Mad, With Power

Chapters

An Acquired Taste
Time Flies When You're Having Fun
Blankflanking Maneuvers (by Pearple Prose)
Eight Legs and None of the Love
Growing Pains
Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown
Discord's in the Details (by Pearple Prose)
Down the Hatch
Alone in a Crowd (by Pearple Prose)
Her Eyes Contained Heaven
Sweet Dreams (by Pearple Prose)

An Acquired Taste

“It is much safer to be feared than loved.”

—Machiavallo, The Princess.

“I disagree.”

—Princess Celestia, The Princess Replies.

In the dead of the night, the sound of teeth sinking into flesh echoed around the corridors of the Castle, and Celestia’s pristine white coat met red for the first time in millennia.

She grunted, tried to pull—but pony teeth are not made to cut, they’re made to mush and break. It was a messy job, one that took too much time, and too much effort.

Then it was over, and Celestia’s head jerked to the side.

She munched.

And swallowed.

Silence reigned through the Castle once more, blood dripping through the corners of Celestia’s mouth.

Then she looked to the side and spat. “Luna?”

"Yes?"

"That tasted nothing like Earl Grey."

Luna blinked. “Wow,” she said. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, that is just ridiculous.” Luna trotted towards the corpse, her head slightly cocked to the side. Her horn glimmered, and the moon shone brighter, illuminating the corridor a little better. “He even looks like the thing!”

It took Celestia a moment.

“What?”

“The corpse!” Luna pointed at the dead Royal Guard. “See? It looks just like the thing. It should taste like the thing, too.”

“The… The corpse.” Celestia squinted. “The corpse looks like Earl Grey?”

“Indeed! See? That bit over there, it’s exactly like—”

“Luna,” Celestia interrupted. “You have no idea what Earl Grey actually is, do you.”

“I assume it’s either a beverage or a noblepony, and it honestly works on both.” Luna pointed at the dead Royal Guard again. “See? Look at the blood under the moonlight. Doesn’t it look like a drink to you?”

Celestia looked. “It does not.”

“It does, too. Surely you jest, Sister, or you ate it wrong.” Luna stuck out her chest in a show of unabashed pride, and then pushed Celestia aside as she approached the dead Royal Guard even more. “Observe!”

And she kneeled down, and took a hefty bite.

Fifteen bloody seconds passed.

Luna swallowed.

And then Celestia just arched an eyebrow and looked at her. “Well?”

Luna looked back. “Um. Well.”

“Anything to add?”

“I…” Luna squinted. “I might have misremembered my cannibalistic days a little bit, I suppose. This is—maybe they changed their flavor?”

“Luna, you do realize we just killed one of our Royal Guards for nothing, do you.”

“It’s probably something in the food!” Luna said, kicking the ground a little, as if to accentuate her words. “Yes! That must be it! You need to feed your subjects better, Sister!”

“We just killed and ate one of our Royal Guards for nothing.” Celestia sighed and shook her head, blood still dripping from her chin. “I have to admit, Luna, this night has been nothing but one disappointment after the other. First we run out of tea, and now…”

Luna looked at Celestia here, and she seemed to make herself smaller. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, soft, innocent. “I’m sorry,” she said.

And Celestia, upon hearing this, immediately changed her own tone and waved a hoof in a dismissive way. “No, no, don’t worry. It’s just—I didn’t have my cup after dinner, Luna, and I’m merely in a bad mood. You are not at fault.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. You tried to help me, too. Your efforts were just slightly misguided, is all—but I know your heart was in the right place, Luna. And that’s all that matters.” Then Celestia looked at the dead Royal Guard, longing in her eyes. “I must admit, I also let myself get my hopes up.”

“Hmm.” Luna visibly relaxed. She got closer to her sister, bumped shoulders with her almost subconsciously, and then looked at the dead Royal Guard too. “It’s a shame they don’t taste like Earl Grey, though. You wouldn’t have run out of tea ever again.”

“It would have been,” Celestia said, “an elegant solution. But alas, life is sometimes not easy, and we must accept its hardships.” She let a small smile creep up to her face, and chuckled. “Isn’t that what makes life beautiful, in the end?”

