tucked in and wolfed down half of the delectable meal – of which she voiced her pleasure with every bite - but soon found her lips attracted to the rim of a constantly refilling glass; the savory sweet bitterness of the cerise liquid luring her taste buds back to it every time she parted from the stemmed glass. She was an abject failure in keeping up with Luna, who practically inhaled the liquid. Feather speculated, albeit drunkenly, that Luna’s largest organ was her liver. Which prompted a particularly absurd cackle from the mare, who slammed her hoof on the table repeatedly.

“What are thou laughing at?” Luna asked, a smidge of a slur on her words, resuming her shibboleth unabashed.

“Ten-ton-liver!” Feather snorted, thinking at that moment she had said the funniest thing in the world. “How can you drink so much?” a small moment of clarity in her otherwise intoxicated state.

“Only five glasses worth hath passed through our lips,” Luna stated matter-of-factly, one eye more ajar than the other. “Thou have swallowed half as many.”

Feather’s reply was a wheezing laugh, her race rendered beat red, out of breath. “Oh yeah,” she said quietly, her eyes suddenly squinting, thinking. “What’s half of five?”

“Twice as many as one, short of thrice,” Luna similarly closed her lids, thinking. “Yes, yes, we think that is correct.”

Feather scoffed, blinking. A part of her knew the answer was two-point-five, but the louder – much more drunker – part of her concurred. “Yes, yes, you’re right. You’re really smart, Luna,” she complimented.

Luna smiled silly, looking bashful. “We art truly humbled. We offer thou sincerest thanks, love,” Luna took on a dreamy visage, leaning on the table.

Feather smiled wide, showing Luna her red stained teeth. “Let’s have a drink in celebration of your genius!” Feather raised the empty container with both hooves, licking her lips.

Luna outstretched her tongue before pursing her lips around it into a most curious expression, before shaking her head. “Perhaps not. We often forget the limit of how much we can drink in the moment, but thou must not succumb to the same fault. Thou hast reached thy limit.”

A part of her recognised this as being the most intelligent thing Luna has said since they had both partaken of the drink, but the part of her inflamed by the wine ironically was her childishness, and she pouted. “I want more,” she curled her bottom lip, holding out the glass.

“No, thou hast had enough,” Luna said strictly, pouring an ounce of her authority into her words. “We take dessert, and become homeward bound.”

“Give me more,” she demanded weakly, kicking out her hind hooves, brushing against Luna’s leg.

“No,” Luna responded simply, her horn lighting up as she plugged the bottle with its cork.

“No fair!” she whined, dropping the glass from grip, and kicking her hind hooves like a stubborn foal denied their toy. Luna, much like a parent should, didn’t engage with Feather – barring a haggard look – and brought the bottles close to her.

Feather did - in the sober part of her - appreciate Luna’s keeping the bottle from her. This sober part of her felt relieved that any further escalation that the alcohol might have wrought was nipped in the bud, and she felt a newfound appreciation for Luna’s maturity and motherliness – a quality she’d no doubt have gotten from reigning as a maternal autocrat. However, this sober part of her was overcome with a feeling of dread, as her brain became flooded with thoughts distinctly different from wine. They came about as one of her hind hooves, which she still retained an odd amount of adroitness with, brushed against the inside of Luna’s thigh. Luna remained wearing her stoic expression of authority as the lewd idea formed in Feather’s head. This expression however, crumbled, becoming wide eyed and tight lipped; in contrast to Feather’s cheeky grin, her tongue held past her lips between her teeth.

“W-what art thou doing?” Luna stuttered, her hind legs quivered.

Feather’s hind hooves were outstretched under the table, whilst her fore hooves leant on it, acting as support for her head and its dopey expression. Feather had decided to play their private game, but this time, in public. Feather, as an Earth pony, was expected to be good with her hooves. Fore and hind. Beneath the table, one of her hooves adventurously traced circles around one of Luna’s egregiously full coconut-sized balls; rubbing her other against the left, trying to elicit a reaction from the monarch. “Somepony feels pent up,” Feather whispered, licking her lips provocatively. “I think somepony needs to relieve their pressure…” she teetered off ambiguously, in stark contrast to her unambiguous action.

“Hast thou been given a touch of madness,” Luna hissed, shuffling forward on her chair. No doubt trying to hide Feather’s ministrations, but also inadvertently giving Feather greater ease of access.

“C’mon, I know little Luna wants to come out… well, not so little,” she smirked, trying to stroke Luna’s member out of hiding. “Your bits don’t feel proportionate.”

“W-We didn’t deem it necessary to do so,” Luna kept her voice low, her words interrupted by a momentary pinch of her lip between her teeth. Feather had just caressed one of Luna’s swollen nuts with her right hoof. “We expected lewd frivolity back in the castle, not out in…” Luna bit her lip, before leaning closer, “in public!”

Feather could feel it now, the head of Luna’s python emerging from its sheath. Luna’s thick bestial shaft inched out, despite the reluctance Feather could see on Luna’s face. Whilst one hoof fondled at Luna’s bulging sack, the other pressed atop Luna’s wide cock, mentally recording every inch as it emerged. Feather smirked, “imagine if you walked around with this fifth leg poking out. You’d leave a sticky trail everywhere you walked.” Feather’s sober part had simply ceased to be by this point, giving Feather the last trickles of doubt she had before fading away; her mind focusing on the mare-cock her hoof was pressing into. She didn't count – her mind too drunk to even remember numbers past five – but her mind mentally pictured as it got bigger and bigger, the throbbing excellence getting all big and excited all for her. She felt a bit prideful about that.

Luna exhaled through her teeth, huffing like a bull; hunched over the table. Her eyes were closed, and Feather knew she had ensnared her. Feather could almost feel the heat radiating from Luna’s tool coming out from under the table, she could certainly smell it, although she cared not at the moment if the musk would protrude the nostrils of any other pony in the restaurant. From memory, she could feel every familiar vein along Luna’s cock, the vessels pumping the rod alive to thickness, becoming stiff and rigid right under Feather’s hoof. She sent her left leg downwards, Luna’s quiet moan coinciding with the feeling of something particularly pronounced beneath the frog of her hoof: the medial ring. Very quickly, despite being hidden under the table, Feather was able to get a feeling for the member. She pressed both hooves on either side of the twitching protrusion like she would holding an object, pressing against the turgid flesh softly, before bringing them both back towards her and then sending them back towards Luna; rowing back and forth in an unsteady rhythm as she serviced Luna with uncoordinated caresses and presses.

“Talk,” Feather suggested.

“W-why?” Luna asked, squirming in her seat; looking as though she was trying not to undulate against Feather’s hooves.

“We’ve been talking all night. It would look strange if all of a sudden we stopped talking," she pointed out.

Luna tightened her jaw, and Feather stuck out her tongue. “R-right,” she said firmly, straightening her back, staring at Feather from across the table. “What…what, did you have in mind,” Luna wore a forced looking smile, looking shiftily in her spot; Feather all the while continued to glide her hooves up and down Luna’s shaft.

“Hmm, I think I just felt sticky on my hoof. I think you’re leaking now,” Feather informed, pressing a hoof into Luna’s broad tip. “You’re going to leave a mess on the carpet.”

“Thou art going to leave a mess,” Luna retorted, biting her lip. “And our liquids were not a topic of conversation we had in mind.”

“Hmm… does it feel good?” Feather probed, wearing a smile.

“Doth not that question answer itself?” Luna replied flatly, her member – coincidently - punctuating her statement with a particularly strong throb. “Hast thou any other topics of conversation?”

“No, not really,” she replied, idly pumping the cock by this point; the action coming naturally to her.

“Thy mind is one-tracked. Remind us to never mix alcohol and lust in thy presence again,” Luna said with a half-hearted irritation; leaning forwards again. “The risk we art currently in is immeasurable.”

“Does that mean you want me to stop?” Feather asked, grinning, bringing her strokes to a stop.

“Please do not tease us so,” Luna whimpered. Beneath the table Feather felt it twitch against her hold, subtly going back and forth with the Princess’ hips. “Don’t leave us blue.”

“Umm… okay,” Feather complied almost immediately, chipper. She acquiesced to Luna’s plea, one hoof sliding down Luna’s pole the other coming up towards her, brushing the unflared tip. “I’d only be depriving myself of fun if I stopped anyway.”

“Thou art a minx.”

“Your minx,” Feather stuck out her tongue, finding Luna’s deadpan visage hilarious. “Go on then. Tell me how good it feels.”

Luna gave a frustrated sigh. “Very well,” she kept her voice quiet, marking the end of her sentence with a quivering sigh; no doubt trying to supress the vocalisations of pleasure. “It feels… pleasant.”

“How pleasant?”

“Very.”

Feather tut, shaking her head. “Not good enough, Luna,” she slowed her stroking to grinding halt, simply squeezing the fat cock between her hooves but remaining still. “I want description. Put that vocab of yours to good use,” she encouraged, grinning in reply to Luna’s scowl.

Luna growled, quietly, chewing momentarily on her lip. “Thy agile hooves, they are soft; pleasant, they bring us ecstasy,” Luna spoke curtly, her rushing voice sounding truly desperate. “Please continue,” she squeaked, her brows knitted and her lips curved into a weak smile.

Feather remained motionless, watching Luna with a semi-sadistic smile as the monarch squirmed in her seat; her large cock twitching between her hooves. Feather could feel the thick dollops of pre pass by her hooves as they leaked from the trembling shaft, filling her with a perverse glee. She remained still until she felt the next bead coursing up Luna’s urethra, and along with it she squeezed up Luna’s bestial shaft towards herself, milking the clear sticky fluid from the tip. “Yes, that’s what I want from you. Say more,” she ordered coolly, as her hooves pushed down the skin of the shaft.

A moan was elicited from Luna’s throat, just as Feather passed her hooves over the sensitive medial ring, the monarch reduced to panting. “Yes, yes, we will! If it will please thee,” her voice was a few octaves higher despite being in whisper, reminding Feather of a mouse.

Feather, in her drunken state, got a modicum of pleasure from the monarch’s desperation, seeing such a powerful figure reduced to putty between her hooves. “Good,” she said simply, rewarding the mare with a soft squeeze of her thick column like member; having one of her hooves grind into the sensitive ring. “Keep going.”

“Thy hooves art magic, they please us both, organ and mare. They work with a catlike grace. Thou possess a deftness truly worthy of global appraisal,” Luna spoke her extolment with a gasp, Feather unrelenting of her strokes.

“Make it more vulgar,” Feather commanded, tepidly injecting her words with Luna’s strictness.

“What?” Luna opened her eyes, looking at Feather perplexed.

Feather stopped her strokes. “More dirty.”

“R-right, right,” Luna sounded apprehensive, but Feather knew her lust would overcome properness. “W-we can feel them.”

“Feel what?” Feather arched a brow, leaning her elbows on the table.

“O-our… balls, they churn with impatient seed, begging for release through the only exit available: our member,” Luna narrated with hitched breaths as she writhed in place, her hips lightly moved back and forth in her seat; weakly thrusting her breeding stick in Feather’s hooves.

“What do you want most right now?” Feather asked, feeling the shaft swell slightly in her hooves, watching as its owner bit her lip.

“To rut thee, breed thee, and stick our cock in thee,” Luna replied between pants, eyes clamped shut.

“But what do you want even more than that?” she asked, knowing full well what the answer was from Luna’s throbbing organ.

“To… to…” Luna paused between moans, as Feather increased the speed of her strokes to a rapid pace, the cock swelling to nearly double its size with blood; ready to unleash its load.

“Blueberry cream pie!” the cheery waitress from before blurted, pushing a food cart beside the table.

Feather froze, looking at her. “Uh oh,” despite stopping she still felt the dick swell between her hooves.

“Cum!” Luna finished with a loud and strained cry, uncaring of volume as she passed ungracefully into climax.

Like a fire hose in her grip, Feather felt the strong surge of seed shoot up the cock, and felt the first shot collide with her pussy between her legs; her vagina like a pink, wet, target – creating an audible wet smack upon the collision. The massive cock felt near uncontrollable in her hooves, firing shot after shot of semen. Again at her crotch, then splattering the inside of her thigh, before softening enough to be directed to the now plastered carpet. All the while, Feather kept her eyes locked to the waitress, whose wide smile cracked; gradually degrading into an equally large, and disgusted, frown. Feather, despite her intoxication, felt the full weight of the awkwardness that fell onto her shoulders – and so, just like the waitress, her steadfast composure, held together with alcohol and childlike confidence, snapped at the seams. She tried to force a smile but that made the uncomfortable silence even heavier. She felt it soften in her hooves, becoming limp, the weak trickle of semen from the tip was still felt through the flesh. Feather saw the waitress’s eyes fall, no doubt to look at the sound of something heavy and wet emanating from below the table. One didn’t require the most complex deduction skills to picture what the source of it was, even a drunken Feather knew this.

“We… you see… I… um…” Feather was shocked back into sobriety, partially at least; stuttering and looking back and forth between Luna and the waitress like a lunatic – seeing more than just one pair of eyes staring on at their commotion. Motivation by the panic rising in her gut, she threw her gaze to the Princess. “Luna! What do we d- Luna?” her tone shifted to that of worry, as coinciding with a sigh from the monarch, her entire form visibly pulsated; morphing unnaturally in a few placed, some discolouring too.

Luna blinked drowsily at Feather, before bringing her hooves up, her eyes smacking open in panic. “Climax ruined our concentration. This does not bode well. We believe it is now time to leave,” Luna spoke casually, landing her eyes onto the reeling waitress.

“D-did you say, L-Luna?” the waitress directed the question toward Feather, although her eyes remained stuck to the monarch, whose body began making its unprompted reversion; begging the attention.

“No!” Feather exclaimed, wearing a forced and toothy smile, looking around the table in panic.

“Goodbye,” said Luna cordially, and out of the corner of her eye Feather saw a piece of blue husk peel from the monarch’s horn, and then a flash…

As Celestia read the documents, her horn flicking a scrawl upon the bottom dotted lines, her mind was salted with malicious ideas of enacting convenient tyranny to no longer go past her end day. No longer would she have to sign infernal documents any longer – a workload only increased by her sister’s… withdrawn, personality – and maybe then she could sleep without the dark bruise-like lines forming under her eyes for once. Her thoughts would then carry a dallying pause, a tepid consideration… before she smirked, shaking her head with a small, and private, smile. There was, however, a relaxing kind of ambience whilst she worked. It did make it all the more harder to resist the urge to sleep, but it did lessen her stress considerably. The quiet ripple of liquid when she’d dip her quill in the ink, then the scratching of the sharpened tip against the parchment, the crackle of the fireplace; the low orange hue of the fire casting its light over her. It was calm… but then her ear pricked, and all other sounds became muted to her ears. She furrowed her brows, turning her head so that her eye was cast to the balcony window. Again her ear twitched, hearing the not-so-distant minims of voices.

Apprehensively, she climbed to her hooves from her plush carmine cushion, walking toward the glass paned doors to the outside; a tentative gait applies to her steps. As she got closer, her eyes parted wide, the voices becoming discernable. They weren’t voices at all – they were screams.

Now with panic but utmost of all worry in her chest, she galloped to the balcony doors, horn alighting in a yellow aura; preemptively slamming open the frail doors and tearing one off its hinges just before reaching the outside. She had no time to savor the view of her shared kingdom in the gentle moonlight, climbing her fore hooves on the gray stone balcony and looking down below to find the source of the screams. Her eyes darted around in panic, her horn still alight ready to save whomever needed to be saved. A few seconds of frantic looking passed and she could see nopony below… but then she looked up high... fifty miles high by her estimation.

Her mouth remained slightly agape before it joined the rest of her face in forming a scowl. “Luna!” Celestia growled, unfurling her wings.

She would need to have a very serious talk with her sister.

Author's Note

Wasn't all too happy with this chapter unfortunately. I think shifting perspectives too often might of degraded the quality. It was from here on out that I decided that the perspective should not shift multiple times whilst the scene remained the same or we were going to spend an overly long amount of time with a couple of characters. I also felt it was a tad inconsistent, the way I was describing things from certain perspectives. However, this is an issue that remains isolated to this chapter alone, so there's that. :twilightsmile:

Note added just now: Due to things at school, I decided to upload this chapter prematurely, as I have to finish note taking on Germany and the late Tudor period which is distracting me from writing unfortunately. After this I will maintain the obligation in my description to upload a chapter every time I complete one in advance (upload 3 when 4 is completed, etcetera) I expect to finish this egregious note taking within 2 to 4 weeks, which then will mark my happy continuation with writing. :twilightsmile: Cheerio!

Tidbits/Trivia/background things:
1. Celestia's perspective thing in the final portion of the chapter wasn't originally going to be a thing. Luna's teleport away was the original mark at the end of the chapter. This was because I wanted to keep the punishment of the three bullies secret till the next chapter, where Celestia lists it off as one of her grievances.
2. Originally, it was going to be a BJ beneath the table, it was then sex under the table, but in the end I decided to do something I hadn't done before (hence, it's sloppiness.
3. In the planning stages, this was chapter was originally much shorter, serving mostly as a bridge to the conflict that would arise from Celestia learning of Luna's relationship. However, I decided to give Feather some much needed characterization and back-story.
4. The origin of Feather's name, in IRL, was because in the fic before this I intended for her to be a pegasus. However, I pulled a Toriyama, and when I initially wrote the first paragraph to 'No Longer Customary' I forgot when I eventually came back to it. I went off the notes I had made below the paragraph rather than the ones I made in a separate document,
so I never read my desired species for her until long after I had finished it.
5. Originally, Luna's disguise would have faltered entirely, letting everyone in the restaurant know who it truly was.
6. This chapter faced a lot of bumps writing, as the shifting perspectives and my bad decision to wing most of the chapter led to a lot of pauses in writing.
7. I don't drink, in fact, I never have. This is primarily due to my own personal opinion of alcohol and my disliking of the drunkenness. This may have influenced my writing of Feather this chapter, whose character I made a tad more 'bad' as a result.
8. There was originally going to be a cameo of Silver, Synary and Blossom in the resturant,
but I couldn't figure out how to write it in and in the end I thought it was too out of place to hint at yet another sequel.
9. The idea for Feather's backstory was created on a whim when I was listening to irish music, and glanced at the name 'Trottingham' in my word docs. Whether or not her original accent is Irish or bog-standard English/British is largely up to the reader.
10. Compared to chapter 1's 13k words being done in two days, this took a staggering 2 weeks.

Chapter 3 - This Thing Of Darkness [edited]

The last time Feather vomited was on her first day of service five years ago when she adamantly believed Celestia had glance at her. Paranoia combined with nervousness made the mare believe she was destined to a terrible fate, thus making her lock herself in her quarters to spend half the day emptying her stomach into the toilet. Not since then had she ever been sick – vomit, fever, nausea, and any other bout of illness - miraculously.

Until now.

She spat out the last of the sickeningly sweet, multi-coloured petals – bleached beige in her stomach - into the toilet bowl. She was fortunate it was a day off. Having to clean up the contents of her own stomach atop the dusting and mopping would not have made for a pleasant working day. Bitterness clung to her tongue, her spittle pooling in her mouth to create a disgusting brew; spitting the foul liquid into the toilet water along with vomit every so often. Bile added a hue of greenish yellow to the vomit, making the porcelain throne look like some foal’s paint palette. The smell wafting from it almost fuelled further retching, but she mentally plugged her throat. What made it even worse was the occasional throb of pain from her abdomen, its cause she couldn’t pinpoint, but she blamed it on the alcohol – and her inexperienced liver - all the same. Nausea and dizziness accompanied the bouts of sickness – not at all helped by the low light of the candle and moon - but they were fleeting, the metaphorical aftertaste of the passing experience just left her head feeling heavy… still, despite the strife, she didn’t hold any regret for the past night.

She remembered most of it. The good parts and the bad – the latter of which she tried desperately to repress with varying degrees of success. Thinking of the food stirred the desire to throw up again, but the other memories – all of them with Luna affectionately framed – got her through the laborious unpleasantness of illness. She resolved never to drink another drop of alcohol again as soon as the hangover was felt, but she was sure that promise to herself would immediately be broken at Luna’s behest. She couldn’t decide if it was worth it or not, but once Luna had embedded herself into Feather’s mind, she couldn’t stop thinking of the mare whilst she knelt there; the smile forming on her sick stained lips giving her the answer to that particular question.

She fished the memory of Luna’s humorous anecdote as she stood up, prompting a mirthless but still very much genuine laugh from the mare as pressed on the flusher.

flussssh

It hurt to think. Each thought felt like getting flicked with a rubber band right on her brain, but she kept at it anyway. Not out of any sort of masochism, but rather because the monarch’s welcome intrusion into her mind made her feel warm inside. With Luna acting as fuel for her hooves, Feather began to fix herself, first beginning with the terrible taste in her mouth...

