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.”