Luna chuckled back. “I guess.”

“Let that be a lesson, then. We don’t always have easy solutions, but that doesn’t mean life isn’t worth living.”

“Hmm.” Luna poked the corpse. “Should we clean up this mess?”

“Oh, there’s no need. We have ponies who do that for us.” Celestia turned around and walked away. “But we better not say this was us, I feel. It’d be too embarrassing.”

And so they left, behind them a trail of crimson hoofsteps, and a dead Royal Guard shining under the moonlight, his face forever frozen in a mixture of shock and surprise.

“It is much safer to be feared than loved.”

—Machiavallo, The Princess.

“I disagree. If you’re loved, they forget why they feared you in the first place.”

—Princess Celestia, The Princess Replies.

Time Flies When You're Having Fun

“There is wisdom that is madness, if you just skip the woe.”

—Equestrian proverb.

“It’s all your fault!” the widow cried, and her voice was like broken glass. “You took him from me!”

Her screams echoed; the rain poured harder. The mare’s mane was wet, ugly, it stuck against her face and made her look older—but she did not care.

There was hate in her eyes when she pointed. “You,” she said, now a whisper. “You monster.”

Thunder roared.

Celestia looked around, frowned. "Um. Luna." She whispered as she elbowed her sister. "Luna. Luna, I think she’s talking to you.”

“No, no,” Luna whispered back, not looking at Celestia. “I think she’s talking to the undertaker.”

Pause.

Celestia’s voice was full of patience. “Luna,” she said. “The undertaker left half an hour ago.”

“Yes. Well. I might have dozed off for a minute or two. Can you blame me?”

And Celestia had to sigh, and speak the truth. “I cannot.”

“He was the only thing I had left!”

“Right. Yes.” Luna cleared her throat with a cough and smiled at the widow. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was not paying attention. What were we talking about?”

“You killed my husband!”

“Ah.” Luna nodded. “Of course. I suppose that was bound to be the topic.”

The scene had happened before; it would happen again. The cemetery, right behind Canterlot Palace. Rain. A crying widow.

And the Princesses, always there, to bid adieu and show respect.

“If it is of any consolation,” Luna said, as she looked into the widow’s eyes. “I did not kill him. I did not want him to die.”

“The war was your fault! You did this!”

And Celestia looked to the side. “She got you there,” she muttered.

Luna made a huff. Then, seeing how the widow was still looking at her, and still heartbroken, she softened her face. “By the way,” she said. “I do not see why you refuse to use an umbrella. I understand the dramatic overtones of the rain, but it’s really cold out here.” Her horn glowed slightly. “Do you want mine? I can share one with my sister.”

The widow cried again. “You monster!”

“...Is that a no?”

“I hate you!”

Luna rolled her eyes so hard she gave herself a headache.

Celestia saw this, and offered her sister an apologetic smile. “The life of a monarch, Luna,” she said, patting her shoulder. “Sometimes, you cannot win.”

“Ugh.” Luna took a deep breath, and looked at the widow. “It’s just—this again.” She shook her head. “I am sorry for your loss. I really am.” She meant it. “But there is no reason to yell.”

“You took him from me!”

“I know,” Luna said. “And I’m sorry. But it wasn’t my fault. And there is no reason to be this emotional.” It was at this point that Celestia’s eyes went wide, understanding dawned on her, and she started signaling to Luna—but her sister just went on talking. “He’ll come back eventually.”

Thunder roared.

The widow’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Luna.” Celestia elbowed her sister, harder this time. “Luna, no. He’s dead. He’s actually dead.”

“So?” Luna frowned. “Like that’s going to stop him.”

“The dead don’t come back, Luna.”

“He will never come back!” said the widow.

“Oh, please. I’ve seen this a thousand times already. And I’ll see it a thousand times again.” Luna looked at the widow, and in her eyes there was love, but there was also ice. “You cry now,” she said. “And you miss him, and you hate me. But in time, he will come back. And you will forget. And the pain will go away, if you just wait enough.”