Brush, brush, brush. She scraped away the taste of calcified food, wine, and bile; replacing it with a refreshingly minty taste. However, all the time she was brushing she was forced to look at her reflection, turning cheek to cheek and opening her maw as she brushed her molars. The haggard and mussy mare in the mirror was hard to look at, and she skulked away from the sink to the cubicle nearby after she was done; grimacing towards her mirror as she opened the glass doors to the shower.

She felt grimy. Her body wasn’t plastered with sweat, just a general stink that she wished to be rid of. Her mane looked like a pillaged bird’s nest, strewn and messy. When she turned downwards the red handle on the wall, she initially hissed with discomfort from the spike in temperature before sighing in contentment. The water becoming wonderfully warm; washing her ailments like waste through a sieve, leaving only the goodness of memory and a satisfying night behind.

She sat down on the tiles, running her hooves through her mane, wiping the makeup from her face. She then went through the steps, waiting for the dye to wash from her hair and applying the shampoo, allowing the suds to stream down her body as she cleaned herself. She felt her entire form relax, and savoured the nice feelings and warm water. Shampoo, clean and rinse. The three steps to cleanliness played over and over in her head. Her fore hooves, face, mane, and body.

Thinking of Luna became unavoidable when she washed, inadvertently caressing her own body sensually as she thought of the mare. Recalling the night before, she remembered her act beneath the table. The thought made her blush, but prompted her hooves to travel downwards over her back, feeling every joint of her spine. As she began to wash her flanks, she became acutely aware of a certain area in dire need of a good scrub.

The sticky end to the night afore, the grand finale of her sexual to and fro on Luna’s pole. She got a good splattering of Luna’s ‘good time’ on her thigh and plastering her labia; giving the two areas a noticeable different shade of white when compared to the rest of her coat.

She shimmied until her back pressed against the wall of her small shower, sitting beneath the nozzle, her legs spread apart as a lewd thought came into her head. She squeezed her lips together as she looked at her other ‘lips,’ her hooves idly scrubbing away the crusty mess on her thighs.

It had been a very long time since she had even considered touching herself so lewdly. Now, she toyed with the idea, her hooves flirting close to her pussy lips. Ever since she became more than a mere acquaintance to Luna, she never had that particular ‘need’ flare up. She had been wholly satisfied. But the activities of the previous night had left her feeling sufficiently blue balled… blue ovaried?

Luna had gotten off, and Feather couldn’t even remember a second past arriving back from the restaurant. Even if she felt a modicum of shame, she simply couldn’t avoid touching herself, even if the idea of getting herself off rekindled a teenage shame within her. She had to be clean after all, and there was a fine line between a ‘scrub’ and a ‘rub’ maybe her mind wouldn’t notice the difference before it’s too late.

Shower overhead, she spread one of her plump lips apart – cracking the semen layer and washing it away - revealing the pinkness of her cunny. She felt oddly young again. Looking down at her own privates in the shower, although this time there wasn’t a shred of curiosity or fear this time around. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her hoof poked and prodded, trying to kindle arousal. Lonely foreplay. Despite being washed away, her feminine scent wafted into her nose before her juices washed down the drain along with the water and suds. When her hoof grazed the bud above her cleft, she let out a happy sigh, The clitoral hood stiffened under her touch, swelling enough to become exposed and wink; her limb quivering exquisitely as the sparks of pleasure travelled up the nerves of her extended hoof.

Her plump labia became engorged with unspent desire, her folds sensitive and pining for orgasm. Her body gave a slight tremor when she pushed the tip of her hoof past her pink folds; scraping the inside of her canal, cooing. She moaned low, occasionally her voice hitching high, growing louder as she allowed herself to succumb to her own pleasurable ministrations – licentiously bathing in her pleasure. She fucked her own hole with her hoof, the moist squelches of her femininity inaudible over the combined moaning of her lustful bliss and the stream of water from the nozzle. The moist hole gripped around her hoof, her hind hooves quivered as she shoved a few inches in and out of herself; keeping her legs splayed wide, the pair twitching in a visible display of her enjoyment.

Whilst her right played with her cunt, her left felt along the wall above her, until she came into contact with a cord and coiled her hoof around it. She yanked at it, until there was a sound of a metallic smack against the tile; the shower nozzle then blasting into the side of her thigh, torn from its dock. She eyed the nozzle, before giving a lick of her lips. She grabbed it clumsily, and used her free, juice covered hoof, to spread apart her plump white nether lips; exposing her bared pink pussy to the nozzle.

She held it close to her clit, moaning at the sensation. Her winking bud felt like it was being assaulted by an ending barrage of tapping hooves, agonisingly pleasurable, causing her to writhe on her flanks. She pressed it against the sensitive nub, throwing her head back to moan toward her ceiling. Even closer she pushed it, until her succulent moan marked it’s burying in her snatch, the constant flooding pleasure filling her depths. She squeezed without even trying around the nozzle, half worrying she would bend the thing out of shape after she was done, but that was a meagre worry compared to her approaching orgasm – which sent her moaning into a crooning, smiling dumbly as she neared closer and closer to release. Despite knowing the inevitable conclusion of this activity, she didn’t feel prepared for it. The water joined the practical explosion of mare cum from her pussy, as she released her loudest groan yet, becoming a quivering wreck on her shower floor as she rode the tide of a pent up orgasm to completion; the by-product of her pleasure washing down the drain along with filthy water.

She lingered a pleasured form for a few moments more before sighing in content, climbing onto her hooves, putting the shower head back in its dock and resuming her wash; leaving behind her soirée with gratification.

The rest of her shower was like any other. Upon leaving it she came eye to eye with herself in the mirror, grinning at her job well done at ridding of the previous night’s upset on her appearance. Droplets fell onto the floor with many stray drips from her mane and coat, immediately rectifying it by tearing a towel from the rack beside her sink and wrapping herself in it before plodding herself before the mirror, looking with a ponderous expression at the clumps of deep auburn hair that clung to the sides of her face.

She didn’t forget Luna’s suggestion. This is what gave her pause in her typical routine. Wash. Dry. Dye. Wash. Dry. It had been a long time since she had actually considered not tampering with her mane, and this time she had a reasonable cause that wasn’t ‘identity’ or ‘not being bothered.’ Of course, Luna strongly suggested to prioritise not hiding one’s true self, but Feather had the opposite of a huge ego when it came to herself. She supposed that when somepony disliked her when she was caked in her powdered shroud or greased her mane with black ink, they weren’t holding animosity toward the true Feather, just the fur of a much fancier looking Canterlot mare that she just so happened to adorn every morning. Without the beige powder, the black dye and accent, she would be left totally vulnerable… but she’d make Luna happy. That would make it worth it.

Feather dried her ginger locks, humming a tune, wondering how long it would take for them to curl again; counting the freckles on the mare in the mirror.

The clock ticked like a clicking tongue in Celestia’s office; perturbing the otherwise stewing silence Luna found herself in. She sat adjacent to her sister in a scene not unlike from when she was a foal. Interdicted by her tutor for something or other. And just like her tutor from way back, her sister managed to tower above her. To make one feel small, is to assume authority… we find this most condescend- ouch! No long words, she clenched her jaw, hiding her discomfort masterfully. Luna’s head still retained some pangs of pain from when she awoke in the mid-afternoon to begin her duties earlier in the day – the lowering of her sister’s sun to make way for her moon. The wine of the night before had a greater effect on her than she imagined. Curiously towards the end of that particular night and the transition into dawn –and by extension Luna’s self-imposed bedtime - Celestia, oddly, was absent when Luna lowered her lambent satellite. Twas most fortunate too. We sweareth it swayed on its descent, she mused inwardly, resisted the urge to wear a mischievous smile. But Celestia was there to witness the rising of the moon today, and from her mere expression Luna knew to follow. Luna’s rascality was usual in these proceedings, and as always. was in stark contrast to her sisters clenched jaw; trenched brows and wide eyes. A steely scowl; entrenched and barely containing back a long boiling reprimand. Signature, Luna would dare say, of which she was the only mare to witness.

“What dost thou wish to censure us for now dear sist-“

Slam

Interruption in the form of paper. A newspaper. ‘The Canterlot Gazette.’ Luna recognised the title, like most things she considered not worth her time in this world, in passing. Brow raised, her eyes gradually fell down the page. Nightmare Mare! the title read, prompting the second brow to join the first in rising. Luna picked up the paper in her hooves, momentarily forgetting her own magic, her eyes scanning the front page. After she had read down the column, she looked to Celestia. “Tis only a rumour, it will most certainly die,” Luna assured, her cheeks pulling back into a pitifully weak smile.

“Swearing to a member of staff. Textbook rudeness,” Celestia began with disinterest in her tone, finishing by clamping her lips closed, chin slightly raised.

“B-but-“

“Stealing a pen,” she interrupted, continuing her monotony.

Luna still had the pen. “W-We will-“

“Not tipping. Admittedly not mandatory, but generally considered rude,” Celestia continued.

“Sister, now we-“

“But they’re only the most minor offences, aren’t they Lu-Lu,” Celestia’s tone dipped into condescending, referring to Luna by her infantile nickname; giving Luna no opportunity to rebuke. “I don’t even want to go into any detail about the mess you left behind,” Celestia rolled her eyes, sighing. “What’s more, one of the waitresses said they saw you, our ‘Princess of the Night.’ Not only referred to multiple times by name, but according to the article she swears on her job that before she saw ‘Princess Luna! In the flesh! Right before me!’” her voice went a few octaves higher in imitation, assuming an expression of mock-cheer before seamlessly returning to scowl. “I can’t believe you would do something so stupid.”

“Stupidity, dear sister? Hast thou lack’d any sort self-observation? Please recall that thou were decades hence from coronation? A cake factory was officially annex’d by thee!” Luna rebuked, anger rising in her voice.

“I was young, and I was stupid, Luna. But I grew out of that. Now, why Luna do you insist on continue being so?” she spat, shaking her head with a huff. “Those list of offences, however, pale in comparison with what I saw plummeting from the sky near the end of the night.”

Luna’s heart momentarily seized in her chest, her bared teeth hiding back behind her lips; a fearful breath exhaling through her nostrils. “What? What sister, prithee what?” panic filled her, “art they fine of health?”

Celestia remained quiet, and then Luna felt tortured; soon after the icy grip of fear wrapped around her heart. Celestia sighed. “Seconds more and my answer may have been ghastly different, Luna,” she began, releasing another sigh. “They were alright – more afraid than any trio of ponies alive – but they were alive… at the very least. They told me what you did, or rather, ‘the crazy mare with that maid,’” she imitated flawlessly the distaste of the words spoken in their quotation, or at least Luna hoped it was mere imitation. “Teleported them as high as a pony could feasibly go without death, allowing them to fall and rise continuously like a bungee cord. Completely helpless… now, dear sister, what offence did they cause to be worthy of such an egregious torture?”

Luna felt bad. Not at all about what she put them three ponies through, an act she considered merciful to any of the other alternatives. Luna tried not to feel small when Celestia bore her eyes into her. She felt younger, prepubescent under such stern eyes. She remained to maintain her posture, shrinking back into the seat, eyes averted. “They offended her,” she muttered, the memory of their snide and pathetic bravado kindled her rage a little, prompting her to exhale sharply.

“Who?” Celestia asked. When Luna glanced up, she saw the older monarch hunching forward on her desk, trying to lessen the gap that Luna had created by shying back into her seat.

“Feather Duster… although actually just, Feather. A maid mine own staff, formerly proper to thy service,” Luna explained, finding courage to look her sister back in the eye.

“She was the mare in the restaurant with you, wasn’t she? I seem to recall you asking about her a few months ago. She gave you pie… After what happened at the restaurant I can only assume that the two of you are intimate in some fashion. But what is she to you?” Celestia’s expression became easier to look upon now. Anger gave way to an expression of confusion Luna found vexing.

Luna inhaled, trying to imitate her sister’s prior stony visage. “Our love…”

Celestia seemed to evaporate her anger, her lecturing stature, her persona of teacher and adjoining nagging disposition. Celestia sat back in her chair, expression neutral. “Luna. How long has this been going on for?” she asked, her voice filled with what Luna could only assuage as concern.

“Weeks… Months… perhaps it has only been days since our first dalliance with her? Our time with her hast been so jovial we have forgotten to count the hours,” Luna now wore a slight moony smile, “hours passeth by within an instant in her company. We would happily maketh years into seconds, if they wast spent in only that mare’s presence.”

“Luna…” Celestia began with a wary tone, slightly shaking her head. “Sister, I do not think what you have for her is love.”

Luna hardened her expression. “You question the feelings of our heart, Celestia? Thy mind cannot possibly deduce what we are feeling inside.”

“She was kind to you, without prompting, and you immediately took to her. This is a crush, an attraction, maybe entirely motivated by lust, sister,” Celestia spoke softly, there was a mixed bag of emotions on her face that Luna couldn’t discern between. Regardless of her gentle tone, every word that left Celestia’s mouth made Luna angry. “For a thousand years you were alone, and you latched onto the first pony that showed you genuine kindness. You are misgui-“

“We are not!” Luna slammed her hoof on the desk, baring teeth, quickly overcome with anger. “We are more certain of this than we ever have been. Our love for her is truer at this moment than our sisterhood! We can scarcely believe that thy tongue can utter such a cruelty!”

“Sister, love is a powerful emotion-”

“Do you think us a foal?!”

“And it cannot be spared so freely,” Celestia continued, but Luna scarcely listened. “Love… it is like a tether around your heart, a tether which you firmly hold. Tug on it too hard and your heart will snap in two. It’s a fragile thing… and to give someone else the hold over your heart is a massive risk, and requires tremendous amount of trust. If who you give it to cares not for your heart, they will break it, dear sister.”

Luna pouted. “We know the risks. We hath always known the risks. Why dost thou push the sense that love is equal parts suffering and joy. Is it truly impossible to have love absent of agony?”

“I’ll remind you again. As much as we hate to unearth it,” Celestia’s voice became low, an exhalation from her nostrils marking her reluctance. “Luna, the first time you loved, and then lost it, you died. Not literally, but metaphorically, as you to so frequently employ. You sought reclusion, didn’t utter a single word to me for years, and became one with shadow. Loneliness led to paranoia and hate, and when you came out of your splendid isolation, you did not come out as my sister. You came out a monster, a villain. Need we remind you?”

On her dignity and pride, Luna maintained her stoicism; keeping her eyes firmly locked to her sisters, quelling the tears in her ducts. “No. We remember our first love more clearly than you know. We art reminded of it every time we dream, sister. Often times we lie awake until the dust settles on our open eyes, trying to stamp down our sorrow…” Luna remained quiet, swallowing the pit in her throat before exhaling… she then smiled, albeit a small one, and looked Celestia defiantly in the eye. “But Feather, our love for her is certain. We won’t expel these feelings out of fear. Nor, despite our sisterly love for thee, abandon it for the sake of our own wellbeing…” Luna again paused pensively, glancing down and swallowing, looking back at Celestia; resuming her unemotional expression. “I love her.”

Celestia didn’t retort immediately, to Luna’s mixed surprise. Instead she held a blank expression, unwavering in its stare. She inhaled, and then exhaled, a ripple forming between her eyebrows. “You sound resolute. I should have known better than to question you… but can that same resolution to love be said of Feather Duster?” the way she spoke of her love’s name left a sour taste in Luna’s mouth, the neutrality of Celestia’s expression – and her tone of voice - making Luna’s just short of being livid. “Does her love for you burn just as brightly?” she asked, and for the first time, Luna felt her stoicism waver.

“O-Of course it does,” Luna replied, forcing a self-certain grin, “we art sure of it!”

“That isn’t certainty, Luna,” Celestia leaned forward, and Luna could feel the weight in her stare. “I think you don’t know what she feels. What is love? It’s an unanswerable question, some would say. Is it an emotion, how ponies act around one another, or the actions they commit in the name of it? Who knows for sure. Yet, when two ponies feel it – whatever it may be – they are bound to one another. Now, some believe such as bond is unspoken, but others display such a bond publically and with opulence…” Celestia let it hang, and she leaned backwards in her chair; still as empty of any discernible expression.

Luna furrowed her brows in thought, before her eyes opened wide in shock. “Marriage?”

“Yes. Marriage. Admittedly, the last royal wedding did not go as splendidly as all parties had hoped, but the outcome was exactly as was wanted. Two ponies proclaiming their eternal and undying-“ she emphasised the word with a thinly veiled spite “-love for each other, and bound together forever in holy matrimony,” the corner of Celestia’s lip tugged into a tiny smile, “and if the love you have for each other is as fervent as you say then surely she would not dream of ever refusing such a proposal, right?”

“T-Thou wisheth us to ask her at this very moment?”

Celestia grinned. “Why not? You both love one another. Go do it, see her joy, and we will begin planning the wedding ceremony immedia-“ Celestia stopped herself abruptly, her smile waning into a frown. “No, wait. Luna, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have insti-“

“Thou are correct, sister,” Luna half smiled, her thoughts travelling at so fast her speed her eyes darted around trying to catch them. Marriage, between herself and the love of her life and beyond. The extravagance and sumptuousness of such an event would set the precedence of their love for all he ponies of the realm to see. Luna couldn’t picture a more perfect way to proclaim their relationship for the world to see. “We are tempted to find a suitable jewel to adorn on her, but such a perfect gem does not exist as far as we are aware… but now that thou hast put the question into our head, we cannot shake it,” she finished by hopping off the chair, body quivering with excitement. “We are sure of her love, and so we must make haste to ask it of her. We must flee to her at once!”

“Luna, don’t,” Celestia gave a firm objection, similarly leaving her chair and rushing around the table. “We were being facetious, don’t do anything so has-“

“Haste is the speed with which we must act, sister,” Luna said as her horn illuminated with a blue glow, turning her back on Celestia, “for our time is fleeting, and our heart begs us.”

“Luna, sto-“

Celestia’s halved cut sentence was all she heard before she teleported away; her mind flooded with joyous thoughts and her chest filled with hope and love. It may have been her magic that caused her to disappear, but it was the love in her heart that carried her away, not a shred of pessimism within her…

Feather was sat at her desk. She was tempted to spend her night off elsewhere but she felt anxious. She did however sneak a foray in the library, as she was reading a book. Every so often she would steal a look from the mirror, where her own appearance would beg hither; her face framed by her own – subdued orange – mane, freckles dotting her face like flicked on paint. She felt different, new but old, like a refurbished antique – practicing her own flair for repair on herself.

She flipped a page.

Caesura. Verb, adverb, noun, common noun, abstract noun, proper noun, adjective. So many words for specific kinds of words. Did Luna really consider all of this when she wrote her poems? There were a modicum of techniques, skills and widgets to writing such eloquence, and Feather tried to cram all of them into her skull the best she could. From the excerpts in the tome, they were enigmatic; much of them leaving Feather arch browed and her face scrunched. If she wanted to impress Luna she would have to imitate their complexity, their odd yet universally appealing beauty… or so the book told her. She couldn’t decipher how the language was pretty, but the book said so, so it was so… sibilance.

She sighed, signing her own head with her hoof, tracing her temple as the words all kept blending together and soon became unreadable, prompting her to slam shut the book – hopping off her stool, not wanting to spend another second looking at the pages. Slog. Perfect word for it. She couldn’t even remember the book’s title – didn’t want to. She just left it closed, face down, on her desk. She’d pick it up again later.

She spent the next hour doing menial things, which she found ironic. Escaping boredom by doing work. She began to sort out the piles of poems, straightening the piles and packing them together tightly, perhaps making them less of a fire hazard in the process. With the roses she did the she did very much the same thing, meticulously lining bushels root to flower along the tops of Luna’s written affections; her lips tasting of pollen from miraculously living flowers. She made her bed, fluffed her pillow, organised her desk and cleaning supplies and even put in order her uniforms from Monday to Friday – her mane bows ordered from the darkest hue to the brightest, her favourite and most frequently worn in the center. Whilst cleaning she cast an eye to void beneath her bed, before checking under it. She reached out for the box of old things, opening and perusing it. Pictures, old friendship bracelets, and two different kinds of brush; both from her youth, one of an abandoned hobby. She looked over the contents, making sure nothing was out of order, and reclosed it for hiding.

