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!