“No!”

“Yes.” Luna didn’t smile. “Take my word. In no time, you will be laughing. And you won’t remember this conversation. But I will.” And she closed her eyes. “Such is the burden of an immortal. Such is the weight we carry.”

Behind her, Celestia massaged the space between her eyes.

Thunder roared in the distance.

The widow kept crying.

The widow was laughing.

Running around the city, chased by her lover—Luna could see them from the castle, as she shared a table with her sister. And this time, she did smile, as she looked at her sister.

She talked. “I told you.”

Celestia blinked. “What?”

“She’d forget, I said.” Luna pointed. “And he’d come back. They just needed to wait, to stay. See? the pain went away.”

Celestia didn’t understand, at first. But then she looked through the window, and that sparked her memory. “Oh. Oh, Luna. No. No that’s not what—”

“Yes.” Luna pointed. “Look at them. They’re happy. They’re laughing. The dead always come back to life. But they never remember.”

And Celestia groaned. “Luna, they don’t. We’ve been over this.”

“What?”

Celestia pointed, now, too. At the widow, laughing, and her chasing lover. “That pony?” she said. “She’s not the widow you remember. She’s her descendant.”

Pause.

“What?”

A sip of tea, to hide a sigh. “Luna,” Celestia said. “That happened thousands of years ago. He never came back, she just died. That pony over there is merely a relative of hers.”

Luna looked. “…What?”

“Goodness gracious. You always do this.” Celestia massaged the space between her eyes, just like she’d done thousands of years ago. “Resurrection doesn’t happen, Luna. I keep telling you—the dead don’t come back. That’s the point.”

Luna’s eyes were wide, now. She kept going from the sight of the widow to her sister. “But,” she said. “But… they look alike?”

“Yes, Luna. That’s how families work.”

Confusion. Luna squinted. “So. You’re telling me. That he never came back?”

“…No. No, they never—you keep forgetting this! How do you keep forgetting this?” Celestia had to drink a sip of tea to stop herself from getting frustrating. “One would think that over six thousand years of practice would be enough to learn how mortals work, but I guess this is just—”

“Well, I refuse to take blame in this issue,” Luna said, making a huff. “They look exactly alike. Anypony would get confused.”

“Luna. Dead ponies stay dead. They always stay dead. This is not a hard concept to grasp.”

“I see.” Luna squinted and looked at her sister. “But then… What happened?”

“What?”

“With the widow.” Luna nodded towards the pony running around their gardens. “If that is not her, if he never came back… What happened?”

“Well,” Celestia said, thinking about it. “Time passed. I suppose she died.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Alone and miserable, too.”

Luna nodded. “How do you know that?”

“Your war killed her husband. It’s a safe bet.”

Luna nodded again, more slowly this time. Her eyes were shining. “…So!” she exclaimed, triumphant. She didn’t say it. She exclaimed it. “The pain did go away, Sister!”

Pause. Celestia blinked. Then, a squint. “…I suppose, yes. Because she died. But—”

“So I was right!”

“What?” Horror in Celestia’s eyes. “Oh, dear. No, no, no—Luna, you weren’t right, that’s the entire point of this—”

“She is laughing. But I remember!”

“Luna, that is completely wrong, you can’t—”

“Such is the burden of an immortal!”

“Luna no. No.”

“Such is the weight we carry!”

“Luna, for the love of—”

“There is madness that is wisdom, if you don’t pay any attention.”

—Another Equestrian proverb

Author's Note

The first draft of this story was originally posted as a writeoff entry, under the title of "It's All Your Fault! The Widow Cried."

Blankflanking Maneuvers (by Pearple Prose)

“The strongest of all warriors are these two – Time and Patience.”
—Terskstoy, Peace and Sometimes War.

Seastar had been tending to his seaweed garden, one day, when he heard a very strange noise. A series of them, in fact.

This in itself was bizarre – he wondered if he was hearing his own heartbeat, for it had been a very quiet and boring day thus far, and maybe he was looking for something to pay attention to besides the endless landscape of rocks and sand and blueness.