With a sincere smile she looked over her humble dwelling , contented at her pristine living space, she marked the occasion with a sigh…

Suddenly, a bright blue flash left her bedazzled. She had barely managed to make it two steps towards her bed, when an abrupt gust of warm air exploded outward from the explosion of light; her afternoon was rendered ruin as her organisation became discord. It took a while for the maid to rub the spots out of her eyes, and when her vision cleared, she looked upon the familiar and staunchly proud figure of her lover. “Wha-“

“Feather!” the magically appearing monarch exclaimed, interrupting Feather mid-sentence. “Our beauteous love, our most treasured star, our reason to be,” Luna gushed with the energy of a filly, smiling and punctuating every compliment with a step toward the maid, “we come to thee - to beseech thee - a question most dire. A question which our own heart doth hang upon, but inspires within us joy and excitement!”

Feather could feel the happiness in Luna’s words, but the closing of the gap by the overzealous monarch – combined with the remnants of her startled state – left her feeling something of trepidation in the moment. “A question? You… y-you wanted to ask me something?” her voice wavered under Luna’s wide smile, the princess’ eyes twinkled despite the light. “What did you want to ask me?”

Feather saw a glint in Luna’s eye as she opened her mouth to speak, the monarch’s maw propped open and ready to speak – resolute… until suddenly she wasn’t. Luna’s expression slowly tightened, her brows furrowing as she scanned the room. Feather remained silent as she eyed Luna, curious. Luna’s horn began to emit its light, and Feather watched with wonderment as the mess Luna had caused upon her entry – the piles of paper, bushels of identical flowers and other strewn objects – were returned to a state of arrangement around the room. Luna didn’t stop there. Still remaining like a statue in her stillness, she merely glanced to the flickering candle, giving it a singular stoic nod and it transformed into a bright flame; illuminating the entire room in a soft royal blue.

“What is this?” Feather asked, her voice betraying a slight feeling of wonderment. Luna’s expression remaining elusive in what she was feeling, and this just further stoked the maid’s curiosity. “This is just… all… new,” Feather worded carefully, head tilted slightly as Luna took a few steps back towards the door, Feather moving from the spot she was rooted until she was adjacent to the monarch. “What did you want to ask?” Strangely, Feather felt a nervousness from Luna. The monarch swallowed, and deeply inhaled… before seemingly collapsing under her own weight. “Luna! Are you… o… kay?”

Luna’s fore hooves had bent, her hind hooves remained straight keeping her flank high. Meanwhile, her head was low, her eyes closed; the princess’ long sharp horn connected with the stone floor of Feather’s abode. Feather looked addlepated, head crooked and brows as low as they could furrow. The inconceivable answer, to the sight which Feather thought impossible from this mare in particular, hit her with the weight of a rotund bull: Luna was prostrating herself. “We were punctured with spontaneity, our flanks pierced with the very trident of Jove! Filled three times overflowing with the love we feel for thee," Luna spoke with audible adoration, the sheerness of which forced Feather to take a step back. “This love burns like our beloved sister’s sun, ‘cept infinitely brighter! Our love, most precious and valuable, a question for thou we will ask. A colossal question – one which we bear the full burden off, and only hope that thee will give us the grace of shouldering it as well.”

“I…” Feather’s voice quickly became air, silence taking the place of words. Feather couldn’t bring herself to move under Luna’s hopeful eyes, those twinkling turquoise gems. It was almost as if Luna’s words became literal, and she was at that very moment being pressed under a weight so heavy she became incapable of moving. A moment of quiet and stillness – which momentarily felt everlasting as Feather’s mind danced an incalculable number of ineligible thoughts – passed, and Feather blinked, parting her lips. “W-what?”

Luna’s lips betrayed a small smile, quickly hidden behind stoicism, and she breathed in a trepid breath. “Feather, our love… my love, the only thing that… I, hold of value in this world. Will you grant me, your princess, the honour of being my bride?”

Feather blinked. She had heard, but doubted the very words that entered her ears. “W-what are you asking?”

Luna let out a muted and breathy bray from her throat, the corner of her lip tugging into a smile. “Feather… will you marry me?”

“I…” the question reverberated in her mind like the twang of a tuning fork. Will you marry me? Over and over again Luna’s voice asked, and yet the answer remained lodged in her throat. Herself unsure of what it even was. “I…” she reiterated, swallowing. A million different futures flashed in her mind, the reminiscent voices of old friends sharing amongst themselves the advice of not getting married too young, the potential lost moments that were to arise because of it. How soon after being together Luna she had decided to propose. “I…” again she repeated, Luna’s expression contorting from a smile into a frown; slowly rising from the ground; every happy memory and all the loving feelings she felt for the mare adjacent to her collided with the conflict that buried itself into her. “I… I…”

Luna swallowed, the stoicism she wore to hide her frown faltered periodically. Her lip would quiver, a quiet sniffle would sound from her muzzle. Feather had never witnessed such a sadness. “We see…” Luna stated simply, looking away to some patch of the floor; the remark causing the heart in Feather’s chest to rip in two. “Our… perception of thine love for us was amiss. We humble ourselves with a sincere apology, and take full tax for our mistake… we will depart.”

“L-Luna,” he voice was weak, her attempt to pursue the princess was frail, still being kept shackled down by that question the princess so dearly wanted an answer to. “P-please…” her voice died as Luna closed the door.

Luna had left the room, leaving behind only the flickering blue candle of the lantern. The maid felt weak, tired, and the emergence of tears at the corner of her eyes. She remained rooted in her spot until long after Luna had left, staring sorrowfully at the door. Eventually, fatigue caught her, and she resorted to lying on the cold stone floor exhausted. In time, she found sleep, with wetted cheeks…

Luna had been on her balcony for hours, staring at her white shining opal in the sky. When Luna looked upon her creation, she found it to ease her of sadness considerably in trying times, like a friend she could always count on. It was an inspiring confluence of her youth, talent, achievement. It was a literal reminder as her status as monarch. It could bring her happiness, when needed. Make her devoid of stress. Even kindle within her a renewed desire to actually act out her duties – as laborious as they had become. Yet even her most prized creation, lacked the nimble finesse to stitch back together her broken heart.

“Misery? Who… who devised such a malevolent creature?” she asked aloud, uncaring the world around her. “The beast prowls, doth it? Slowly, gently, it cometh. The talons pierce the flesh, their victims unsuspecting. The wounds are deep, unable to meliorate and fashioning scars into the body. We are patchwork, sutured squares of sorrowful squalid skin,” she spat, angry. “Yet, the cruellest scars are self-wrought. The most jagged, uneven ones are guided by one’s own hoof, making the memory of such sadness everlasting – akin to the deep etchings in thy surface…” she teetered off, voice low and sombre. “Feather… she to who we gave all our love… she had earned it so effortlessly. Yet, it was not her who brought us to ruin. It was our own hoof. Our short-sightedness, hopefulness… our foolishness most… did we ever earn her love?” she asked to the sky, in sad pondering, her eye contact with the moon wavering as tears threatened to burst free from her ducts.

Knock, knock, knock

The noise tore her attention away from her creation, to past her bed, to the very edge of where the moon’s light touched. Three knocks, of familiar spacing and taciturn politeness. A flowering hope emerged within the hollowness of Luna, and she carried herself upon that feeling. She eyed the door with a just scepticism as she neared it, swallowing back her trepidation and forcing her mirth behind a stony expression; her horn lighting with magic as she readied herself for what was on the other side.

“G-good evening, your highness,” a timid voice spoke, and Luna felt herself deflate. The voice belonged to a young Pegasus mare, with curled cerulean locks and a butter shaded coat.

Barely ripe. A new face. New servant, she thought, disappointed. “For what purpose doth thou violate our peace?” she spat, her voice barely suppressing her budding anger.

“Y-your majesty, I-I bring…” the mare, practically shook on the spot, her voice matching the same tempo ironically – quivering and shaking.

Young and afraid of the world. Is she a servant, or a mere filly, she mused, eyeing the mare incredulously, before looking to the cart by her side; brow rising. “Tea?”

“T-tea? Y-yes! Tea!” she exclaimed.

Luna ironed her stern stare, the mare shrinking back into her meek state under it. “Do not forget thyself. Thou art in the presence of thy princess,” Luna reprimanded firmly.

The servant squeaked, shrinking under Luna’s gaze. “S-sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whimpered, prostrating herself upon the floor with an audible smack against her head. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

Luna rolled her eyes, her expression softening at the mare’s pitiable display. “Get up… get up!” she reiterated, louder over the mare’s profuse pleading. “Thou need not apologise for thy trespass… this time.”

“R-right, sorry…” she sniffled, climbing to her hooves.

“Art thou crying?” Luna asked, grimacing slightly.

“N-no…” the servant answered, sniffing.

Luna sighed. “Leave it on the desk, and then thyself take leave of our quarters,” she ordered firmly, sidestepping to allow the meek mare entry.

The maid nodded in compliance, pushing the squeaking cart into Luna’s bedroom with averted eyes. Luna remained glued to her spot by the door, following the servant’s every step with an acute eye. She waited, her stern expression become softer by the second as the servant visibly struggled to carry out her simple duty. Despite being obscured by the mare, Luna heard the sound of rattling ceramic, and the whimpers of a nervous filly.

Fear. The word reverberated in her mind. We inspire it as princess, as we should. Yet, we feel no enjoyment from such a piteous sight… pity? She frowned, the rattling of the pottery still in her ear. Her fealty, her cowering. Tis a recognition of our station… but I see only fear, no such veneration. The mare finally landed the platter and cup onto the desk, audibly sighing with relief. Nicer… the word rang forlorn in her head, but not in her own voice, and her lips downturned into a frown as the maid trotted with a downturned head towards the door.

“Stop,” Luna commanded, the sternness in her voice gone.

The mare came to an abrupt halt, the menagerie of cups and plates on her cart rattling at the sudden brake, her face contorting into a grimace. “D-did I do something wrong, your majesty?”

“No, no…” she assured, shaking her head. “It is something else.”

“…” the mare remained silent, attentive, eyes averted.

“We are…” Luna started, steeling herself as a knot tied in her gut. There was a singular word she try to send forth from her maw, but it refused to budge from the back of her throat. So she stood there, open mouthed, silent.

“…” the mare kept quiet, but her eyes no longer remained glued to the floor; now they were shyly adjusted in the direction of Luna’s pursed lip visage.

“We are… aware of our unsmooth demeanour. This creates an upsetting friction between us and our subjects,” Luna elaborated, every word became more difficult than the last to say aloud, as though her pride bucked square in the head by a proficient farmer. “The word doth leave our tongue feeling as though bathed in salt. We hath never uttered it aloud to somepony who wasn’t close to our heart. Thou art an exception, our first, and if we art to keep to a promise, thou will not be the last… but thou must swear to us thy silence!” she demanded in considerable volume.

“Ah! We swear!” the mare replied, startled into falling on her flanks; her wings ruffled on instinct.

“Capital… name? What tis thy name? Hurry ‘fore we art stripped off the desire to fulfil our promise,” she hurried her words, giving them a vague importance.

“S-Sky Tide,” she replied promptly, trying her best keep her composure under Luna’s intense glare.

“Sky Tide… we… we are… sorry,”` Luna spoke softly, forcing the words out, “and we thank thee for thy service…”

Sky Tide blinked. “Um, apology accepted, y-your highness,” she began, a small smile forming on her face, cheeks a tinge red. “And, um… y-you’re welcome,” she ended by bowing her head slightly, before looking up at the monarch with a toothless beam, eyes closed in an admittedly cute display.

“...Well, what art thou waiting for?” Luna asked, her brows furrowed.

“W-what?”

“Leave, our privacy hath been violated enough. It need not be any further,” Luna explained, expression in similar sternness as before.

“O-oh, right. Sorry, your majesty,” Sky Tide stuttered nervously, pushing the cart forwards with her right hoof until she left the room’s confines, before looking back. “Oh, would you like some crumpe-“

The door was slammed shut.

Luna stood with a rigid posture by the door for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek, before a smile gradually came to her face. “We thinks that went swimmingly,” she remarked, oblivious and grinning. “Perhaps to display an apt showing of humility towards those of a lower degree than us won’t be quite the chore we suspected,” she thought aloud, leaving the door and trailing back to the balcony. “The reward of our appreciation of a commoner’s role is a smile… it hurts our pride to shrift the tinge of joy we felt upon seeing those curv’d lips…” her voice trailed off as she walked out under the night sky once more, her expression scrunching up half of her face. “Our sister, brings smiles to all faces with her presence. It is not a mere one, for she radiates a nimbi like light with a glance, joy’s lustre shines upon her very coat. We hath always envied our sister for myriad things, but perhaps this quality is yet another which I must add. She hath earned love and joy effortlessly… but perhaps we were dark to how she achieved our subject’s love…”

Love. The word assumed a pedestal in her mind, and it took the shape of only three mares. Feather, at the forefront, Celestia to her right, and… another, to her left. Nostalgia grew in her like a sapling, and she sighed - staring intently at her night sky, following the starts lazily; an epiphany forming in her mind. “Oh, Feather. In these myriad lights, only thee shines brightest. And whither has’t I been, but crawling in the dark, trying to reacheth thee? Thy love, didst I earn it, so effortlessly? Or wast I wrong, and only but claw’d at the gray’d edges of thy heart? Thou hast firm grip around thine own, because thou stole it, to my disporting joy. Didst thou perceive thyself a doxy? Nothing more than the plaything of the princess? Is that why thou didn’t entrust thy heart to me? Didst we fail to earn thy love…” she remarked bitterly, sorrow faced toward her stars, her eyes glistening with emerging tears. “It rests just beyond our reacheth anon, and neither my magic n’r mere hope can bringeth it to us…” she fell silent, sniffing back a tear as her expression changed to something else entirely, a crease forming between her brows as she became preoccupied with thought. “Perhaps that is where we are wrong… yes! It is foolish to hope that loves comes to us. We… we have to earn it!” she marked with a determined stomp upon the balcony, a determined grin on her face. “With enough effort, we can reach out to it. We can… we can!” she reiterated, louder than the last.

With her exclamation she pivoted back into her room, mumbling incoherently with an almost manic look about her, with an unmistakable determination in her gait. She walked just shy of jogging over to her desk, hopping upon the oversized chair, her horn glowing intensely as she began frantically laying out papers. She wetted a quill with her tongue and dipping it in an inkwell; scratching various ideas and thoughts onto a freshly laid out page. Ask again tomorrow? No, too soon. A few months from now? More acceptable, but something is happening then, but what? She stopped writing, leaning back in her chair as her face tightened in thought… before her eyes shot open wide, realisation striking her across the cheek. “The gala,” she muttered, writing it down. “The shell is perfect… but what of the innards?” she pondered aloud, tapping the quill against the page, creating splotches. Again, she skimmed her mind, trying to summon forth a solution to her conundrum.

She sat there for so long thinking, her throat scratched with thirst. Exhaling, she rested her quill, and threw an eye to the still steaming cup of tea on her desk. As she picked it up with her aura, sipped at pleasantly sweet decoction, her eyes parted wide in realisation – nearly dropping the tea in the process – and smiling uncharacteristically like a maniac. She downed the entire cup, ignoring her burning throat and bent over her page with an overly intense stare. She quietly scratched down the rest of her plan in black ink upon the page. Scrawled, at the bottom in untidy writing, was a singular word. A name, more specifically. A city, a city that Luna knew Feather held close to her. As Luna thought more upon it, the more perfect it became. We will have thee so overflowing with love, dear Feather, that we are bound to find some to latch on to, she thought with a cocksure smile, underlining the name with a strong stroke.

Trottingham

Feather awoke in a small puddle of her own drool, her eyes closing in reaction to the sudden inclusion of the light of early morning. She momentarily thought the events that transpired with Luna to be a hangover fuelled dream, and when she groggily rose to her hooves, her eye landed upon the flickering candle on her desk. It had almost burnt down to the wick, the small dying flame an unmistakable blue hue. She felt the breath forced from her lungs and she just stood close to it, staring at the faltering flame with a frown, downtrodden. She didn’t know what she felt. Regret… relief? Either way, she didn’t like how it felt in her chest. Feather felt mournful watching the candle, watching it flicker above a pool of congealed wax.

With a frown, she resolved herself to preserve the withering flame. Hurriedly she opened a draw in her desk, a few short stubby white candles rolled to the front, and she grabbed one between her muzzle. She went through the motions, preserving Luna’s light by carefully igniting the wick of the fresh one with the old. With the new candle in place, she sat at her desk, watching the gentle sway of the little blue fire, it’s little dance; contemplating.

She was at a loss. Simply unsure what to do with herself. Every so often, she would tear her eyes away from the candle to look at the door, torn with herself. She toyed with the idea of heading straight to Luna’s room and throw herself into the princess’ hooves, yet something kept her rooted to her chair. Melancholy weighed her down, and she knew by her motionlessness she would very likely be trading a stone floor for the wood of her desk when she slept again. Although this was trifling compared to what occupied the majority of her thoughts when she looked upon the candle.

Luna. Feather felt guilty, as if she committed a grievous wrong, a crime. Yet there was an ever present voice telling her that she shouldn’t, that she did the right thing, that it came too soon. But a larger, more passionate piece within her told her that she did the wrong thing by keeping silent. Was she supposed to ignore the advice she had read so frequently about. Youth is the best years of your life, filled with adventure, partying and sex… but what do those compare to… true love? Of somepony you could spend the rest of your life with?

She growled, her forehead met her desk. She felt like a fool. It took a silent rejection for Feather to finally admit it to herself. She loved Luna. She just refused to admit it. How many like her had forsaken love just to chase down debauchery? She didn’t want to become like them. A determined scowl formed on her face, and she hopped off her chair and cruised straight for the door… and came to a stop. Her hoof hovered near the door, still.

She couldn’t. Not now, it wasn’t right. It was morning, her majesty would no doubt be sleeping.

She retreated back to the sanctity of the desk, the comfort of the candle, and sat hunched over the desk. She conjured multiple scenarios in her head. What if Luna rejected her just like she had. She rubbed her eyes. She had to make up for her ineptitude, her absolute idiocy. But how? Her mind was blank of solutions. And it remained that way until she glanced a familiar tome, closed, at the end corner of the desk.

“Poetry… poetry!” she began in muttering, ending with a plosive declaration of her realisation.She reached for it, filled with a newfound resolve. She needed to tell Luna she loved her, but it had to be grander than just a few words. It needed to be a multitude of words! A full page worth at the very least of the most beautiful prose and imagery she could forge from her imagination. “This is how I make her forgive me. This,” she spoke to herself, releasing a prompt chortle, happy at a newfound goal.

She immediately set to scanning the pages. However, as tenacity replaced guilt, she felt a familiar queasiness in her gut as she reached for the lowermost draw - where she would find an abundance of paper and pens. She tried first to ignore it, opening the draw, before a strong tightening sensation tugged her away from her task. With a frown and furrowed brows, she promised to continue her work. But first… she needed so dearly to vomit.

Author's Note

Not a whole lot to say about this chapter. However, I would probably say this was my least favorite. The reason being that the awkward long ass period between writing the first half and second half left it feeling stinted in my eyes. However, that should definitely not be the case with chapters from here on out. So, I will post a mandatory apology for the quality of this chapter.
1.Initially, the meeting between Luna and Celestia was the first portion of the chapter, and Feather's portion would come after. The reason this was altered was due to what I initially wrote for Feather. She was going to be a lot more ill than you read I.E. bedridden. Lose consciousness and enter the dream realm , where Luna would propose to her inside of a dream, creating a very grand display that the dream would afford her. However, upon altering changing to what you currently read, I recycled it for the first aside chapter instead.
2.The conversation between Luna and Celestia is unchanged. Unfortunately it wasn't as I desired, as I didn't take notes on what I initially wanted, but it still came out satisfactory in the end.
3.I initially planned for Celestia to be a tad more spiteful and antagonistic when I came up with the idea. Actually, I initially wrote notes to have a 'mini civil war' within the confines of the castle. However, I thought this too hyperbolic, and I can't really imagine Celestia as being a cruel or mean individual - despite the plethora of fics showing her so. I tried to convey her as maternal yet sisterly at the same time. I'm not sure how effective it came across.
4. Feather initially didn't have a masturbation scene, neither was there a shower scene, due to the aforementioned 'bedridden-ness'
5. Luna's initial reaction to Feather's rejection was a lot more muted.
6. Luna's soliloquy was originally going to be a song, however despite how many times I tried, I couldn't make anything that sounded good to sing aloud so I emphasized the Shakespearean aspect even further and gave a long spoken monologue.
7. A joint point which connects to the last point, Celestia was also planned to have a perspective, the chapter mostly spent internally monologuing about her guilt.
8. The three bullies were initially going to make an appearance again this chapter, but I felt like it would come across as me trying to pad out the chapter length, so I decided against it.

