Three o’clock. The end of the school day. The halls of Canterlot High School were abuzz with activity, students exchanging friendly greetings and conversation as they made their way to their busses or after school clubs. For a few short minutes the entire school was filled with the sounds of life and happiness, before gradually returning to the muted quiet of an institute of learning.
Slam!
“Principal Celestia! Is everything alright?”
“Not now, Harshwhinny!” The principal snapped uncharacteristically as she stormed into her office. Another slam shook the walls as she slammed the inner door behind her. Finally, safe in her own haven of four walls, she slumped, practically collapsing against the door. With shaky hands she withdrew her keyring from her pocket, turning the lock.
Taking several shaky breaths, she managed to stand, just long enough to shut the window blinds and fall into her chair. She let out a ragged sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. She wished her chair would recline. She could have gotten one that did. Should have, even, but she had convinced herself that a reclining chair was not the kind of thing a respectable principal would have in her office. Looking at her now, she looked somewhat less than respectable.
She envied Luna. Luna had a reclining chair. And a candle. At least her sister knew how to treat herself. It was the little things, really. Spending twenty more dollars on a chair, or five dollars on a candle. Never mind that she could not light it on school property. It still smelled nice. Midnight Dance. Or was it Moonlit Soiree?
That was not to say that Celestia denied herself completely. She did allow herself one small comfort, one that she would probably be better off without. With a pained groan, she again retrieved her keyring. Fingering the correct key, she blindly groped for the locked drawer on the right side of her desk. It took several tries, but she finally managed it, sliding the drawer open with a squeal. She reached inside, fingers wrapping around the neck of the bottle that was inside. Wine, Canterlot Reserve, 1998. Or maybe ’99. She shrugged, it mattered not.
There was a clink of glass against glass, and Celestia’s fingers brushed against the other occupant of the drawer, an old picture frame. She grimaced, slamming the drawer shut and dropping the bottle on her desk with a thud. Leaning back in her chair, she gave herself one more chance to turn back. She did not take it. With one swift motion she snatched up her letter opener and used it to pop the cork.
The smell of fermented grapes wafted through the tiny office. Celestia frowned. It had been a while. Too long. Or perhaps not long enough. It hardly mattered. Nothing did. No one did. With a scowl she swept up the bottle and raised it to her lips, taking a long draught. The liquid burned, but it was a warm burn. Familiar. Comforting. Even as her eyes began to water from the bite of the alcohol a warmth began to settle into her belly.
It did not help.
With a growl, she took another sip. If a little did not do the trick, maybe a lot would. Maybe she would pass out. Maybe she would forget. Maybe she would be discovered, and lose her job. At least then she would be away from her. The demon that haunted her. That walked the halls of her school, perverting everything she worked for.
Its form. Its voice. Everything about it was familiar. Painfully, agonizingly familiar. But it was not her. Could not, could never be her. She was gone, forever, and no amount of magic or wishful thinking would bring her back. Ever. Celestia took another drink.
Knock knock knock.
Celestia groaned, refusing to acknowledge whoever was at the door. Maybe if she ignored them they would go away.
“Sister?”
Or maybe not. She had driven the carpool today, so of course Luna would be looking for her. Celestia sighed, eying the bottle. She should probably put it away, make some effort to hide it, but she just could not be bothered. The alcohol on her breath would have given it away anyway. Resigned to her fate, she looked toward the door.
“Come in, Luna.”
There was a pause and the sound of a door handle jiggling, then silence. “It is locked.”
Celestia sighed again. Of course it was locked. She had locked it herself. Why had she thought differently? “I’ll be right there,” She answered. Had her words been slurred? Bah! Who cared. She pushed herself to her feet, sucking in a breath as the room seemed to tilt beneath her for a moment before she stumbled forward. She had not had that much to drink, had she? A brief glance at the bottle showed her that it was more than half empty. A glance at the clock showed a quarter to four. She had been at it much longer that she thought.
The key scraped against the doorknob, somehow missing the holt. Celestia grunted and tried again. The key turned on the third try, and the world decided to take her for another spin as the door opened. She felt herself falling backwards and closed her eyes, expecting a sudden pain in the back of her head.
A hand grabbed her wrist instead, hauling her upright. “Sister? What is the matter?” Asked Luna in a concerned voice. The vice principal eyed her family and coworker, before raising an eyebrow in sudden realization. “Tia, no. Surely you did not…” But the half-consumed bottle on her desk answered her question for her. With an arm out for support, Luna kicked the door shut behind her before gently guiding her sister back to her chair. She herself took up a perch on the edge of the desk, snatching up the bottle before Celestia could get her hands on it again.
Luna rolled the bottle in her hands, watching the dark purple liquid slosh around inside the transparent green glass. She said nothing, allowing her sister to bear the brunt of her silence. Celestia pitched forward, practically collapsing onto the desk, head in her hands.
“I saw her today, Luna.”
Those words, spoken in despair, finally broke the silence.
“Who?” Luna asked.
“Her,” Celestia hissed.
“Oh.” Luna said simply, nodding her understanding. “Her.”
Silence once again descended, Luna waiting, giving her sister a chance to elaborate further. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, accompanied only by the sound of breathing and liquid swirling, swirling in its bottle.
“She was with the other girls, the ones in the band. The Rainbooms. They were by the front statue, just talking, laughing. She… She had a smile on her face, Luna. She looked happy.” Celestia’s voice broke, a strangled sob escaping her throat.
Luna nodded, placing a sympathetic hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“When, when she first showed up, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I thought… I thought it was like it was before, right after… right after that. I saw her face for months after that. At the school, at the store, on the streets. Finally, I stopped. I finally accepted that she was gone. I, I knew in my head, for so, so long, but never my heart.”
“And then, and then she shows up. Confident. Brilliant. Sharing her face, her voice! I thought she was really back! And then she showed her true colors. Cold. Cruel. Manipulative. It was like… It was like I knew, she was a demon, long before she ever transformed. A ghost, sent by her to haunt me for my failure.” Celestia’s voice cracked again, and she shuddered with the effort of holding back her tears. Luna maintained the part of the listener, brushing comforting fingers through her sister’s long hair.
“I, I hate her, Luna. Even now. Even after the Battle of the Bands. She showed a new face, showed everyone that she was not the monster they thought she was. Well, if she isn’t a monster, why is she still here!? Why can’t she just leave? Why can’t she let me grieve for my daughter!?” Finally, she broke down in earnest, her tears flowing freely and unrestrained. Luna kneeled beside her chair, pulling her into a tight embrace, one hand continuing to gently stroke her hair.
“Shhh, it is alright, sister,” Luna whispered as the tears stained her jacket. “It is alright. I am here for you. You will not face this alone.”
Celestia returned the embrace, clutching at her sister with the desperation of the damned. They sat that way for a long time, and the clock continued to count the seconds. And on the desk, the bottle sat. Forgotten for the moment, but always there, always waiting.