But then he realised that those distant, muffled explosions were actually getting louder. This made him look up from his watering can and his little seaweed garden, and listen closely.

Boom.

And then he heard, from behind, a little voice say, “Excuse me? Hello?”

Seastar was a seapony. He lived at the bottom of the ocean. He did not hear voices very often. Or at all.

He turned around, and was immediately met with a very large, very thick, and very scary looking suit of metal armour, black as night and covered in razor-sharp points. His heart skipped a beat in his chest, as his first thought was that one of the Seahorsemen of the Apocalypse had come to flush him down to the Lower Sea.

And then the armoured thing reached up with an armoured hoof and lifted an armoured visor. A little blue face poked out. “Salutations!” it bubbled. “Sorry to bother you, but we are in dire need of directions!”

Seastar stared.

“See, we’re looking for…” The landpony – which were made out of metal and could breathe underwater, turns out – pulled something wet and soggy from some hidden fold of armour. He could see the letters ‘A-Z’ written in bold text on the side facing him. “Oh, right. Ocean. Yes, see, we’re looking for a giant griffon fortress. It’s quite hard to miss, on account of all the griffons, and also the war going on by it.”

Seastar nodded slowly.

“It’s on top of a big tree, too. And it–” Then the landpony slammed an ironclad hoof, creating an enormous boom, and Seastar screamed a bubbly scream and swam off to hide behind a rock. The landpony didn’t notice, exclaiming in an ear-piercingly loud voice, “GRIFFONSTONE. That is the name!”

Then there was a pause. Then: “Wait, hold, fare seadweller!”

Suddenly, Seastar froze in place, eyes wide with terror. Some great and inexorable pull dragged him back, and he swivelled in the water until he was looking right into the landpony’s eyes. He whimpered, although only bubbles escaped his lips.

“Yes, we are very sorry for the misunderstanding,” the armoured juggernaut said in a very sweet voice. “If you could just point us in the right direction, we would be much obliged.”

Seastar stared at her. The large, expressive, rather adorable eyes of the titanic invader glittered, he assumed, with some alien malice. He thought for a second.

Then he pointed with a hoof.

“Excellent! When we are finished with our task, we shall return, and reward you handsomely for your assistance!” The strange force binding Seastar disappeared, and he watched as the behemoth of steel flipped down its visor, turned, and began to triumphantly trot in the direction he had given her.

He watched it go. Then, gardening forgotten, he turned towards the capital of Aquastria, and swam as fast as his flippers could carry him.

Princess Sealestia would need to hear of the coming invasion.

“What are we to do, your Highness? The griffons have us routed!”

Princess Celestia regarded the general of the Equestrian armed forces with a curious eye, sipped at her tea, and said, “You are mistaken, Sir Spearhead. We have them right where we want them.”

Spearhead looked at the Princess with a blank expression.

Princess Celestia was certainly one for taking the diplomatic approach to certain situations. In fact, almost every situation. So when the Equestrian army had arrived at the enormous, cloud-scraping fortress of Griffonstone, impenetrable from the ground and untouchable in the skies thanks to its legions of griffon aerial platoons, she had simply said, “General, get me your bravest pegasus courier.”

In his defence, he’d at least been brave enough to court martial himself for cowardice, saving everypony else the trouble.

It’d been a few hours since that whole incident, and the negotiation idea had gone from an optimistic hope to a frustrated demand to just kind of nonexistent. Now the griffons were making rude gestures at them from the top of their obscenely tall walls. Everypony around was pretty upset about it – if nothing else, there was a war of morale going on at that precise moment, and they were on the losing end of that one, too.

“Your Highness,” Spearhead said. “Permission to surrender?”

Celestia waved a hoof. “Permission denied. Honestly, Spearhead, I know that our diplomatic failure is a concern to you, but I’d remind you that Plan B has so far gone smoothly.” Celestia took another sip of tea. “Probably. Hard to tell.”

“There was a Plan B?”