This chapter is shorter due to an upcoming 'Aside' chapter, which you will read soon. An 'Aside' chapter is sort of like a bonus chapter, but don't have much of an impact on the story. They don't add much to the plot, but are simply an opportunity to give some side information, characterization, or a clop scene!

Aside I: Such Stuff Dreams Are Made On

“Where… where am I?” Feather asked, and despite the lowness of her voice, it echoed across the emptiness that surrounded her.

“Dreaming,” came an immediate reply, in the form of a voice Feather was all too familiar with.

“L-Luna? Is that you?” Feather directed towards the sky… ceiling? Wherever the singular beam of light that shone upon her came from.

“We are here,” Luna answered, simply, echoing.

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” she answered, and Feather was certain she could feel the shrug that accompanied the answer. “Dreams art our demesne after all.”

Feather frowned. “But how can I be sure that I’m actually speaking to the real… you? You could just be dream Luna, not real Luna, right?”

Luna’s chuckle echoed across the void. “Because, our sweet, not even thou can fathom the depth of our love for thee. Any conjuration of us that thy dream create, will be but a pale imitation,” spoke matter-of-factly, “we have watched, on occasion, thy in splendid slumber. We art most surprised to us play a part in them in some nights.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re flattered,” Feather answered, wearing a slight smile, before it faltered. “W-wait, aren’t you supposed to be planning a date?”

“…Thou dost dream of pirates at quite an usual frequency. We were most amused to see our likeness in such attire,” Luna remarked, her tone betraying her humour at the sight.

Feather’s eye twitched, ignoring the obvious detour from her own observation, and she cringed. “Y-you saw that?”

“…Perhaps our dalliance into observing thy dreams is more frequent than we thought,” Luna mused, her smirk sounding a lot closer than her voice. “But now we are happy to take part. Surprise!”

“Ah!” Feather exclaimed, startled, Luna’s voice sounded right next to her ear, and she fell backwards on her reactionary pivot. “Where’d you come from?”

Luna giggled. “We were everywhere, now we are here. Art thou confused? That expression looketh most adorable upon thy features,” Luna spoke coyly, looking down upon the fallen mare.

Feather grumbled from her position on the ground, her fetlocks curled close to her chest as she blushed. “Startled more than confused.”

“Hmm, perhaps we should surprise thee more often then, if only to look upon such a precious face,” Luna teased, smiling as she began to walk around the mare.

“Then it wouldn’t be ‘precious’ then, would it?” Feather muttered as she climbed back onto her hooves, before adopting a genuine expression of confusion upon seeing what Luna was doing. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm, this could be better,” Luna commented to nopony in particular, looking out into the void that surrounded them. “We usually see our subjects go mad with their imaginations within the confines of a dream that is lucid.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Feather was awash with questions. “I’m in a lucid dream right now?”

“Of course,” Luna answered, glancing back at her. “We can bestow it to whomever we desire. It makes for a most entertaining watch… even if it does devolve into debauchery,” Luna ended sourly, before her frown turned into a smile. “That is why we oft bestow such a thing to foals. Theirs is an innocent sort of hedonism. Involving sweets, wingless flight and the only the occasional rampage.”

“…What did you mean by ‘could be better?’” she asked after a moment of silence, head tilted.

“Oh, we meant no offence, sweet. The mind oft puts a pony in a setting most familiar before lucid machinations take place. This is simply… empty,” Luna elucidated, brow arched. “But, we suppose it makes this all the more fun,” she grinned, turning to look at Feather proper.

“What to do mean?” Feather asked, finding the grin the princess wore somewhat unsettling, noticing the giddy quivering of the monarch’s hooves.

“Just alike our night sky, this realm if thy canvas,” she gestured with a large sweeping motion, glint in her eye. “So we bade thee to paint! Conjure scenery, forge ponies as if from clay! Allow thy imagination to run rampant!”

“O-okay,” Feather blurted, a little taken back by Luna’s enthusiasm. “Umm…” she began, looking around, trying to picture the pitch blackness of the expanse as anything but. She concentrated, her face tightening as she tried to will something, anything, in to being. Her face gradually turned into ever brightening shades of red, until a breath escaped her. “I can’t do it,” she told Luna, facing her.

Luna rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Thou try too hard to paint a picture. Art comes naturally to the soul, does it not? Empty thy mind, close thy eyes, and allow it to come to thee naturally,” Luna instructed, coming a step closer.

Feather exhaled through her nostrils sharply before complying, shutting her eyes and simply stood there waiting. Moments passed, seconds seamed to stretch into minutes, before the mare was strict with impatience. “I can’t do it.” She reiterated, keeping her eyes closed.

“Empty thy thoughts,” Luna instructed, and Feather heard a clop to accompany her words.

“That’s the hard part.”

“Maybe we could help…” Luna offered quietly, another step followed. Feather could feel the princess’ warmth, and she heard some shifting in front of her; and felt a small breath at the end of the end of her muzzle.

“H-how… mmph!”

A kiss, apparently was the solution the princess had in mind. Feather gave no resistance to her majesty’s tongue, and immediately had her own wrestle with it in a passionate dance. She felt a hoof brush against her cheek, and heard a moan from her own throat. She was only acutely aware of her senses. She had goosebumps, as if a cold gust of air swept across her body. She heard the smacking of lips, but the longer the kiss when on, she could hear something distant, nature’s whistles. Wind and birdsong. And felt the tepid stagnant air of the void became a breeze, warm and caressing. What made her open her eyes finally, was the tickling sensation on her nose, something she had only felt within the vicinity of her room – boxed in with a plethora of flowers…

“Well, well,” Luna began, whispering into Feather’s ear, “thou desired blossoms, and pretty scenery.”

“I-I did?” Feather whispered, her voice sounding even quieter when it became lost in the newly formed meadow. Feather reluctantly pulled away from Luna to look around her, her jaw dropping.

Much like before they were in the middle of an expanse, only this time it was of a different sort. Her eyes were blessed with the sight of hills and gentle slopes that seemed to stretch on for eternity in all directions. Aside from the patch they resided on, Feather could not see a single blade of grass, as the ground was so tightly packed with an uncountable variety of flowers that the soil beneath was obscured from view. Despite the blazing sun, whose heat she could feel against her fur, its rays only touched her in a few places. That led to her looking up, just as a pink petal fell upon her muzzle, fallen from a cherry tree they were situated under. It provided ample shade, and was pretty to look at in bloom. Feather was speechless.

Luna nuzzled into the side of her exposed neck, humming. “Thy mind is just as beautiful as thee, it would seem,” Luna complimented, planting little pecks on Feather’s neck. “Yet we can hardly tear our eyes away from the beauty that rests before us.”

Feather couldn't summon the faculties to reply to Luna’s flattery, a piece of her remained in a state of overwhelming. She did manage to tear her ocular sapphires away, to look deeply into the one color absent from her mind’s garden. A gentle shade of jade, in her lover’s eyes. “This place… it’s amazing!” she spoke, giddy and tittering.

“Thou hast created a masterpiece. We are almost envious,” Luna chortled, voice remaining low in volume, almost as though to speak louder would shatter the surroundings. “We can think of no greater reward, than our continued affections,” Luna spoke humorously, leaning forwards and planting a small kiss upon Feather’s lips; the maid herself leaning forwards as Luna pulled away, keeping them connected.

“Thank you,” Feather said as she broke the kiss, rubbing her cheek into Luna’s neck affectionately, feeling tranquillity wash over her.

“Thou hast nought to thank us for,” Luna told her, caressing the back of Feather’s head. “However, our sweet, we must question thy choice to find sleep now, whilst already sleeping.”

Feather opened her eyes, blushing and reluctantly pulling away from Luna’s plush neck. “Y-yeah, my bad.”

Luna suddenly sported a wry smile, adopting a look in her eye Feather recognised as lewd. “We may have an activity in mind to keep you awake.”

At this, Feather furrowed her brows, confused. “But, I’m dreaming. It’s not really happening is it?”

Luna smirked. “Tell us, dost thou not feel the gentle breeze upon they coat? The feeling of our lips against thy own? Or the soft caress of my hoof upon thy mane? Here, we can act with secrecy from reality, for our senses know not the difference. Hearing, seeing, touch, taste…” Luna raising her eyes up and down coyly, grinning. “Nothing is forbidden.”

“R-right,” Feather gulped. “S-so should I try and conjure a bed or sho- oh!”

Luna gave no warning, pouncing upon Feather like a predator to prey. She connected their lips straight away, locking their tongues and exploring her body with her hooves. Feather got over the initial surprise quickly, her hooves wrapping around the princess’ neck as she pulled herself deeper into the kiss. Feather had grown accustomed to feeling the princess’ larger body upon her own, and had even grown to like the feeling of the weight upon her. She felt Luna’s hooves travel down to her flanks, massaging into her plot and cutie mark. The longer this went on, the greater Feather’s arousal. Her legs twitched, her pussy moistening with anticipation, her kisses had intervals of moaning. However, despite her budding horniness, she couldn’t help but feel confused.

Why didn’t see feel Luna’s… ‘hardness.’

She didn’t feel the appendage prodding into her like it usually did. Instead she felt nought but air against her cunt, and she grew squeamish, fidgety. Was Luna not being turned on? Had she grown bored of her? She didn’t like the train of thought, but she wasn’t the conductor. She parted from the kiss, avoiding Luna’s attempts to reconnect.

“Y-you haven’t gotten bored of me have you?” she asked in a shy murmur.

Luna lowered her brows, stroking her cheek. “Banish the thought. Who put such a question in thy head? You know our love is eternal.”

“Umm,” Feather began, blushing, “I’m just not feeling… it.”

“It? Oh, thou mean’st it!” Luna exclaimed, a short burst of laughter coming from her lungs. “Oh our sweet innocent, Feather. We are afraid we had an ulterior motive for our visit…”

“Y-you did?” Feather didn’t know the princess to be exactly ‘secretive’ about anything. Needless to say, she was a little surprised.

Luna smiled a toothy smile, unfurling her large wings as she got off the mare, throwing herself back in something of a restrained display of extravagance. The end result was a Luna being propped up by her wings, he full body on view, a large smile on her face – and most unusually – the beginnings of a small blush. “W-well?”

“Well wha- oh!” Feather’s eyes fell from Luna’s face to her crotch, and was amazed by the lack of… nothing. It was gone. The sheath of the monarch was gone, replaced by a pair of small budding teats. Below that was Luna’s familiar dark blue hued snatch, her plump pussy lips hiding inviting pink folds. Feather glanced up, seeing the monarch with her hooves close to her chest, her cheeks red. She had never seen the monarch so vulnerable. “It’s… gone.”

“Yes. Ordinarily, the confines of reality disallow this, but within the dream realm… well,” she smiled wryly, glancing downwards. “Thou can see for thyself.”

That answered one question, but another even larger one remained. “But why?”

Luna seemed to become shier at the question, tapping together the frogs of her hooves, giving Feather something akin to a puppy-eyed stare. “We hath never partaken of such intercourse. We have exercised our stallion side, but never our other. Thou may even say we are… inexperienced, when it comes to under the covers frolicking.”

“So, you want to have sex, mare to mare?” Feather asked, her voice betraying a smidgen of excitement. She was curious. In bed, Luna seemed skilled. Or. at the very least, knew her way around . This was something new to them both, and Feather liked the idea of relishing a new experience with Luna.

“Yes, we would,” Luna stated simply, nodding.

“Well, how do we start?” Feather asked.

Luna pursed her lips, and eyed the still prone mare. It was then, her face brightened up with excitement. Wordlessly, threw pushed herself back onto her hooves, Feather flinching as a monarch’s hoof landed near adjacent sides of her head. Luna stared eye to eye with Feather, until she took a few steps upwards, leaving Feather a view of her chest. Feather nearly spoke, until the princess began to turn in place, manoeuvring her forehooves around until her hind legs replaced them flanking either side the maid’s head; giving Feather the view of something entirely different.

“How is the view?” Luna asked lewdly, purring.

“It’s…” the closer view of Luna’s teats with a lot more appealing than she initially thought. They were large despite the monarch not being in the throes of pregnancy. Cushiony, she’d say. More appealing however, was the sight of Luna’s treasure, which Feather had to restrain her tongue from licking her own lips on instinct. If Luna’s crotch breasts were cushions, then her slit was delicious, if her sudden appetite was anything to go by. “…Good.”

“Ah, we are happy that thou art pleased,” Luna said, “would’st thou like a closer view?”

“Uh-huh,” Feather nodded her head eagerly.

“Very well,” Luna smirked.

The princess lowered herself until Feather felt the teats press into her collar, and the warmth of the princess’ cunt on her face. She could smell the scent of blueberries. Meanwhile, she felt the princess take liberty of getting a closer view as well, feeling hot breaths against her snatch, making her hind legs twitch and her exhale quiver in reaction; her pussy feeling sensitive, almost virginal. She felt Luna’s hooves pressing against her flanks, raising them slightly, no doubt to give the princess greater ease of oral access.

“We just lick, r-right?” Feather asked hesitantly, afraid of sounding a fool.

Luna answered… in the form of a long sloppy lick, a coo of delight accompanying it. Feather’s reply was at first a squeak of surprise, followed by a pleasured groan. She offered an awkward lick in return, her tongue licking straight up the velvet soft slit with due force, parting the two plump lips and getting a taste of Luna’s pinkness. She felt Luna’s quiver of delight as a vibration across her entire body, and princess’ tongue pushed past Feather’s labia. As Luna’s taste filled her mouth, Feather tried to match the princess’ intensity. She placed her hooves on Luna’s plot, forcing her tongue to reach in deeper, lapping up Luna’s marecum and exploring inside the box. Her nostrils were filled with the smell of sex and Luna. Although the two were indistinguishable at that moment. Meanwhile she could feel Luna’s tongue writhing and wriggling inside her pussy, reaching every fold and crevice it could find. Feather tried to mimic the monarch’s speed, audibly sucking and slurping Luna’s soaking cunt ravenously. She found herself out done, coming a stop as pleasure wracked her lower half. She felt Luna’s lips wrap around her love-bud mid wink, suckling and lashing the pleasurable nub with her tongue. After regaining the reigns of her own body from brief convulsions of ecstasy, she was emboldened. She saw Luna’s winking cunt button, but ignored it, darting her muzzle forward.

“Ah!” Luna cooed, the walls of her cunt flexing around Feather’s muzzle.

The maid used her muzzle as a phallic replacement, reaching deeper into the physically larger mare; her tongue hitting the deepest parts of Luna that simply were not being hit enough. Feather felt gratified to have finally given Luna pause, but it washed away when Luna resumed her frantic tongue lashing. The ministrations mounted. Luna alternated between suckling, and sending her larger tongue deep within the mare, slurping and prodding at her walls in something of a ferocious attack. Feather, every time she took a breather from having her muzzle within the princess, her lips formed a tight seal around Luna’s clit - three quarters an inch in length - her teeth gnawing softly around the button whilst her tongue flicked and circled it clumsily. It came to no surprise that orgasm sped upon them faster than they expected. Luna succeeded at biting back her squeal of pleasure, sending it reverberating through her body, her body convulsing with orgasm and splattering Feather’s face with her juices. Feather, meanwhile, pulled her muzzle free from Luna’s quivering snatch to release an unfiltered scream of pure bliss.

After they had bathed in the afterglow, Luna rolled off the smaller mare, laying on her back and panting along with Feather. Feather glanced down to see Luna already glancing back. “T-that was…”

“Different,” Luna finished, breathing heavily from her exertions.

“It was…” Feather concurred, looking straight up into the blossoming cherry tree, contented… then Luna climbed back on top of her. “L-Luna?”

“Oh, Feather,” Luna cooed, rubbing her still moist cheek with Feather’s own. “Twas wonderful… yet, our appetite has yet to be satiated, sweet.”

“W-what? Appetite? Y-you want to do more…” Feather’s voice cracked.

“Twas ‘foreplay,’ as thou say. Our mouths brought each other ecstasy. Oh, how fortunate we be surrounded by flowers, for now it is both our flowers that will blossom,” Luna pontificated with glee, rubbing muzzles. “And the pollen will, humorously, be each other’s nectars.”

“Cum?”

“Precisely!”

Feather blinked, and just watched as Luna took a series of confusing actions. She rose backwards, her right hind leg stretching out and landing next to Feather’s ribs. Feather continued watching, was Luna wrapped her fore hooves around her left hind leg; almost as if they were getting tangled in each other’s limbs. It wasn’t until Feather saw Luna’s pussy lining up with her own, that the realisation hit her.

“We’re going to…?” Feather began warily.

“Scissor!” Luna exclaimed enthusiastically. Feather tilted her head. ”We read about it,” Luna elaborated with a shrug, grinning cockily down at the maid.

“For someone who's never done this before, you sure act like you know what you’re doing,” Feather chastised.

“Psh. How hard can it be?” Luna said with just a cinch of haughtiness.

Steadily, Luna pushed her plump sex down toward Feather’s own, a quiet wet smack audible upon contact. The residual sheen of the marecum remained stuck to both of their nether lips, providing ample slipperiness. Feather, upon looking upon the princess’ determined expression, knew the monarch’s approach to this was haphazard at best. However, her fears faded upon Luna’s first experimental gyration of her hips, and the first glide of their pussy lips. They both reacted similarly: a pleasurable and reflexive twitch of her bodies, and silent moaning.

Roll and buck. Roll and buck. The princess’ passionate sway and fro, her hips seemingly moving of their own volition. The dribbles of marecum squelched as they grinded together their soaking cooches. It wasn’t long before Feather’s button emerged from its hiding spot, winking out just in time to brush against Luna’s bud, the sensation causing the larger mare to buck instinctively against Feather’s outstretched leg; screaming out a singular cry of bliss before continuing. Gradually, the sounds of the dream-scape dissolved, replaced by wet squelching of the couple’s frantic fucking and high pitched moans from the pair. Their ecstasy was so bountiful, that Feather could feel a small puddle of their mixed juices on the ground; most of it gluing to her flanks.

“I… I’m gonna cum!” Feather alerted, trying to grind back against Luna feebly.

“A-As are we,” Luna said with strain.

With desperate grunting, Luna thrusted back and forth with greater speed, their soaking cunts allowing a slick quick back and forth. Feather could feel the princess hitting the inside of her thigh with greater force, as their voices grew louder and louder with impassioned screaming. Their orgasms coincided, spurting their feminine nectar from their marehoods, messing the insides of their thighs with liquid sex. Luna’s orgasm appeared to come to her as something of a strike of lightning, as she stood there violently quivering, before to her side; sighing happily.

Much like before they both laid still, content in their shared moment of bliss. Now, Feather felt well and truly fatigued. Before she knew it, she felt the larger mare’s hooves wrap around her, the mare somehow slinking up to her side without being noticed. Luna embraced her affectionately, pushing her head into the alcove of Feather’s neck and simply planted kisses, as if she had no words to express her love - even if Feather knew full well she did. After a while, when the afterglow became more of a after-spark, Feather looked down at the almost comical sight of Luna cozying up on her chest; her left forehoof beneath the larger body of the princess.

“Cute,” Feather commented, brushing her hoof through the monarch’s cosmic mane, the limb almost appearing to disappear from reality within the princess’ mane.

“Ah…” Luna hummed, relaxing under Feather’s hoof. “We rarely get to exercise this side of ourselves. We are happy to have such solace here with thou. Maybe we can hast thou brush our mane come evening.”

“You brush this? But it’s all… wavy,” she said, swirling her hoof in the oscillating locks. However, soon after she finished, the mane went limp in her hooves, the stars and onyx black gone, replaced with a dark azure.

Luna opened a single eye. “Merely kept so with a smidgen of concentration, our sweet. So little in fact, it can remain wavy even as we sleep. Our mane, alike our regalia, tis merely a piece of fashion,” Luna explained, re-closing her eye. “There’s a lot about our appearance we can alter, actually.”

“Like what?” Feather probed, her hoof continuing to feel around the silken locks.

“Hmph. We think it best to keep to keep some surprises, our love. If only to see that look of confusion upon thy face, again,” Luna chuckled.

Feather scoffed in pseudo-huff, laying her head upon the grass again. “Fine, fine. I don’t normally like surprises, but to you, we give an exception.”

“We thank thee for the privilege,” Luna said, tittering. There was a silence between them for a good while, before the monarch released a disappointed sigh.

“What’s the matter?” Feather asked, concerned.

“Thou will feel our sister’s light upon thy face soon, whilst mere seconds would have passed for us. Thy dream is coming to a close,” Luna spoke mournfully, looking up at Feather.

“How do you know?”

“It comes to us as a feeling, a cold touch tugging the back of our neck,” Luna started, raising herself to her hooves. “We know not why. The answer will likely elude us for eternity. We know that we can mold our dreams, but not even we, nor the wisest sage, know what dreams are made of,” she spoke distantly, staring off somewhere, frowning.

“So… how long do you have left?” Feather asked, joining the princess.

“Hmm, not long,” Luna answered, looking down at the mare.

“So it could be any minu-”

Feather writhed under her sheets, her hooves going to her eyes in protest of the sun, it’s bright rays trying to intrude on her sleep through the small window atop her room. Slowly, she blinked open her eyes, getting accustomed to the light. When she finally did, the memory of the dream flashed in her mind, and a smile crept onto her face. She remembered it all. Happy, she already felt ready for the work day ahead. She threw the covers off herself with a grin, practically leaping out of bed with a boundless energy, each of her hooves landing upon her floor.

Clop, clop, clop, clop… drip.

The liquid drop perturbed her. Cringing, she looked under herself, seeing the insides of her thighs moist and wet with the residual juices of her somnambulist soirée with the princess. She had a wet dream, her first since she was a teenager. What disturbed her even more than a shower that would undoubtedly have to intrude into her breakfast time, was the doubtless mess on her sheets…

She groaned, albeit with a dumb smile.

“Worth it.”

Author's Note

This is the first of a few of these I had planned. By the by, this chapter's clop is to make up for the lack of said clop in the next chapter. I released this a tad premature due to lack of updates. This is assurance the fic isn't dead, it's just I have to get through a few backlogged requests first. Full update on this fic is going to be featured in the author's notes of the next fic I release titled The Proposition. A request I was asked to do, and have been putting off for way too long. Ciao.

Chapter 4 - A Piece of Virtue

Love, elusive, out of grasp.
When at last, we found it,
Tucked away, hidden, fitting
Snugly behind fear and apprehension’s shadow.
Cajoled from its hiding space by your smile,
Cozied into our hooves by your kindness,
Coming into the light, by the sweet temptation of your presence.

Feather growled, face scrunched into something genuinely furious. Baring her teeth through her ink stained lips, she scrunched up the paper and swept it onto the floor with the others. She didn’t like that one. Blank verse, no rhyme, generic almost. Not even close to getting what she wanted. It would’ve actually helped matters if she knew exactly what she was looking for. She had leant over her desk for weeks, frantically writing in her sedulous pursuit of perfection. She always worked under the flickering blue flame of Luna’s candle, the only piece of the princess she dared expose herself to. Her eyes were dark with many sleepless nights. Her obsession occupied her every waking thought, and when she dared close her eyes to sleep, it even threatened to occupy her dreams. She felt shame, which was only exacerbated by her sparse cleaning. It wasn’t only her room – which now had a figurative knee high puddle of crumpled up papers – which was unkempt. Every precious minute prior to work, meant for the sole reason of preparing oneself for the day ahead with a filling breakfast and wash, was now spent reading and writing in a seemingly futile chase of perfection. Her work suffered, of course. She looked mad, muttering possible verses and growing visibly angry after said display. She worked much like an underpaid teen, paying little attention to what she was actually cleaning, mistaking the golden armour of the castle guard for a doorknob on more than one occasion. She could only offer apologies, with a voice lacking any sort of energy, before plodding away to clean or serve who she was commanded to.

I, in disgrace of your kindness,
Threw myself into the pit,
Consumed by its mournful darkness,
Wondering what needs to be lit,
To relight the flickering candle
Of your love, which I unjustly snuffed,
So I searched around for a handle,
The door which it opens will overstuff
Me with your grace.
Then, with our hearts no longer asunder,
I can look upon your face,
And our declarations of love loud as thunder.
No face will be unturned to our declaration,
And our magnificence will be felt throughout the nation.

Another failure. She grumbled, sighing sadly, her energy too vented to be angry. Generic, or boring, or lacking in any kind of originality. She constantly glanced to a prior example Luna had sent her. She couldn’t imagine the words eliciting any kind of emotional reaction from the princess, nothing good at least. She tried her best to make fit into rigid structures, and felt amateurish when she did. When she abandoned structure to write in blank verse, she saw no beauty in the lines, and no rhythm of any sort. She threw her latest mistake onto the floor, crushed into a ball to join the others. She increasingly grew doubtful at her ability to forge something even coming close to Luna’s work. Despite her growing despondency, she never wavered in her writing, never taking her eyes away from the page, the whites of her eyes, puffy and red.

Love, fully blossomed
Is the most precious treasure
For it is priceless.

After the word had dried on the paper, she felt something akin to a lightness in her limbs, as if a calm had swept over her. Her head began to lightly sway from side to side, the pen grasped between her teeth drawing untidy lines over the work; soon joined by a few droplets of drool from the corner of her mouth. It few seconds later her head became heavier than the rest of her, and decided to rest it upon the desk. Only for a few minutes, that was her unspoken mantra as she closed her eyes. She pressed her cheek on the desk, the pen still hanging in her open mouth. For the first time that day, for the first time in weeks, her breathing became relaxed…

When her eyes fluttered awake, it was the dawntime light that aroused her from slumber. She raised her weary head, the piece of paper she had written on was glued to her cheek with drool, and she looked around herself, wincing from the pain around her collar. She had slept with a crooked neck, rubbing away the aches for a few moments before she startled herself with the realisation that she had in-fact slept. She cringed, self-chastising as she pulled the paper off her face. She looked at what she wrote, and let it fall to the floor anyway. Yawning, she reached for another slice of crisp paper. Her pen had rolled and been stopped by the lantern; the candle within still flickering, almost dead. She’d have to change that as well.

Knock, knock.

The sudden noise from her door made her jump in surprise, earning a momentary glance of wide eyed confusion, before the mare’s face defaulted to a neutral frown. She left her chair, the papers crunching under hoof as she dawdled towards the door, too drowsy to feel anything active like the emotions of trepidation or excitement. “I’m coming,” she alerted monotone, voice a few decibels higher.

Peculiarly, when she reached the door, she felt a…heat, a soft warmth. The kind of warmth one would feel carried upon a summer night’s wind. A faint and pleasant sensation. It was felt at the bottoms of her hooves and chest, as if it was being fanned in through the gap at the bottom of the door. She reached out a hoof, somewhat warily, and opened her door a crack. She didn’t want stranger’s eyes peering into her room, or any eyes for that matter. She craned her head through, and came to eye a bright amethyst, encased within shiny gold. She saw her own reflection in the shiny piece of regalia, and watched gradually as her mouth parted and eyes widened, before she sent her sights up. Her body began to quiver, nervous and afraid.

“P-P-P-Pri-Prin-“ she stuttered like a worn vinyl record.

The alabaster mare held a hoof up to her mouth as a soft giggle escaped from it. “Hello. Feather Duster, was it?” Celestia greeted, smile as warm as her sun. “I was wondering if we could talk. May I come in?”

Feather was paralyzed. Why did the other half of the most important duo in Equestria decide to come knocking at her door? Feather supposed she didn’t need a reason. She was a princess, after all. She didn’t need a reason to do anything. “Y-you want to come in here? Into my room?”

“Yes, if it isn’t a bother,” Celestia answered, patiently, still wearing a soft smile.

“No! It’s not a bother at all! It’s just…” she trailed off, looking back into her room, cringing. “My place is kind of messy.”

“Oh, that isn’t a problem. You should’ve seen my youth, wrangling together all those straggler kingdoms and duchies into a single unified state. Now that was a mess,” Celestia chuckled softly, smiling toothlessly.

“Um, right… well, make yourself at home,” she forced a weak smile as she opened the door the rest of the way, retreating deeper into her small abode, allowing the monarch ample room to enter.

Celestia trot in, expression maintaining a passive smile. If she found Feather’s room displeasing, it wasn’t readable, no even slightly. “My, my,” Celestia remarked, looking at all the strewn papers, being careful not to trod on them. “You’re certainly a busy one, aren’t you?” she said humorously.

Feather closed the door with a grimace, an expression she made sure was hidden from the monarch. “Y-yep. That’s me. A busy… bee…” she trailed off, cringing at her words.

“You certainly are,” Celestia concurred, idly looking around the room.

“Do you want you sit on the bed? It’s not a throne exactly, but it’s better than sitting on the floor,” Feather offered, trying to backpedal on her nervousness.

“I will. Thank you,” Celestia said warmly, trotting to the bed – stepping over crumpled papers – before plotting her plot upon the sheets. As Feather took steps to join her, her brow twitched at the sight of the monarch’s face, the sight of a wry smile at the end of her muzzle. “This isn’t the… first time, a monarch has sat upon your bed, is it?”

Feather stopped in place, her hoof falling mid-step to crush a discarded ball of paper. She gulped. “N-n-no,” Feather admitted. “You know?” she squeaked, undecided on if she should cower in fear of the monarch’s neutral gaze, or somehow will herself out of existence before Celestia did it for her. At least with the former she might earn some mercy.

“I am aware of your relationship with my sister. But you needn’t be afraid,” Celestia assured, re-adorning a friendly smile. “It is impressive you managed to keep something so colossal a secret. In fact, I only became aware of it myself when I saw the both of you on the front page of the paper,” Celestia revealed. “If my sister’s youthful identity was more widely known, your relationship would be known across the country and beyond.”

“S-so you’re not… mad?” Feather asked quietly, fearing the sun monarch’s wrath like a foal would their parent’s scold.

Celestia glanced to the side, as if pondering something. “I was. After I discussed your relationship with Luna, I kept an eye on you.”

“You were watching me?” Feather posed the question with widened eyes, trying to keep her unnerved, and somewhat angry tone, restrained.

“Yes,” Celestia confirmed, looking back at Feather. “I care for my sister, and despite her astute perception, I worried that she might be blind to your… machinations. Perhaps you took from her bits, or bragged of your relationship to others. Maybe you hid a malevolent streak.”

“D-did you find anything?” Feather’s question was primarily driven by self-consciousness.

Celestia smirked. “No… well, not what I expected anyway,” Celestia said warmly. “I found a diligent young mare. Full of energy. Erudite - at least concerning books of poetry. But I also found something in myself. Worry,” Celestia informed, a crease appearing between her brows. “I abandoned subtlety at a point, simply watching you work from around hallway corners, wondering at what day those dark lines would fade from under your eyes.”

Feather wore a small smile. Celestia reminded her a little of mother. “I actually got some sleep last night.”

“Yes, well, magic makes the best sleeping aid I find,” Celestia retorted with a strained chuckle.

“You sent me to sleep?”

Celestia gave a half-smile, looking somewhat ashamed. “It wasn’t my first attempt. I applied less potent spell days ago, but you resisted it,” Celestia released a small laugh. “You have a strong will, Feather. I decided to apply it fully last night, but again, it appears you resisted it to the very end,” Celestia remarked, glancing to Feather’s desk, a small puddle of drool upon it. “But you’re dedicated, to say the least.”

“Thank you…?” Feather had mixed feelings about the princess using magic on her without her permission, but she knew the monarch’s heart was in the correct place at the very least. But she doubted this was the reason for her visiting. “But, if you’re not mad, why are you here?”

The smile disappeared from Celestia’s features, which put a degree of unease into Feather. Celestia sighed, frowning. “I know that Luna… proposed. To you, and I apologise for that. I am partly, if not wholly, responsible.”

The revelation of this forced Feather into a more upright sitting position, her lips parted and her brows furrowed. “Y-you… what?”

Celestia glanced away, frowning. “I… I am capable of great cruelty, Feather. Sometimes, I let my emotions get the better of me, and I say something impulsively. I saw the repercussions of my actions the very same night she asked you.”

She was still taken aback, but the mention of Luna – her love – and ‘repercussions’ sparked concern in her. “What do you mean?”

“Watching you, I know that you haven’t gone to see Luna, so you simply didn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“…Our sister has disappeared,” Celestia revealed. “The moon still falls and rises and its hour, but its steward is nowhere to be found.”

“Luna is missing!” Feather already knew the answer, she just heard it, but the shock still caught her all the same. She rose to her hooves, stepping forward with knitted brows. “Do you know where she is? Or why she left?”

“Your worry for Luna is warming, but I’m afraid to say that I have not an inkling,” Celestia answered, giving the maid a half-smile of reassurance. “But you don’t need to worry. This isn’t the first time my sister has disappeared without a word. She’ll be back, in time…”

“You came here to tell me that?” Feather frowned.

Celestia sighed, her smile fading. “No,” Celestia said, bluntly, before gesturing to the spot next to her on the bed. “Sit, if you would.”

Feather nodded, immediately complying, her heart full of worry. She hopped onto her bed, sitting next to the monarch with a slight gap, the size difference making her feel like a filly next to a full-grown mare. She looked up to Celestia, steeling some courage in her belly. “Should I be w-worried, Your Majesty?”

Celestia was silent, in thinking, before she shot the maid a curious look. “Do you know the story of why my sister was banished a millennia ago?”

Feather blinked. The question came as a surprise to her. She didn’t expect to be answering questions about history. “She, uh, gave in to pride… or jealousy? And it corrupted her, right?”

Celestia nodded. “Yes. But in truth, it wasn’t just misplaced thoughts of neglect and envy. You see, the corruption isn’t just borne of a single strong emotion. Everyday ponies feel joy, sadness, anger. If that was the only prerequisite, we would have a new Nightmare every day.”

Feather tilted her head. “Then what happened?”

Celestia gave Feather a small frown. “Luna was in mourning.”

Feather leaned in slightly closer, brows furrowed and mimicking the princess’ frown. “Mourning?”

“The corruption latched onto her pride, yes, but it needed more than that to snatch a hold of my sister’s soul…” Celestia began ominously, taking a deep breath. “Luna had, and still has, a strong will. A will, that back then, under the weight of another’s death, crumbled in just a single day,” Celestia explained, somber. “When the Nightmare began to take Luna’s body as her own, my sister didn’t even put up a fight. She was experiencing a new kind of sorrow. A grief that was new to her. She would weep, whilst destroying entire rooms of the castle in her fury. She refused my solace, and even began to resent me, openly admonishing me in front of our citizens. She threw anypony who dared look at her in the dungeons, and would spend days – unresponsive – on her bed. She stopped bathing, eating. I had to take up her mantle, lowering and raising the moon in tandem with my sun, which only served to stoke the flames of her hate. I never relented in my attempts to offer her comfort, even when she threatened me with harm… but after that day, there was no help I could have offered her to save her from what she would become.”

“Who was she mourning?” Feather asked delicately.

“Somepony she... she loved,” Celestia revealed with tightened jaw, looking at Feather solemnly. “Luna fell in love with a glassmaker. Brittle Beauty. She was a kind mare. I still have a few of her ornaments. When she passed, I mourned her too, but unlike Luna I knew how to accept loss.”

Feather heard considerable sadness hanging on her last words, almost compelling her to embrace the larger mare, but she stayed herself. “How did she die?” she asked delicately.

“Time’s decay,” the monarch answered. “Time to an immortal is fleeting, and we need not worry for time to take us to the beyond. But for a mortal. It is inevitable, an unfortunate truth I came to accept when Luna proclaimed her love of the mare to me. But when Brittle was finally taken, Luna did not think it was fair.”

“Oh…” Feather spoke softly, frowning, picturing her lover’s sorrow.

“Brittle was Luna’s first love. I thought she would end up being the last. But then you happened, Feather,” Celestia offered a meek smile, “happy, kind and clever. It’s not hard to see why Luna fell for you, but…” Celestia paused, releasing a small exhale.

“What?” Feather replied, looking at the princess’ solemn expression.

“Luna disappeared after she proposed to you… and I know that you rejected it,” Celestia spoke, and as she did, Feather felt her heart sink in her chest. “You know what I fear, Feather. I fear that which happened a thousand years ago will come to pass again. You might have rejected her, but I can see your love for her still burns. And if I know Luna, I’d say her love for you still roars, as well.”

Feather averted her gaze, her expression pained, staring at one of her balled up poems. “You want me to break up with her…”

The uncomfortable silence that marked the princess’ inferred proposition lingered for a few moments, and Feather’s expression tightened. “A facet of love, Feather, is sacrifice,” Celestia spoke softly, “in the end, it’s the only way to stop Luna from suffering, Feather. She would love you from now to the end of eternity if she could. But time isn’t kind to love, Feather.”

Feather sniffled. “Please…”

“Yes?” Celestia replied quickly, sounding attentive.

“Please leave,” Feather requested, her voice oscillated between stern and sad, her face failing to hold a scowl.

Celestia’s face flashed an expression of surprise, before a slight frown replaced it. She got off the bed without retort, making her way to the door at a relaxed pace. Feather heard the hum of the princess’ magic and her door creaking open, followed by another step but then a sudden stop. “If it means anything, Feather. I’m happy that Luna found a mare that makes her smile…”

The princess closed the door behind her, leaving Feather alone. Feather sat there, and she tried, but with the princess gone the feeble dam holding back her tears was broken and she began weeping into her hooves. She fell onto her side, holding herself as she sobbed. Through her tear filled eyes, she landed her sights upon the lantern. The candle inside it, whose flame she was trying to preserve, was nothing more than a puddle of wax…

“Trottingham...” Luna muttered with no discernable tone as she stepped off her carriage onto the city’s streets. Luna had a faint memory of settlement from her youth. It was established on an island – or rather, ‘rock’ - of great dispute. It was a rainy, glum, and not too pleasing of a place. It had no natural resources – except an abundance of infrequently useful granite – no strategic advantage, nor possessing of any pleasing vistas that would make it, at the very least, worthy of tourism. No, rather, Trottingham was established as a commune of spite, personally founded by one Art Fur to cause great headache for both the twin monarchs of Equestria, and the Griffon kings and all their subsequent successors. In hindsight, simply removing the settlement would have saved Luna centuries of head aches, and meandering meetings with whichever Griffon claimed the throne that century. Upon remembering the inconvenience of the village – now city – proved to be... she felt a small smile come to her lips.

“Do you need an escort, Your Majesty?” a stallion’s voice sounded behind her, one of her guard, and fliers. She travelled via carriage with two of her guard – chosen at random – and had been in their company for a few weeks now. She had spoken infrequently with them, keeping conversation sparse to just orders. She had learnt their names – Keen and Clean Cut – in passive passing, and took the opportunity to practice being in ease in the company of… plebs. This also came with the minor ache of sharing a room with the two. To help maintain discretion of the whole affair, of course.

“No,” she answered promptly, surveying the desolate street laid out before her. Her horn lit up at the tip with a blue hue, pulling the hood of the cloak she was wearing over her head. It was a ragged thing, to hide the regal creature within. She then turned to face the guard – the other freeing himself from the carriage – wearing a soft smile. “Thou dost have our thanks for thy concern. We will be sure to reward thou for thy diligence.”

The grey stallion blinked, glancing back to his wide-eyed partner, a crack in their porcelain-like stoicism. “Um, uh… you’re w-welcome...?” the guard – she knew as Keen - replied, looking back at Luna with a skewed expression, before catching himself; stiffening, resuming his blank stony face. “Your Majesty!”

“Ease,” Luna commanded with a smirk. “If thou wisheth to be a statue, we are possessing of a multitude of spells to fulfil thee.”

“At once, Your Majesty,” he complied, easing, just as the second stallion walked to join him at his side.

Luna looked over them both with a firm jaw, her lip tugged slightly, hinting at a smile. “We art cordial, but if thou mistakes this for an allowance of negligence in any area of thy duties, the punishment will be severe.”

They nodded. “We understand, Your Majesty.”

“And if thou – both – were to reveal details of this night, and those leading up to it, to anyone. We will not hesitate to break the rack’s fast of torture,” Luna threatened, the firmness of her expression wavering slightly. Our damnable malice. Pitious shame that secrecy demands it. “Dost thou understand us clearly?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the pair replied, bowing their heads low, the tip of their lavender ridged helmets pressing against the concrete of the pavement.

Luna sighed through her nose, watching them rise before adorning a small smile. “Capital,” she stated, restrained but spirited, trying to diffuse their visible unease. “Now, thou may take liberty in accompanying us.”

“Your Majesty?” the recently unbridled stallion, Clean Cut, said.

“Thou is not held to obligation,” Luna replied.

“I thought you said you didn’t need an escort, Your Highness?” Cleat Cut spoke, confused.

“Aye, we did. But what we art extending be not an order for escort, but a choice between staying or following,” Luna explained. “We cannot imagine that thou will achieve much merriment standing here, waiting for our return.”

“Shouldn’t somepony look after the carriage, your Maje-”

“I’ll come, Your Highness,” Clean Cut spoke out suddenly, interrupting Keen and taking a small step forwards. “The Gilded Accessory, right? That’s a bar?”