“Of course. There’s always a Plan B, my little pony.” Celestia’s diminutive form hopped down from her slightly too-tall chair, opened the flap of the war tent, and checked the position of her Sun. “Princess Luna is rather fond of her pincer movements, you see. Speaking of, we should begin the assault right about…”

In the far distance, there was the sound of something heavy and metallic crashing into a stone wall. Then screams.

“Now. Hurry on, general. We shouldn’t leave my baby sister waiting.”

And so the Armed Forces of Equestria, who had yet to actually fight in an actual battle, led a very confused, rather frightened charge upon the unconquered fortress of Griffonstone, and the beating of their hooves in their war-march was echoed by the sounds of distant thunder, the shrieking of terrified griffons, and the delighted laughter of a little alicorn at play.

“The strongest of all warriors are these two – Time and Patience. But bring plenty of firepower, just in case.”
—Terskstoy, Peace and Sometimes War.

Eight Legs and None of the Love

“The itsy-bitsy spider
Climbed up the water spout
Down came the rain
And washed the spider out.”

—Puff Pastry, Songs to Soothe your Children

“Spiders!” Luna yelled, bursting into Celestia’s chambers, with eyes as wide as plates. “Sister!”

Celestia jumped from bed, completely awake. “Luna?” she asked.

“Spiders!”

“Spiders?”

Spiders.

All over Canterlot.

A billion little legs skittering around at the same time—the sound was still audible, even on top of the screams of seemingly every pony in Canterlot.

The spiders covered the streets, the houses, the citizens. Canterlot had woken up under a blanket of death and horror, and it walked on eight legs. They ran way too fast for something so big, and they were way too big for something so fast. Each spider was roughly the size of a pony’s face.

And they just kept coming.

“This is,” Celestia said, overlooking atop the highest tower in the Castle, “not good.”

“It is not,” Luna agreed, overlooking even harder. Both of them were covered in spiders, too, but that didn’t bother them. “You should call Twilight Sparkle. She can help.”

“Do you think?” Celestia wondered, rubbing her chin. Well. Trying to. She rubbed a spider instead, but it was the thought that count. “I suppose she could be of assistance. Perhaps she knows a—um.” She squinted, and overlooked slightly to the left. “Did… Did that spider just… Jump and grab a…?”

“Hmm?” Luna looked. “Ah. Yes. It, indeed, grabbed a pegasus mid-flight.” She sucked air through her teeth. “A pegasus, I might add, who shouldn’t have been flying with her mouth wide open. I doubt spiders taste good.”

“Okay,” Celestia said. “I need to call Twilight Sparkle, indeed. Magical beasts are attacking Canterlot. I do not know who or what summoned them, but we need the Elements of Harmony to—”

“Ah.” Luna raised a hoof and waved it, to indicate a negation. She would have shook her head, but it was too cluttered with spiders. “They are not magical. Or summons.”

Pause. Celestia blinked. “Wait. What?”

“They are perfectly natural.”

“They are?” Celestia’s horn shone, and one of the many spiders biting her legs floated all the way up to eye level. “They look too big to be real.”

“No, no. Big spiders exist in nature, Sister. I have met many in my journeys.”

“Oh.” The spider stopped floating, and it immediately went back to biting Celestia’s legs. “Then what about the way they caught that pegasus?”

“They are huntsman spiders,” Luna said. “They jump.”

“All the way to the clouds?”

“They jump really high.”

“Oh. Well.” Celestia’s horn flashed again, and a quill and scroll appeared in front of her. She started writing the letter for Twilight Sparkle. “Are they lethal?”

“Not in small doses. I think.” Luna shook one of her legs till most of the spiders went away. It was covered in bites. “This many, though… I do not know.”

“Well, that is unfortunate.”

Right in front of the Castle, one of the Guards was running away in a frenzy. He tripped—probably on a spider—and fell.

The moment he touched the ground, all the spiders around fell on him, until he was completely out of sight. His screams went muffled as soon as they entered his mouth, and then there was silence.

“Luna?” Celestia said, once she finished the letter and sent it with a final burst of magic.

“Yes?”

“Why do you know so much about spiders?”

Awkward pause.

“Luna, did you summon these spiders?”