Luna heard the excitement in his words, and glanced the sudden deflated look in his partner. “Pub, more accurately. But we suppose that the difference is minimal. It should offer a moment of respite and joy before thou take leave for the Grand Galloping Gala ‘fore year’s end. The choice to follow is more an offer for a night of fun,” she finished, punctuating ‘fun’ as she looked to Keen with a smile. “This is a rare offer, young Keen. Thou...” she paused, almost struggling to force out what she wanted to say to the cadet, trying to drop for a moment her chivalric value of duty. Calm, composed, Luna. Only a single utterance of such a sordid thing. “...Thou would be wise to momentarily forget thy duty for a few precious hours of drink-fuelled frolic.” As the sentence left her mouth, and she adopted a forced smile, she tried to combat the desire to clamp her teeth on her tongue.

“O-Okay,” Keen stuttered, cautiously smiling. “Sure. I’ll come, Your Maje-”

Luna raised a hoof, her mouth tightening along with the rest of her thoughtful expression. “This easing in thy duties hath brought to surface another issue we must come to reconcile.”

“Your Majesty?” Clean Cut spoke with a raised brow.

“Precisely that, in fact,” Luna replied. “Our sister hath had millennia to become accustomed to… a casual demeanour with our subjects. We loathe it, but to help keep a promise, we should try to do the same – much as it grieves us – so for as long as we remain in Trottingham, thou may forget we art a monarch.”

“...” they both remained quiet, looking at Luna with skewed expressions.

“What?” Luna uttered after a few seconds of quiet, chin raised.

“No offence, Your Majesty. But that’s easier said than done,” Clean Cut answered, wearing a strained smile.

“What he said, Your Majesty,” Keen concurred, forcing a grin.

Luna furrowed her brows. We make it difficult to regard us as anything other than monarch? Our sister hath a softer composition, but we fail to see her technique. Even now, despite our extended kindness, we still see the fear that lingers within... Luna noted, wearing a slight frown. “We comprehend thee. These things take time, and believe us, we are intimate with it. But come now, follow. We have tarried here for too long already.” The guards nodded, and Luna turned her back on them, walking ahead; leading them ahead on the gaslit streets...

The trio walked for a quarter of an hour in silence. The sounds of their hoofsteps echoing against the walls of the long, narrow and empty streets. Luna eyed with scrutiny every passing alley, and looked occasionally at the lamps with squinted eyes, trying to discern will-o-wisps of the flickering fire. She seldom saw lights from buildings, and even fewer examples of life at all. She could occasionally see silhouettes behind curtains, and the hum of a pigeon sleeping in some of the passing gutters. The city had a peculiar effect on her. This place… tis almost as if we art looking into a mirror. The cobble, quiet, and eerie atmosphere all amalgamated into a disconnected type of nostalgia. She drew parallels between herself and Trottingham. Much like her, Trottingham appeared to be of a different era. She could recognise that, even if she wasn’t apart of it. No building, aside from an off distant clock tower, went above three stories in height. Architectural restraint, humility, or even pragmatism. Luna had a soft admiration for the city, but its desolate streets – and cold air – left her passive-faced with a tinge of frown.

“This city sleeps. Deeply. Not a soul wanders,” Luna remarked, aloud.

“It isn’t exactly Manehatten, Your Majesty,” Clean Cut agreed, speaking behind her, on her right flank.

“Yeah, I can’t possibly seeing any kind of nightlife thriving here, Your Majesty,” Keen added.

“Disappointing,” Luna commented, just in time to see the lights flicker out in a nearby home. “Was this disguise for nought? We could have walked these roads naked, shooting fireworks, and still nary an eye would look upon us.”

“You have two pairs, at the very least, Your Majesty,” Clean Cut commented.

Luna grinned, looking to the amber-eyed stallion. “True.”

The trio continued walking, again, in silence. More moments passed, some turns were made onto streets equally indistinguishable from the rest, exempting the street signs which labelled them in faded green paint. Luna’s expression remained neutral, ticking off the street names in her head, knowing that she grew ever closer to her intended destination. She had to restrain her movements, to stop herself from breaking out into a gallop, or flapping her wings.

“Your...” Luna heard Keen begin behind her, and she glanced back, semi-interested. Keen scrunched his lips together, as if toying over something, before he finally looked back up from the ground with a semi-tilted head. “Luna. Why are we here?”

By our sister’s rotund flank, he actually did it? Luna kept her expression passive, trying her best to keep her lips straight against a desire to smile. “Well, thou have sworn to secrecy our being here. Our purpose for being here would only be a secret that thou would burden for a short time. Very well. We come here not for merriment in a local pub, but rather to meet our lover’s parents.”

“...” Luna looked at his wide-eyed expression passively, before staring back ahead, wearing a smile she was hopeful they couldn’t see.

“What?” Clean Cut suddenly asked. “You have a consort, Your Majesty?”

“We prefer ‘love of our life,’ but yes,” Luna responded.

“Who is he?” Keen asked, broken from his shock, audibly interested. “A butler? A guard? A foreign diplomat?”

Clean Cut scoffed. “Methinks you’ve been reading too many stories, Keen. Her Majesty would only take the most worthy as a consort. It has to be a prince, or a noble.”

“Young Keen is closer to the answer than thou, Cut,” Luna chortled, looking back to Clean. “Only the young can fathom love’s indiscriminate reach – as fantastical it may be – and oft fiction is closer to reality.”

“So, who is he then?” Keen asked, excited, taking a few eager steps forward; almost walking alongside the monarch.

“She’s a maid,” Luna revealed, wearing a proud smile.

“Oh,” uttered Keen.

“Ha!” scoffed Clean Cut. “Have you read that anywhere, Keen?”

“In a few places actually….” Keen muttered, Luna catching his reddened cheeks before he slowed down, walking behind her again.

“Take no offence. Thou can assume why we prefer the mare’s soft, delicate frame, over the rugged hardness of a stallion,” she chuckled, the two stallions smiling awkwardly at monarch's casualness. “But, to elaborate. Our reason for meeting her parents is one of obligation, one we ignored because of a weak moment of passion,” Luna alluded.

“You proposed to her, didn’t you, Your Majesty?” Clean Cut postulated.

“Yes. And she denied us...” Luna responded, melancholic. “But, in our haste, we came to realise we had not yet done enough to earn her love. And we made the foolish err in judgement by not getting the blessing of her father prior. The proposal was cursed from the beginning, a flawed act.”

“Hmm. I wonder how the father is going to react?” Keen asked rhetorically. “Hey, Clean, how’d you react to the colt asking for your blessing?”

“I wanted to knock him upside the head,” Clean answered honestly. “Some feckless Canterlot busybody wanted to marry my daughter. He was a bloody baker, with a stupid voice and a stupid moustache.” Luna looked back at him with furrowed brows and widened eyes, being filled with a sudden apprehension about the whole affair. Clean Cut glanced at her face and visibly forced a smile. “I gave him the blasted blessing.”

“Why?” Keen asked. “Sounds like you hated his guts.”

“Oh, I do. But I’d have been heartless to refuse the colt who put a smile on my daughter’s face. Day after day, for almost two years, I had to listen to her insufferable praising of the guy… I’m sure your lass is the exact same with her parents, Your Majesty” Clean Cut said, looking to Luna.

Luna furrowed her brows. “Only three, now five, ponies alive know of our relationship,” Luna informed, “her parents are not within that five.”

“Oh,” Clean Cut responded, sounding uneasy. “You must have been keeping this relationship secret for years then if you feel so strongly about her? I doubt that father would be apprehensive to come in-between such a long-lasting relationship, Your Majesty,” Clean Cut assured.

“We hath been intimate with one another since the end of June,” Luna replied, staring back at the stallion with a raised brow.

“It’s November,” Keen stated, obviously, Luna catching his glance to the other stallion.

“Indeed it is,” Clean Cut muttered with a nervous chuckle, look off somewhere to the side.

“What is wrong with half a year? Tis a lot more liberal than a thousand years ago,” Luna probed, brow raised.

“W-well, i-it’s just, well,” Clean Cut stuttered, the aged bat-stallion twitching in the face.

“Half a year is pretty quick by, uh… modern standards,” Keen put delicately, smiling despite Luna’s slight scowl.

“Thou both sound just like our sister,” Luna rolled her eyes. “Back when we were but a filly, couples would first meet in the morning, and by evening time come they would already be engaged to be wed. And we thought we were being progressive by suggesting they wait a few weeks. Six months is more than enough time to know somepony completely, and if love hath struck both parties, why wait for the inevitable?”

“Your Majesty, in your position, I don’t think it matters if the father is happy with it or not. You are, after all, a princess,” Clean Cut stated. “Heck, I don’t think any stallion has the will to refuse you, Your Highness.”

Luna frowned at this. “We do not want to order a father to put his daughter’s life into my hooves, nor pressure his acceptance with fear; nor do we wish for avarice, or perceived self gains, to fuel his answer,” Luna explained. “We want his approval; respect; we… we...“

“Want to be liked?” Keen finished, offering a lukewarm grin.

Luna sighed, her posture sagging slightly. “Yes. Tis an embarrassing sentiment, caring for the opinions of strangers. But soon, we won’t be. Our relation to him be kin through bond of marriage.”

Keen smirked. “Having a princess for a daughter-in-law. You have to think twice about ‘knocking them upside the head’,” he quipped; glancing to Clean Cut with a grin.

“Your Majesty, when that dolt of a colt came to me, he had the biggest, dumbest, beam of a grin on his face. I didn’t know what he was smiling about, and just seeing it made me sneer. The first words out of his mouth, was: ‘Mr. Cut, may I have the privilege of taking your daughter’s hoof in marriage.’ And just like that, I knew why he was smiling,” Clean Cut revealed, Luna looking back at him with a crease in her brow. “If this fella can see your love for his daughter plainly, then, well, ya know…”

“...Are you sure you don’t read, Cut?” Keen asked, semi-seriously, releasing a small chortle. “That sounded… tacky.”

Clean Cut grumbled, but Luna chuckled, glancing back at the older stallion. “My, it would appear thou dost possess an understanding of love. We art sorry for presuming thou possessing a feckless knowledge of such matters.”

“Yeah, yeah...” he mumbled, snorting, before reciprocating Luna’s luck with a small smile.“Your Majesty.”

Luna smirked at the guard’s deportment, giving the stallion a nod before she fixed her sights forward again. She held a smile as she continued to lead them, a smile which faded at an intersection and at the twitching of her own ear. “We hear-”

“Music?” Keen questioned, joining Luna at her side.

“At this time of night; in this city?” Clean Cut added, walking beside the monarch. “I’d expect the only tune played here would be a swan song. Who’s playing music at this time of night?”

Luna didn’t say anything, instead taking some inquisitive steps forward; her interest piqued by the warm, glowing light from the left street on the intersection. She turned the corner, the sounds of her own hoofsteps and of those following became muted in comparison to melody coming down the street. She glanced at the street sign. ‘Limerick.’ She was heading in the right direction. “Follow. We be close.” The monarch’s pace picked up, the music almost acting like a siren call, leading her onwards. She could soon see the source of the light, which shone like a lone piece of gold amongst coal. “That’s it…”

“The Gilded Accessory,” Keen spoke, quiet, his voice intoning a degree of wonderment.

Construction-wise, it was homogeneous with the rest of the city’s aesthetic; built of a same faded red brick, adjoined to the buildings either side of it. There, a large hanging sage sign; the name painted on with a bright gold colour. Neither were faded, and the monarch deduced it was freshly repainted. Secondly, unlike the rest of the slumbering city, it was awake and alive. Behind every window there was the movement of shadows and silhouettes. Alongside music, she heard voices; audible merriment, either as laughter or the rhythmic stamping of hooves – obviously dancing – and Luna couldn’t help but feel excited; instinctively smiling.

“It would appear that our love was not exaggerating,” Luna remarked.

Keen took a few steps forward, a twinkle in his eye. “Shall we go in?” he asked, staring at the pub with an unwavering gaze.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Clean asked, unmoving from his spot beside the monarch.

Both Luna and Keen directed a look at Cut, each expression raising a singular bow. “What?” they both asked. A crease formed between Cut’s brows, his face scrunching up slightly to one side. He simply gestured to his face, pointing at his eye before tapping his helmet. “Oh...”

“Yeah, we do stand out now that you mention it,” Keen said bashfully, giving a wry smile.

“We can fix this predicament. If thou do not mind a change of face,” Luna informed, as she did this, she saw Keen’s small smile turn into a frown; his expression one of distaste.

“That’s going to involve magic, isn’t it?” Keen asked, not sounding pleased.

Clean Cut released a long, overdrawn exhale. “Magic. Not natural. No offence, Your Majesty.”

As he finished that, Luna glanced to his thin membranous wings before looking back at his grimacing expression, deadpan. “If thou wish to take part in fine drink and conversation of this establishment, then both of thee will have to wear illusions.”

Clean Cut groaned like a petulant foal, his lips pursed. “I wouldn’t like to miss out, Your Majesty. I think I can stomach it... so long as I have plenty of drink.”

Luna chuckled at his ending remark, and looked expectantly at Keen, who wore an uneasy smile. “And thou?”

Keen sighed, before shrugging; increasing the size of his grin. “Sure. Just, uh… let me brace myself.”

“Certainly,” she acquiesced, giving a singular nod, watching with bemusement as the stallion braced himself; as if preparing for an incoming tidal wave.

Keen was joined by Clean, who stood at his side with a considerably softer posture; casting an apprehensive look to the younger stallion. “Remember to breathe, kid,” Clean advised with a good natured smile.

“Yep,” Keen replied with a squeak, adamantly resisting the urge to inhale.

Before Keen could make himself dizzy with lack of air, Luna concentrated magic into her horn – the sight making Clean Cut cringe – and she fired two beams of blue shimmering light at the them. The transformation was gradual, requiring a bit of fine tuning from Luna. Their armours turned into cloaks and capes, their membranous wings joined seamless into their new apparel – giving them a look of faux leather; their helms melded to their heads as violet manes. She momentarily pondered on their coats, deciding to have a little fun; giving Keen a fresh sage coat whilst Clean Cut was given a beige shade. Finally, their cat-like irises, alert and threatening to the easily scared, rounded into harmless and unthreatening circles. “There!” she declared proudly, magic retreating into her horn. “Both of thee would fool even the most astutely perceptive.”

The stallions, newly shaped, looked to one another with widened stares; mouths dropping in reaction. Clean Cut remained still, marvelled, whilst Keen sat on his plot; looking at his extended hooves with wide-eyed fascination. “Woah,” Keen muttered, sending his hooves to his head, ruffling his own mane; releasing an exhale that one could mistake for a weak, curt, chuckle. “This is… this is...”

“Weird?” Clean offered, looking at his newly fashioned cloak. “This is all magic, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. Now all eyes who look upon thee will see those belonging to Earth,” Luna replied.

Keen looked to Luna with his new face, and tilted it. “What about you?”

Luna arched a brow. “What about us?”

“You don’t look exactly, uh... inconspicuous,” Keen said, delicately.

Luna raised her chin, pouting somewhat. “Our cloak will serve us.”

“Uh, I’m with, Keen,” Clean Cut concurred with his partner. “Even hiding your form, you’re still tall. At best, you’d be mistaken for a Saddle Arabian, at worst, the princess of the night. Your Majesty.”

Luna looked between the two of them, stoic faced. “We… we are excited at the prospect of getting caught,” she told them. A lie… is it? Maybe it becometh truth when we art intoxicated.

“Oh...” Clean replied, looking between Luna and the ground. “I’ll go make sure it’s safe for entry, Your Majesty.” With that, he left with hurried steps.

Luna then cast an eye to Keen, who grinned with a perplexed expression. “And thou?” Luna asked, raised brow.

“Y-yeah, I’ll go, uh… do the thing,” he informed her, walking backwards a few steps – smiling coyly – before turning into a slight gallop; catching up with his partner.

Luna sighed, thankful for the hood to hide the tinge of red that came to her cheeks. White lies. Who invented such a thing? Tis a piteous shame such a spell is taxing, even to us. We must keep them in our mind, keep them hidden, so we do not deprive them of the fun which this night can bring. The monarch followed behind her guard, lagging behind them.

As the door was opened, the volume of the interior poured out – as well as smoke - making Luna recoil slightly in surprise. She strode in behind the duo of stallions, wary stepped. The pub was packed full. Dozens, no doubt, although it could have been easily mistaken for a hundred. Everywhere she looked she saw energy, smiles, and most unsurprisingly, drinking.

“Very busy place they have here,” Clean Cut observed, releasing a good-natured chuckle.

Luna scanned the place, almost overwhelmed by the number of things going on. The sounds of many conversations, loud and discreet, and of course the song and stomping hooves. The air thick with sweet smelling smoke, and myriad spirits; all of which she could taste on her tongue. Even the air was comfortably warm. Despite all this, her eyes were of course drawn to the stage and to the more youthful patrons and couples dancing before it. As some customers banged their hooves on table tops in tempo to the music, ponies danced to it, often relying on the weight of a partner to skip merrily around the floor. She then glanced the music players, the band which Feather spoke fondly of. She arched a brow upon looking at them. She recognised the instruments. A Bouzouki, flute, accordion and fiddle. Instruments that were difficult to play a sad tune on. However, her raised brow was prompted not by the assortment of instruments, but by the player of the bouzouki. A griffon? A rare sight in Equestria… although, we would be dullard to not suspect one being found on the ‘Griffon Isle. The rest of the band were ponies, a couple carrying signs of age. Either they carried it gracefully, like the mare fiddler, or proudly, like the accordionist, whose mane and beard were a powdery grey. The most similar trait shared between them were the large smiles they wore, and the glances they directed at each other. The flute player, however, was the odd one out. She was a mare younger than those who surrounded her, who exuded a cheery joviality in the way she played: eyes closed, and smiling as she played her instrument gaily.

Luna tore her eyes away, mouth slightly ajar. Bosh to walking bare through Trottingham. There art enough sights and things here that we could proclaim ourself and not attract a single curious eye. She looked to the bar, where a few ponies sat. Some drank, others were asking for drinks. Behind it, wearing a smile upon her slightly wrinkled face, was a mare with an uncanny familiarity. She looked to Clean Cut, who looked around the abode with a visible fascination. “Clean Cut… Clean!” she reiterated, slightly louder, breaking the stallion from his stupor.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty?” Clean replied, his new white cheeks gaining a tinge of pink to them.

“We hath spotted the mother,” Luna told him.

“Where?”

“The tender at the bar. The resemblance to our love is uncanny,” Luna spoke, nodding in the mare’s direction.

Clean looked around Luna, curling his lower lip and nodding approvingly. “Quite a fox. For a pegasus anyway. Your wife-to-be must be quite a catch, Your Highness,” Clean commended, giving a small laugh.

“Thy words flatter us. Mayhaps thou will further please us with a task of minutia scale.”

“What would that be, Your Majesty?” Clean asked, his face straightening; dutiful.

Luna smirked. “Go buy thyself a pint of whatever thou fancy, and be happy. If between sips, thou have clarity, try to inquire about her husband,” she instructed with a non-committal tone, “but this is just a request. Not an order.”

“Understood, Your Highness,” Clean replied, smiling warmly. “I’ll come straight to you if I learn anything from the missus.”

As he trailed off, Luna turned to Keen. “We ask something similar of thee, if thou cou- Keen?” The younger stallion was smiling bashfully; looking off somewhere in the distance. Luna followed his line of sight, coming to land on a crimson haired mare, who sipped coyly on her drink. Glancing at him again, and smirking, Luna left; allowing him to ogle. To smite the smitten would attract the ire of Cadenza. We gave expectations of fun to the colt. We won’t tear him from it.

Luna left the young Keen’s side and steered herself in, being careful to allow anypony an overly long look at her face. They may have been intoxicated, but it would take the dangerously plastered to not recognise the princess of the moon. She kept an eye out for a unicorn stallion with blue eyes, for a familiar hue she could never forget. She’d look to a table, trying to discern if the stallion possessed the correct shade of blue before moving on. She moved from table to table, trying to be discreet. All the while, things continued on around her. The band moved on to a new song, the dancing continued, and her determined expression gradually became a happy one. The mirth was contagious. Perhaps we can return here with Feather one day...

Suddenly, mid-step, Luna felt a tug on her cloak; bringing her to a stop. “It’s quite unsettling, you know?” she heard a stallion’s voice behind her, posh and firm. “Hiding your face under a hood. Strangers who keep their faces hidden either want trouble or are hiding from it. And considering you’re eyeing every patron in here, methinks aiming for the former.”

Luna took a breath. Such insolence. Remain calm, and keep discreet. “We would appre-”

“’We?’ Is there more than one of your under there?” the stallion chuckled at his witticism, tugging on her cloak with a light grip – no doubt magic. “That would explain your size.”

Luna’s eye twitched, her jaw tightening into a furious sneer. She turned, slowly, with deliberate steps to come face-to-face with vexatious upstart. The stallion was stocky, with a neatly trimmed beard and tied back mane. His coat was crimson red, and he wore upon his face – under the thick, distinct hairs on his face – a small smile. Luna held her scowl as she looked him in the eye, her mouth parting to unleash a poisonous remark. A threat, or insult, something to make the stallion stand down. However, as she looked him in the eye, she got a haunting feeling of familiarity; her tense body suddenly relaxing, the realisation dawning on her. Eyes like sapphires. “Thou...”

“’Thou?’” he repeated back to her in a scoff, “who do you think you are? Old royalty? You sound almost like Princess Lu… na...” he trailed off, his smile – and self-confident expression – faltering into wide-eyed and tight-lipped stare. He retreated back a step, shaking, his legs undecided on whether to fall or remain rigidly straight.

“Vintner, honey, this bloke wants to speak with you,” the voice of an accented mare sounded from behind the shocked stallion. Luna’s eyes glanced to look at the voice’s owner. A pegasus, with a lily white coat and a mane which reminded Luna of autumn leaves. She came to a stop alongside the petrified stallion. “Oh, who’s your friend?” she asked him, her warm smile faltering a tad upon seeing his terrified expression. The mare then glanced to Luna, brows furrowed and lips tightened. “Who’er you?” she asked, voice raised slightly, taking a defiant step toward Luna.

“Silky,” Vintner began, his eyes unwavering from Luna’s, “don’t make a scene.”

“Huh, why?” she questioned, hushed, worried. She cast an eye to Luna, who gave a strained smile, her eyes squinting as she leant forward slightly. “You look familiar? You a musician or somethin’? What kind of coward hides their face?”

Vintner leant towards his wife, refusing to break eye contact with the monach. “T-that’s-”

“Her Majesty, Princess Luna,” Clean Cut interjected in a whisper, leaning close to the mare. “Raiser of the moon, co-banisher of Discord, mare of the night, dream strider, banisher of nightmares, artist of the stars, moon craft-”

“That’s quite enough, Cut,” Luna hushed, glancing to make sure the guard’s quiet introduction didn’t attract any attention. We hath that many titles?

“I called the Princess fat,” Vintner muttered, stepping backwards with a flinch.

“We… we… I just called the princess a coward…” Silky squeaked, recoiling back a step – much like a husband – staring Luna right in the face.

Luna pursed her lips, hoping her nervousness was hidden under the shadow of her hood. Not off to the grandest of starts. Mother and father are afeared. We would rather anger fill their hearts than such a pitiable emotion. We can nought but picture these faces on either side of the wedding aisle. “Worry not. We hold no grudges, nor brunt offence.”

A sigh of relief escaped both their lips, and Silky took a step forwards, expression considerably softer. “I’m sorry, Your Highne-”

Luna raised a hoof, wearing a small smile. “We must beg thee for subtlety, so keep our title from escaping thy lips. Nopony within the demesne must know of our being here, for we are upon an undertaking of utmost secrecy.”

“A secret mission?” Vintner reiterated, interested. “In our pub? Are you meeting with a fence, or an informant, Your Majesty?”

“If you need our help we’d be happy to lend a hoof. I consider myself a patriot. I’ve also read my fair share of spy novels, Your Majesty,” Silky offered. “Also, the only difference between an alchemist and bartender are were they work, Your Majesty,” she ended by grinning slyly.

Luna smiled. “We are happy at thy enthusiasm. But our mission is humble in its purpose, and both of thee are vital for its completion.”

“Well, no offence, Your Majesty, not to imply I’m going against your judgement, but I can’t imagine what I can help you with. Well, besides quenching your thirst and giving you a full belly,” Vintner said. “If you want to rent out the pub, Your Majes-”

Luna raised a hoof, smiling warmly. “The matter for which we need of thee, regards thy daughter.”

“Feather? Is she okay? She’s not in trouble is she?” Vintner questioned, his voice hardened; taking a step towards the monarch.

“Last we heard from her was months ago. We were getting worried,” Silky said, in a voice softer than her husband’s. “If you have news of here, we would appreciate it, Your Majesty.”

The dichotomy between their expressions prompted an awkward grin from Luna. “We would be happy to discuss this… in private. Dost thou have such a place, and perhaps a tender for the bar?”

“Aye, we do,” Silky confirmed.

“Good,” she affirmed, before looking to Clean Cut. “Go now, enjoy thyself.”

“Right away, Your Majesty,” Clean gave a low nod – short of a full bow – before leaving the trio.

“Vintner, take Her Majesty upstairs. I’ll go grab Citrus and join you after,” Silky instructed, giving the princess a discreet curtsy before departing.

“Lead the way,” Luna instructed, “we follow thee.”

“Right. Follow me, Your Highness,” Vintner beckoned, pivoting and turning on the princess, moving discreetly – Luna following in tow.

Vintner led her upstairs; soon the festivities of the pub below became nothing more than a muffled hum to the monarch’s ears. Vintner, loudly and repeatedly, apologised for the quality of the dwelling – which Luna, with the same frequency, had to dispel and reassure. The stallion was, unsurprisingly, insistent that the monarch take the couch to herself, and rather than waste minutes of added reassurance and attempts at humility, she took his offer of hospitality. She chose to sit politely, leaning on the left arm, rather than splay herself across the entire width. She kept a straight posture, trying to put on respectable display Tis a difficult thing. Acting dignified with a different sort of airs. We must look him in the eye; with a lowered chin, rather than pout; a small smile to portray friendliness. We are not above him, just as we are not above our sister, or our love.

“Would you like some tea, Your Highness?” Vintner offered. “Maybe some juice? I’m sure there’s some muffins in the hamper. I know, it isn’t exactly up to the quality I’m sure you’re used to, but-”

“Thou need not offer us anything, we are content as we are. And while we admire thy humility, thou should not regard thyself as ‘lower,’” she assured. “A home well kept is better than any castle. We imagine that thou hath a bounty of good memories here. And if thy daughter, Feather, grew up in this abode, we cannot fathom a place of higher excellence.”

Vintner gave a smile, a probable blush hidden under his red coat and beard. “Thank you, princess. That means a lot. From what ponies mutter of you – and I hope you take no offence to this – I wasn’t such a… easygoing reception.”

Luna nodded. “Yes, well, while we do not appreciate the ‘mutters,’ there is an element of truth to them. We are venomous and weighed down by our own hubris. If it were not thee we turned to face in particular, our rage might have gotten the better of us. We cannot easily forego our station for kindness and meekness like our sister. We are trying to learn through experience our sister’s demeanour of courtesy...” she finished, and soon after, smirked. “Tis a funny thing. I practised my first act of courtesy for thy daughter. She hath been a great help in that regard, and fans my endeavour to become a better mare.”

“The more I hear you talk, Your Majesty, the more I’m intrigued by my daughter. Have the two of you become friends? If so, that must be quite a story,” Vintner spoke sincerely, leaning forwards from his recliner.

She is our friend... but so much more as well, Luna smiled at the stallion’s expression. “We are eager to discuss her with thee, but we would like to talk in thy wife’s company is well. The matter is important, and must be heard by both thy ears.”

“Oh. Okay. I can wait,” he accepted, sitting back in his chair, seemingly content to just wait. Although, the monarch had a question she needed answered.

“We appreciate thy patience. But whilst we wait, we have spawned a curiosity for thee and thy wife,” Luna revealed. “Thy accent twangs of some place that is not Trottingham.”

“I’m from Baltimare, Your Majesty. I’m surprised you’re familiar enough with it to know its accent at all… not that I’m implying you wouldn’t,” Vintner replied, wearing a disarming grin. “I was born there. Spent the first twenty years of my life on a vineyard; picking grapes,” he recounted. “For a while I had the aspiration to be a successful wine merchant. I’m sure you saw my cutie mark. I’ve got a talent for winemaking. So I decided that I should sell my wine to every corner of Equestria. ‘Vintner’s Vintage,’ is what the label read on the bottle, and I had a hundred of them. Actually, I think I still have a bottle laying about somewhere…”

Luna listened attentively. “That was thy initial ambition? Tis a commendable one, to be a peddler of luxury.”

“I enjoyed it. For a time. Travelling, hiking, and meeting ponies of all sorts. I slept in a new place almost every day, not always comfortably, but always contented. Usually because I had a full belly or many tankers of cider,” he chuckled, happily reminiscing. “At a point it became less about selling wine, and simply just enjoying life.”

“Some say pursuing happiness is the wisest route one can take with life,” Luna remarked. “If it led to thee meeting thy wife, travelling down it was apt.”

He gave a wistful chuckle. “I suppose. I don’t regret it one bit. I apologise if I gave that impression. It’s just been a while since I’ve been this... nostalgic, Your Highness,” he replied, his cheek pulled back into a half-smile. “I met her at the train station. I was intending to ride to Canterlot then. Maybe try to get some rich noble to get a taste for what I had to offer. Who knows. I might have been given an investment, buy my own vineyard,” he listed the possibilities with no trace of longing, marking the end of his sentence with a shrug. “But I learned she was visiting relatives in Los Pegasus.”

“Quite a long way from Canterlot,” Luna commented.

“True. And quite a bit overwhelming for me. If I went with her, it’d be the furthest I’ve ever been from home. I’d be in truly foreign territory.”

“Did thou go with her?” Luna asked, although, from the small smile he wore she already knew his answer.

“Of course. I didn’t even think of missing the opportunity to keep talking to her. I was smitten. Silken Soft, the daughter of cloud makers in Trottingham, intending to carry on the family business, and the most beautiful mare in all of Equestria – although that wasn’t self-proclaimed, I admit,” his tone became lively, almost bombastic as he spoke of her. “After hearing where she was going I told her I was heading out that way too. A small lie, but it wasn’t for too long. I used the last of my money to buy a ticket right after.”

“Thou was set on her?”

“Aye. Who knew if I would’ve gotten the chance to see her again. Sometimes you just have to do something crazy to get that one shot to be with somepony truly special,” Vintner answered, before gesturing around him, pride etched into his features. “And it paid off, didn’t it? I gave up selling wine, and her cloud knitting. We started a new life together. And are happier all for it.”

“Hmm, we see. Thy love blossomed, and instead of travelling down separate roads, both of thee decided to share a single one. Together,” Luna remarked with audible praise.

“Much more eloquent than how he put it,” a mare’s voice sounded from the stairway, earning both the eyes of Luna and Vintner. “And here I’ve been content with just the occasional ‘I love you,’” the mare jested, just as she reached the top of the stairs.

Vintner rolled his eyes, wearing a smile in good humour. “Citrus working the bar?” he queried, following his wife as she walked around him.

“He is,” Silken Soft confirmed, the ivory coated mare taking the recliner next to his. “He did ask about Feather again though,” she divulged, wearing a knowing smile. “He’s hopeless.”

Luna forced a smile, trying to hide an expression of worry… or contempt. “Who is this… Citrus?” she asked.

“Oh, nopony you need to worry about, Your Highness,” Vintner answered. “He’s just a young stallion. Does the occasional work for us downstairs. Serving drinks, tending the bar and the like.”

“He’s also smitten with our daughter,” Silken interjected with a chortle. “Ever since he had learnt his ABCs.”

“Now, now, the Princess doesn’t need to hear about this,” Vintner interjected.

“Oh, why not? It’s adorable isn’t it?” she chirped, giving him a smile. “Almost reminds me of you when we first met. I can’t imagine how much he’s suffering waiting for her to come back,” she joked, giving a coy giggle towards her husband.

“It’ll pass,” he opined, releasing a sigh. “Sorry, Your Majesty. My wife fancies herself something of a matchmaker.”

“I do not!” she objected with a scoff, a pout following. “I can just tell true love when I see it.”

“Good grief, Silky!” Vintner marvelled, shaking his head. “You can’t just be saying that sort of thing so casually. So he asks about her every so often? So does Old Wick, and Burdock, and I doubt both of them are so deeply in love with her as you think Citrus is.”

“Please, Old Wick is, well… old! And Burdock is a mare. I doubt that Feather would be interested in either of them,” she said matter-of-factly, causing Luna to squirm uncomfortably in her seat; her lips splitting into a small and forced grin. “Love is two way, honey. Citrus is a good colt, and young. And if you ask me, I think they’d make a wonderful cou-”

“If we may, we think it apt to discuss the issue concerning thy daughter,” Luna beseeched, barely restraining the fissure-like crack in her voice.

“Oh, I am sorry, Your Highness. I often forget myself. I tend to ramble,” she released a giggle, holding a curled hoof to her mouth.

“Especially when she’s nervous,” Vintner corroborated, chuckling. “She sees you here, knows that you’re here, but still can’t believe it. Much like myself if I’m to be honest.”

Luna attempted to give a disarming smile, but found that her face was straining to do so. “This is very much reality. If this were a dream, we would know of that, we assure thee,” Luna quipped, grinning. “If we render thee uncomfortable, we hath failed as a guest.”

“Don’t you pay us no mind, Your Highness,” Silken waved her hoof, as if trying to dispel the monarch’s worry. “We’re just old and patriotic. We’re just as excited as we are nervous.”

Luna gave a nod. “Very well. But if thou wish anything of us, this is thy castle, thy kingdom, and we art subject to it.”

Vintner shared a look with his wife, one Luna discerned as being openly happy, but the slight waver on the smile hid confusion – or more worryingly – concern. Vintner looked back to Luna with continued smile he shared with Silken. “We are humbled that you would regard our home so… highly. Thank you, Princess.”

“About our daughter?” Silken asked, suddenly; a crease between her brows. Vintner flashed her a stern look but she seemed to ignore it.

Vintner sighed, before setting his sights on Luna instead. “Sorry. We don’t want to mistake your kindness for some sort of blanket for bad news, but...”
Luna nodded, lips pursed. “We understand. Our reputation, even at the outermost edges of the state is less than pleasant. But the least we can do is put thee at ease. Thy daughter is not in any sort of danger, or harmed, or even ill – at least that was our knowledge upon leaving the capital,” she spoke with the intent to ease, watching their faces soften into relief.

Vintner released an exhale. “She hardly sends letters any more.”

“We tried to remain optimistic, but the worst case scenarios can sometimes lodge themselves in there, you know?” Silken explained.

“That’s what it’s like to be a parent,” Vintner added, before he released a dry laugh, scratching his chin.

With the air in a somewhat melancholic state, Luna chewed the inside of her cheek, looking between the two faces. “W-well, we do have something else to tell thee. R-regarding, Feather. O-or rather, us in relation to her. The point is… Um...” Luna paused, seeing the brows on them both furrowed, before she gulped; lips suddenly dry. “We – o-or rather, I, as the state has no forbearing upon this,” she muttered, forcing a larger grin. “Would ask thee for t-thy b-blessing.”

There was a queer expression on Silken, a look of scepticism that primarily underlined disbelief. “What do you mean?” Silken asked, seeking clarification for monarch’s parlance. Luna could tell she was trying to avoid jumping to conclusions.

“What kind of blessing?” Vintner inquired, head tilting a tad.

Luna parted her mouth, but no words were expelled. It was, looking at their gormless faces, that she arrived at the realisation she didn’t know what to say. “T-thy daughter is… special. To us.”

Vintner furrowed his brows. Silken’s went up. Both at different levels of understanding. “’ Special?’” Vintner echoed. “What do you mean by that? A friend?”

“A dear one, yes. But she is so much more...” Luna ended, openly.

“...Best friend?” Vintner said after a few seconds.

Luna took a breath. She would have to get the point sooner or later. “I love her. A-and I wish for thy approval in asking for her hoof in marriage. We do not cajole thee using our authority, or demand it under threat. I, asking this of thee, am no longer sovereign. An unlit wick, a… dim lifeless star, awaiting for the spark that thou can so readily deliver unto it an-”

Thump!

“By Faust’s tits!” Vintner exclaimed, jumping from his seat just as his wife fell from hers. Immediately, his horn became a lit with a bright blue aura. “Help me,” he commanded, glancing to Luna as he struggled to lift Silken’s unconscious frame from the floor.

Luna had not realised the revelation had made the mare light-headed, her gentle swaying unseen by the continued monologuing of the monarch. “Yes, at once!” Luna acquiesced, tone diligent, yet feeling panicked and guilt-ridden inside. She had no issue lifting the pegasus off the carpet, acting as a support for the stallion’s magic, who brought his wife onto his back. “I can-”

“I’m taking her to a bed!” he interrupted, not giving Luna the slightest look as he hurried down an adjoining hall.

Luna stayed her hooves for a moment, grimacing as the stallion disappeared into a room that connected to the hallway. The monarch blinked, carrying herself forward with a slight reluctance. Tartarus’ deepest hole doth not render fear in us so much as fury from the right pony. The thought punctuated aloud as she followed the unicorn’s path, peeking into the room before she entered. He saw the stallion, sitting beside the bed, hoof extended and pressed gently into Silken’s shoulder. Luna walked in, her steps not making much noise as they seldom did. She found her sights wandering, curious.

The room was small, cozy. Guest bedroom? the monarch mused upon entry, immediately noticing faint black lines next to a long mirror to her left. Her curiosity demanded satiation, and she took a step closer to read it. She had no difficulty seeing in the low light. Feather, age two, one and a half... Feather, age eight, two and three quarters… Feather, age twelve, three and a quarter... This was Feather’s room. Luna stepped away, scanning the small abode with a delighted smile. It was sparse, likely emptied sometime after their daughter moved out. But there were a few traces of Feather’s presence left within, aside from the markings on the wall. The carpet had a few visible splotches on it. Paint, most likely, as the remnant of a crude picture remained in the window. Three ponies, or so it looked -two white and one grey. Upon seeing this, Luna noticed a few more markings of paint. Some on the walls, waiting to be painted over, and even the ceiling – speckles, looking like a multicoloured sneeze.

Luna’s lip tugged at the corner as she strode to the sitting stallion, swallowing silently. We will have to learn of Feather’s youth… if mother awakes and father doth not detest me. “Is she well?” she asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” Vintner gave a suppressed chuckle, sighing. “It’s not the first time she’s fainted. Happens when she gets too excited… stressed… too much of anything really. She’ll be fine, Your Highness.”

“That’s good...” Luna said softly, before timidly sitting beside him. A moment of silence followed, before the monarch frowned; looking at the sleeping pegasi’s face. “...I am sorry.”

“Whatever for?” he scoffed, looking at the monarch with an expression of incredulity.

“For this...” she began, gesturing to the sleeping mare; looking to Vintner with a tired smile.

“You had no way of knowing,” he replied, scoffing.

“I should have been more careful,” she countered.

“For something you knew nothing about,” he riposted, scolding. “If she were awake right now, she would slap you across the cheek. Title or no.”

Luna smirked. “And I would be deserving. On both,” she quipped, before releasing a quiet giggle. “Perhaps it would break us out of this madness.”

“Madness? Why would you think you’re mad?” he inquired.

“Yes. Tis the only ailment that can explain my choices as of late,” Luna answered. “I have sent ponies to the stratosphere, done less than… decent activities in public, and travelled halfway across the nation in secrecy just to ask thee something,” she explained, mirthless. “I acted with Feather in my mind each time. I simply can’t escape her – not that I wish to.”

“That isn’t madness, Princess. It’s love,” he corrected, “or so I would say. You didn’t… cajole her into anything did you? Using your… royal authority?” he questioned, delicately, yet gave the monarch a stern eye.

“No. In fact, for months I was at her whims. I depended upon her smile, her well-being. When I was first struck with love, I felt unwell when days went by and I had not lain my eyes upon her,” she revealed, smiling wistfully. “We had not even shared a conversation yet. Yet, my love for her absolute, and sure.”

Vintner released a smirk, scratching his ear awkwardly. “Well, I-I can’t say my experience was the same. A lot less… storybook,” he replied, brow raising. “Did she feel the same way, Your Highness?”

Luna released a puzzling chuckle. “No. Not in the slightest,” she answered.

“Oh?”

“Feather put it eloquently. She believed that love needed to ‘blossom,’ as all flowers do. With time, and with care. That was her reply to my admittance of love,” she elaborated.

Vintner smirked. “Brave of her to turn down the love of a Princess,” he remarked, looking to his wife. “Gets it from her mother, that.”

Luna chuckled, but shook her head. “I gave her no reason to fear me… well, she was afraid, at first. But after a full night of… conversation,” she emphasised, lying, “she opened up to me.”