“Uh. No.” Luna avoided Celestia’s gaze.

Celestia kept on gazing.

“Yes. Technically?”

“Luna.”

“It is complicated!”

“Luna.”

“It was not my intention to bring these spiders to Canterlot, Sister.” Luna locked eyes with Celestia, and for once, she did not look apologetic. “And if I had to, I would do it again. It was for your sake.”

Pause.

“For my sake.”

“For your sake.”

Celestia looked at Canterlot once again. In the distance, she saw a stallion break down and start to cry. The sound attracted the spiders, and they looked ready to lay eggs anywhere dark and damp.

“Then, and as much as I appreciate your willingness to destroy an entire city just for me, I cannot help but feel your efforts are somewhat misguided, Luna.”

Luna clicked her tongue. “It was not my intention to summon the spiders, I said, and that is not a lie. I simply brought out the nightmares. The fear in every pony, the horror in their dreams.” She closed her eyes. “I stole it all, but I could not contain it.”

And Celestia’s mouth became a perfect circle. “Oh,” she said.

“Did you honestly think you could fool me, Sister?” Luna looked at her, with love and bitterness both. “Me? The Princess of the Night? The Damsel of Dreams?”

“I…” Celestia looked down. “I am sorry. I knew you would notice it some day. I just thought you would… That you would forgive me.”

Luna nodded, slapped a spider away, and caressed her sister’s cheek. “You don’t dream. You don’t have dreams. Because you do not sleep.”

And Celestia just kept looking down. “I am sorry.”

“How long?”

“I…” Celestia stopped, shook her head, continued. “Since your banishment, I suppose. I started having nightmares. They were… not pleasant.”

The bitterness went away from Luna’s gaze, leaving only love. “Sister,” she said.

“I did not—I could not. Face that.” Celestia looked up, at Luna, and there were tears there. “Banishing you every night, it was… I am sorry, Luna.”

In the distance, the spiders kept jumping around, bringing horror wherever they went.

“So you just stopped sleeping, then?” Luna asked. “You still own a bed.”

“I lay in it every night,” Celestia said, nodding. “And I close my eyes. But I do not sleep. The tea helps. So does the coffee. Eventually you… get used to it. Feeling tired is better than the alternative.”

Luna frowned. “You lay with your eyes closed for twelve hours without sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“What do you even do all that time?”

Celestia smiled a little smile. “Oh, one of our Royal Guards gave me the perfect advice when I talked to him about insomnia. I count sheep, see?”

“You count sheep.”

“Indeed.”

Luna nodded. “To keep you awake.”

“It is a wonderful pastime.”

“I was under the impression that ponies did that to fall asleep, though?”

And Celestia just frowned. “Why would I fall asleep there? I like sheep. They are fluffy, and pleasant. I would never be so rude.”

Luna was going to reply to this, but she stopped herself when she was forced to admitted her sister had a really good point. So she just shook her head and went on. “I noticed you were not sleeping,” she said. “And I thought… Well, I thought you were avoiding me. Hiding something from me.” A strange sparkle in her eyes. “Like anger.”

Celestia pressed a hoof against her chest. Against the spiders covering her chest. “Luna, I would never—”

“I know. Now I know.” Luna sighed. “But I thought that taking away the nightmares would help. It would destroy anything bad you wanted to keep me from seeing. It would let you sleep again.”

“Luna…”

“So I stole it all, but I miscalculated.” Luna shrugged. “And now the spiders roam free. For that, I am sorry. But now you will be able to sleep again, once Twilight Sparkle comes, and banishes the spiders with the Elements.”

Celestia’s horn flashed, and all the spiders scattered away. In a sweeping gesture, she embraced her sister in a hug. “Yes, of course. But that is not what really matters.”

“No, I suppose not.”

So they hugged, atop the highest tower of the castle, as the spiders devoured Canterlot. And in that moment, they were happy.

“…Say, Luna?”

“Yes?”

“Why did the nightmares become spiders when they escaped? Are spiders the most common nightmare, or…?”

“Oh? Oh, no, no. The fear dissipated once it went out; it cannot live without a body.” Luna pointed at the spiders. “And I told you, these are perfectly natural.”