The stallion curled his lower lip, curious. “How long ‘as this love affair been going on then?” he asked, jokingly. “A year, maybe two? She never told us in letters. I suppose you held her to secrecy on that one.”

“Six months,” she answered. Suddenly, he began to cough into his hoof, wide eyed, reeling in shock. Luna reached a hoof out. “Art thou ill?”

“No, no,” he said between coughs, waving his hoof dismissively. A moment later he returned to a well enough state, staring at the monarch in disbelief. “Six months? And you want her to marry you?”

“W-well, I am aware that in this day and age that such a proposal would be considered hasteful, b-but...” she started with a stammer, forcing a lopsided grin despite his glare.

“Is she head-over-heels in love with you? Did she give you impression she wanted marriage, and wanted it now?” he began to ask, his restrained demeanour towards the monarch was seemingly replaced with a natural paternity, worry evident in his voice.

“W-well, actually, she already refused my first proposal, b-but-”

“You already asked her!” he exclaimed, glancing to his wife as she stirred in her sleep. “Why are you asking me for my blessing? She already rejected you, Your Highness,” he informed her of the obvious, stern but hushed in his voice. “I mean no offence, but if you were somepony other than my liege, I would have kicked you at my front door head first… Your Highness,” he said with considerable strain, a slight scowl hiding behind his beard.

“I...” Luna began, dejected. Her eyes fell to the floor, an unpleasant concoction of guilt, shame and self-loathing taking rise in her gut. “I wanted to do it right this time,” she informed him, her voice lacking in any sort of sovereign lustre. “When I asked her, I allowed sadness to rule me, and thus I retreated. I left her. Worried. Alone with the burden of my sorrow upon her haunches. But I can fix this. I can. I know she feels something for me. Even if it is doth not burn as brightly as my own. If I were to ask again, and still heard her rejection, I can still remain with her. That is what I desire most, sir. I profess an intimate knowledge and experience of love, yet I neglected the single most important thing,” she monologued, meekly reconnecting her sights with the soft-eyed stallion, giving him a small smile. “I want to change. Become somepony better for her. In such a short amount of time she has become the centre of my life, and I do not loathe that one bit. I love her. All of her. And I wish to devote myself to her, as I believe she deserves. She brought warmth to my life, after a millennia of darkness and cold. I cannot imagine a life without her in it. Thus, thy blessing is not just permission. It is hope.”

Vintner’s expression considerably softened. He said nothing at first, looking to his wife’s sleeping face with a pensive stare. His hoof was placed on her side, tenderly stroking back and forth in the same spot. A few more moments passed of continued silence, save for breathing, until Vintner sighed turning his neck to look at the monarch. “Your Highness. I don’t doubt you love her. But I want you to promise me you’ll never make her unhappy, or to put her aside, or hurt her in any way,” he said solemnly, with his brows furrowed.

“I promise,” she swore, placing a heart to her hoof. “If I were to break such a vow, I would willingly service myself to thy full fury. To break my horn from my head, to clip my own wings, and no, never bathe again. I would wander the world, and allow all to see my shame. To bleat like a she-”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted her, releasing an exhale. “Then you have my blessing, Princess. Don’t waste- hmph!” the stallion’s request was interrupted by a vice-like tightness around his chest, suddenly getting a nose full of lilac-scented fur.

“We thank thee!” she squealed with delight, holding the unicorn in a tight embrace. “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” every proclamation of her elation was punctuated by rocking the stallion sideways.

“D-don’t mention it, Your Highness,” Vintner said with a wheeze, straining for breath; the monarch’s embrace deceivingly tight.

“Please,” she began, adopting a gentle tone before releasing the stallion from her grasp, “call me, Luna.”

“Luna...” he grumbled, before releasing a smirk. “I’ll have a princess for a daughter-in-law if Feather accepts you this time around.”

“Then I hope that thou will get used to me calling thee, Father,” Luna replied to his musing with a grin.

He chuckled. “Maybe… maybe...”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Luna remarked, her smile enlarging. “What dost thou know of the Grand Galloping Gala?”

Author's Note

Sorry, it's been awhile. I had a bunch of IRL stuff that was causing some havoc. I spent my first week at university thoroughly miserable. The lecturers outright told their students that select students were bad people for holding personal political opinions, and it became clear that there wasn't so much a focus on history as it was a focus on espousing political opinions and focusing on an area that allowed them to do such. :ajsleepy: On the brighter side, I now have a laptop, which should theoretically allow me to work more on my writing. So, that's a positive.

I wasn't too much a fan of this chapter. I don't consider myself being 'drained' on writing this, it's just that I'm perceiving a visible decline in the quality of what I'm writing. Which is just unfortunate. I considered multiple times to erase what I wrote of chapter 4 and simply start it over, but alas, I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. Hopefully, chapter 5 is more fruitful.

Things and Trivia:
1. Originally, the band in this chapter were going to be characters was a fic I conceptualised as 'The Pirate King' but I thought the age of the characters would've been a discrepancy, considering Feather listened to them as a foal. The flute player, however, is intact for a possible use in a future story.
2. The 'band,' at least as I pictured them in my head, are based upon the High Kings or Irish Rovers. They're inclusion in Feather's dialogue in an earlier chapter was based primarily on the fact I was listening to the High Kings a lot whilst writing the chapters.
3. The interaction between Celestia and Feather, was originally a lot more biting. However, due to changes in Celestia's personality as well as overall story changes, meant that having an overly antagonistic Celestia would've been too out of place and contrasting with later chapters.
4. Luna was originally going to get discovered right away, soon after entering the pub.
5. Keen and Clean Cut were not characters originally even in chapter 4 whatsoever. They were created after the, I'd say, third rewrite. From reading you can see what their purpose sort've was, as well as reveal more of Luna's feelings to the reader.
6. The band was originally supposed to play a larger part in the chapter. This tied in with the original idea of Luna getting discovered right away, which would've had them be unusually casual to the monarch. However, I couldn't fit that in right. I might recycle the band to another fic I have a vague idea of doing.
7. Originally, Keen and Clean Cut were going to get into a bar fight. After creating them I had a few ideas of what I could with them in the chapter besides their current stuff. In the end, I decided not to.
8. Originally, in order to actually keep to this fic's identity as a clopfic, there was gonna be a POV sex scene with Keen and the freckled unicorn mare he becomes smitten with in the pub. I may do an 'aside' for this if ya'll want it.
9. Originally, instead of magic, Luna was just gonna tell the duo to leave their gear behind at the carriage. However, this idea came in late and trying to put it in would've made the beginning scene with her seem too clunky. Instead, magic!
10. Still tied to Luna, and my idea of her getting discovered, she was initially going to take part in dancing and then her hood would fall back; revealing the monarch under it. By the final draft I decided not to have her get 'discovered/found out' and instead opted for what you read.
11. I was originally going to write a brother for Feather called 'Soda' but due to not being mentioned in the dating chapter - as well as not having a suitable reason for why Feather wouldn't mention him - I didn't.
12. Originally I wanted the father to be the one with the heavy accent.

Chapter 5 - True Love Never Did Run So Smooth

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The knocks were loud, and unexpected, so Feather rose with a start. She looked around, almost forgetting where she was. The curtains, carpet and double bed would give the impression of finery, if it wasn’t painted in the veneer of the fact it was merely a room on the second story of a motel. On the table at the foot of the bed was a suitcase with her belongings, every possession she had in her quarters was contained within that drab box, her entire tenure as maid, years, kept locked within that container…

She climbed out of the bed, giving a yawn. She had a rather early night, trying to fix her sleeping schedule; having spent so many days in slumber and nights awake had left her feeling topsy turvy in that department. She had left the castle’s employ shortly after her brief meeting with Princess Celestia. Since then, without a regimen and work arrangement, all of her days since have blended together into a single indistinguishable mess; like a foal mixing together all the paints on a palette. She stopped colouring her mane with brown dye and straightening her mane. It left her locks ginger and curly; her face dotted with little freckles. She didn’t see the point any more. It would at the very least save her parents the trouble of suffering a heart attack on her return, seeing their filly looking like a completely different mare. It also had the added benefit of saving her the tedium of getting rid of every little speck of orange along her muzzle.

She opened the door, initially, with furrowed brows. She was somewhat annoyed by the unknown knocker. An immediate second later, and they rose. It was a unicorn mare. A familiar one. Even in the dark her bright pink mane lost none of its colour. She had on her back a long cardboard box tied in a dark blue bow. And in her mouth, an enveloped sealed with light blue wax.

“I know you,” Feather apprised, struck with disbelief; opening the door wider. “You used to serve at the castle.”

Rather than say anything immediately, the mare’s horn sparked with a yellow light. The letter was carried from out her mouth, the box off her back. She placed them both down before Feather, the letter atop the box, both delicately. “No longer past tense, I’m happy to say. Very fortunate too. You’d be surprised at how few ponies like a mare such as I serving them,” she replied, her voice carrying in it the unexpected cadence of somepony upper class. “I’ve been instructed to give these to you from an anonymous suitor, the same suitor which rehired me,” she ended with a restrained but knowing smile. “I can say no more. I bid you adieu, Feather,” she ended cordially, nodding, before taking off with a steady strut. However, at the stairs right before descending down to the ground floor, she looked to Feather over her shoulder. “Oh, and from me: thanks!”

Feather blinked, watching her disappear down the small set of stairs. She then turned her neck to look down at the box. The letter had no name on it. And why would it? It was being hoof delivered. But how did its sender know where she lived? She picked up both box and letter, taking them into the room and placing them onto the bed. She looked between the two, pensive. It was obvious who sender was, but she was too scared to think the name. She reached for the letter first, breaking the seal and looking within. What struck her first was the calligraphy. It possessed an unmistakable finery within it. A finery she had read in a hundred poems before. As she scanned the page, her eye lids widened in disbelief.

It was an invitation. An invitation for an event scheduled for the twenty-first, the date of her departure back to Trottingham. The wording of the letter lacked a the straight-edged formality of a press printed invite. This wasn’t something just sent to anyone. It was hoof written, lacking any sense of sentimentality yet at the same time oozing it, Feather couldn’t explain it. When she reached its bottom she noted the lack of name, and tore her eyes away. Feather clenched her eyes closed, pushing it away from her with a quivering hoof. She couldn’t obey Princess Celestia’s request completely. She lacked the strength to. It pained her to leave without saying a word, and tried to force the mare from her mind, not even daring to say her name, even in thought.

When her eyes opened, they were on the box. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was. With the letter serving as context it left only one thing, but did she dare open it? Her hoof traced down its edge, her lips pursed. With her other she brought it close to her until its width hanged over the edge of the bed. Looking at the dainty ribbon, the tip of her left tugged at it, untying it, whilst her right lifted off the cover.

What was within left her breathless.

It was a pewter velvet gown beautifully embroidered with an embossed parade blue pattern. She pulled it out by the shoulder straps. There was a singular small sapphire upon one of them. It would clearly be highlighted as it was singular, and considering how restrained the dress was, the singular jewel would only be punctuated. Even when not worn it appeared to fall with a languid grace, and she could only imagine how it would look draped upon her form. Beneath it were four flat slippers, and Feather was surprised that they lacked any pronounced heel. They had a floral lace exterior – similarly coloured as the dress itself - while elegantly pointed.

Feather would have taken a step back were she standing. It was a beautiful dress, but it must have cost more than every item she had in her possession combined. Her hooves trembled, and it was dropped back into the box. She was torn. Why now? Was she forgiven? How could she possible be forgiven for something like that? Feather then doubted if the intention meant by this dress was positive, toying with the idea – and even hopeful – that she was wanted there to be humiliated, or shamed because she thought she was deserving of it… but she knew her love was incapable of that.

That made her heart ache, her expression becoming pained. It wasn’t her love’s name, but it hurt her just to acknowledge that. Already, she felt the strength to keep away fail her. Celestia was right however. She was mortal, and the thought of time tearing her away from her beloved left her feeling pained. She thought on it, eventually finding her eyes going back to the letter. She brought it closer to her. The way the words were written, how the letters connected to one another. The letter was the first she had seen of her love in months, even if it was only a sign of her; the mare’s features contorted into an expression of longing. The letter didn’t open with her name, or some other cordially expected opening. It was the line that cast the whole invitation in a warm glow, that punctuated the heart of its writer. It was what forced her eyes closed, that made her wish she had an excuse to not take the invite up on its offer...

[centre]My Love.[/centre]

She re-read that opening line time and time again. It was the barely the third time it was said aloud in her mind that she went over to the beside drawer, pulled out her train tickets and shred them in two, depositing the stubs in the trash bin.

She felt content with her decision.

She closed the lid on the box thereafter, placing it besides her suitcase, and then she slept. The morning after – a day before the gala – she did what she ordinarily did to pass the time prior to her leaving, even if it was sort of moot by now. She decided to take up an old hobby – and what the brush on her flank was actually depicting – and took to painting in the park. It was cold, as expected for that time of year, but she felt warmed by the anticipation of what came tomorrow. Beyond who she may meet again, there was an excitable being a guest at the nation’s most prestigious event. It left her feeling giddy. After weeks of infrequent daily vomiting, loneliness and emotional fatigue, she was simply elated at the prospect.

She spent her afternoon painting in the park. She was trying to capture a scene before her. The picturesque image of a family having a picnic by the pond. There was no particular reason why she wanted to capture that image, but the sight of smiling foals was something that made her feel warm inside. However, she was out of practice, yet she had become reacquainted with painting fairly easily. It was something she abandoned. She hadn’t the time, nor space, to keep in steadfast pursuant of improving herself in this regard. As much as she grew to enjoy poetry, there was something about holding a brush that came to her more naturally than a quill. It was her talent after all. She always felt shy about it revealing it to ponies. It was an unprofitable skill, however the width of the bristles meant that it could be mistaken for a duster, so long as she insisted upon it. In Canterlot, the rich were in high need of servants and cleaners, and Feather would do anything to live in such a city of renown, even if that included effectively lying on her resume.

By late afternoon the painting was only half done. She was something of a perfectionist in that regard, as she was with all tasks she tried to set for herself – be them poems, paintings or cleaning. The family had long since left, leaving just their happy visages in the middle of an otherwise white canvas. Yet, despite the lack of surrounding detail, it already felt… complete. She had captured the emotion of contentment, and the surrounding white void only seemed to punctuate it. She couldn’t actually bring herself to add more to it after that. She simply stayed sitting on her bench after she added the last stroke to the colt’s ear, feeling oddly wistful.

She left the park, with canvas and supplies. She went through her usual motions. She grabbed a bite to eat from the nearby diner, a pickle, mustard and tulip sandwich. The waitress who handed Feather the place wore a visibly forced smile, her muzzle wrinkling, and left the former maid’s cubicle with haste. Feather consumed it heartily, and left. By the time she reached the motel the sun had gone down, and her love’s opal hung in the night sky. She slept with the curtain’s open that evening, allowing the soft glow of light from the moon to cover her cheeks. It was a far cry from the physical comfort of her beloved holding her close, but with the light upon her she didn’t feel almost as alone that night…

Luna walked with a stiff and haughty posture with an uncomfortably quick gait. She tried to ignore the fact that Celestia matched her pace beside her, trying to avoid meeting her sister’s curious expression. Lower your brow sister, or else it may fly off your head.

“You’ll be attending the gala this year, I hear,” Celestia remarked. Luna heard in her tone a level of disbelief, but also surprise of the pleasant kind. “You’ve been unusually talkative with the ponies on your shift of late.”

“Yes, we will, and yes we have,” Luna replied vaguely, continuing to ignore her sister’s gaze. She turned a corner, coming into a new hall. There was an increase to the bustle and hustle of staff. The evening was fresh, and preparations for the gala needed to be completed by the staff, but so long as Celestia remained hooked to her side like a stubborn tick, she couldn’t finish any preparations of her own.

“You have never attended galas of previous years,” Celestia pointed out.

“We care not for the company of sycophants,” Luna replied, looking to her sister with a passive stare. “No matter how much their pockets are weighed down with wealth, or their letters made heavier by their numerous titles. How you suffer their droning is a mystery, even to us.”

“I think you have just been talking with the wrong ponies,” Celestia smirked at Luna’s abrasive attitude. “Dost it, per chance, involve thy change in vernacular,” she mimicked, wearing a wavering expression of stoicism, one which threatened to break into giggles.

“Imitation is flattery,” Luna said with droll. We have never sounded so… haughty.

“And that’s not an answer,” Celestia gave a mirthless smile, sighing. The sun monarch glanced to her side and then back to Luna. She lessened the space between them as they walked, wearing a look of irksome concern. “I hate to bring it up, Luna. But I have noticed something… different about you these past couple of months. It’s no coincidence that this all began to occur after-”

“That matter was resolved,” Luna interrupted with a fierce glare, which quickly softened. “We told you, we bore you no malice. Not due to our relation, but because your encouragement was a blessing. A ‘kick in the plot,’ as it were,” she simpered, saying the idiom with an expression of faux pensiveness.

Much to the moon monarch’s relief, Celestia’s lips curved into a smile. “I don’t think you’re using that idiom correctly,” Celestia informed, giving a soft smile. “Since you’re still in the process of learning modern linguistics, have you practised contractions yet?”

Luna scoffed, although thankful for the change in subject. “For what reason? We are not pregnant, sister,” Luna gibed, grinning coyly.

Feather felt considerable unease to the castle. She walked past a familiar restaurant that prompted her to keep her reddened face averted. When she reached the gates of the castle, the number of visibly wealthy mares and stallions were uncountable; a mob of money. Some stood loitering outside the gates, looking extremely miffed, most directing their imperious stares at passive eyed guard. As she got closer, she heard audible outrage. It was still relatively early in the evening, so those who were not invited to the gala were gathered almost ceremoniously to complain to deaf guard and staff. Inside the gate, those who were granted entry waved their invitations around mockingly, jeering and cackling like mad ponies at those with a modicum less fortune than themselves. Feather had witnessed the same display in previous years, on the other side of the gate but assuredly not apart of the gala itself. A background pony, serving drinks and overpriced food. But now? It was her turn to be hoity toity… or so she thought, prior to getting ready for the night ahead.

She walked with a reserved gait, self conscious and meek. When she looked in the mirror that afternoon she noticed her small frame, well, wasn’t ‘small’ anymore. She looked pudgy in places, mostly around the face, haunch and belly. It was a wonder the dress even fit! Her gain in weight, combined with her lack of dye, left her feeling ugly and unapproachable. Even though she outwardly attempted to force a smile, internally she wanted to keep her head low, trying not to lock eyes with anypony.

“Excuse me, miss,” a firm voice was directed toward her, just as she stepped beyond the threshold of the gate, lost in thought. A white unicorn guard, with an angular build.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied swiftly, wearing an apologetic smile. “I have my invitation right here,” she assured. She brought a hoof to her chest, where she kept in her possession a folded piece of paper – one of two, in fact – flashing to the guard the blue wax seal on its back.

“I see,” he said with a nod, giving a small smile. “Enjoy your night, ma’am.”

“I will,” she replied cordially. She put the letter back in her dress, and passed by him into the castle grounds.

She proceeded with a dawdle. Some ponies glanced at her, but only after she glanced them. She had only walked up to the castle doors one time prior not under the title of ‘maid.’ It was before getting the position. She felt some deja vu, mostly concerning how humble she was in her composition. She felt the same type of erroneous as she did back then, of not belonging. The large golden doors were just as intimidating as they were back then, as were the guards with their stoic faces, so too were the nobility with their imperious stares. In a way, her nervousness exceeded anything she felt back then. She wasn’t going into the castle as Feather Duster. She was going in as just Feather, and she hoped that was enough.

Passing into the interior, she tried her best to ignore the oppressive weight of the ceiling, and the stares from half-familiar faces. The sound of music and faraway chatter began to fill her ears and her steps continued to carry her forth. Wide open doors resided at the end of the long stretch of hallway. She saw movement, of pomp and living wealth. She had held her breath in the moments leading up to it, when she crossed the threshold and stepped into the large ballroom.

Extravagance. Glamour. A surrounding blitz of voices and lights, of laugher, and the scent of fine food. Feather felt overwhelmed, awestruck by the grandness of it all. Never before had she stepped into the main hall during the grand galloping gala; always hearing it, knowing the majesty of the event, but never had she lain her eyes on it before. However, her amazement was short lived, and instead her eyes scanned the room for a particular blue-coated alicorn.

She felt apathetic to other eyes now, there were only one pair she cared to have on her. The noise became muted, and all else seemed to fade into the background.

Then, to her left, having spotted her first, she felt her pursed lips crack into the largest of smiles. A voice ebbed up from her throat, and she dared utter the name she had until now refused to.

“Luna!”