“Then why did they come to Canterlot when you let the nightmare out?”

“Huntsmen spiders feed on fear.”

“Ah. Of course. Logical.”

In the distance, a unicorn with her two children got surrounded by the spiders. They never got to scream.

“Out came the sun
And dried up all the rain
And the itsy-bitsy spider
Climbed up the spout again.”

—Puff Pastry, Songs to Terrify your Children.

Growing Pains

“All-powerful. All-knowing. All-loving.”

—Starswirl the Bearded, On Alicorns

Sweet Caress was the best at her job, and her job was to make children happy.

She’d heard the stories—hard not to—but she felt no fear. Every child raised under her capable wings had grown to make her proud, without exception. This one would be no different. Sweet Caress wasn’t just a nanny, she was a second mother. She loved children, and they loved her back.

And, she felt, this child might need love more than any other one she’d ever met.

She heard the baby giggling before she laid her eyes on her, and the sound was wonderful enough to warm her heart. Behind her, two guards were trembling, clutching their weapons as hard as they could, but Sweet Caress did not care.

Two more steps, and she was by the crib, looking at the child. It was love at first sight. The baby was white, with a face as round as it was innocent, and the most beautiful eyes Sweet Caress had ever seen.

“Hi there, little one,” she said, smiling, and she gently tickled the baby’s tummy.

The kid giggled, and Sweet Caress’ heart warmed even more.

And more.

And—

“She melted Sweet Caress’ eyes?”

“Right out of her eye sockets, Starswirl,” Commander Hurricane said. “You need to kill that baby.”

Starswirl made an uncomfortable noise.

Princess Platinum’s castle had been built on the side of a mountain. Made of white stone and black wood, it stood proud against the elements and watched over all of Equestria. Starswirl’s study was at the top of the highest tower – it was the easiest way to ensure he could enjoy a little alone time.

That is, unless Commander Hurricane felt the need to burst through his window to gift him with some more horrible news.

“I would like to spend at least one week without being told to commit infanticide, Commander,” Starswirl replied, taking of his glasses and rubbing the space between his eyes. A headache was growing. “It would make for a welcome change. You know she’s like a daughter to me.”

“Sweet Caress was like a mother to me, and her insides were ashes by the time we got to her. We think she died of the shock.” Pause. Squint. “We hope she died from the shock.”

Starswirl looked to the side. “Of course. I’m sorry for your loss. When is the funeral?”

“There won’t be any. She apparently smells like fried chicken, and it made the griffon ambassador hungry.” Hurricane frowned. “That was not a pleasant dinner.”

Starswirl sucked air through his teeth. “Stars and stones,” he said.

“Yeah.” Hurricane sighed, took off his helmet, and put it on the desk between them. That was a rare sight, these days. Hurricane sat down and put a hoof over Starswirl’s shoulder. “We can’t go on like this, Starswirl. It’s dangerous.”

Starswirl nodded. “You’re right. But we can’t kill Celestia. Plus, she’s just a kid, she doesn’t mean to harm us. She just—”

“I know. She’s an infant, there’s no evil in her.” Hurricane shook his head and rested her elbow on the desk. “But she is too powerful, and she can’t control herself at this age. You unicorns can’t hurt children, I understand and respect that, but this goes beyond morals, this is a matter of—”

“No.” Starswirl raised a hoof, and Hurricane’s words died on his lips. “You do not understand, Commander. We can’t kill her.”

Hurricane blinked. Understanding dawned on his face. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, no."

“Yeah.” Starswirl’s horn flashed, and an open book appeared between then, making Hurricane flinch. “Here.” There was no
body of text—just an intricate design. “This is the circle I used to summon her, Commander. Take a look. The words painted red.”

Hurricane looked. “All-powerful,” he read. “All-knowing. Eternal. Immortal. Immortal.” His eyes went back to Starswirl. “Is this…?”

“That’s who Celestia is. She won't die. She can't die.”

Hurricane nodded. “An immortal.”

“An immortal, all-powerful baby, yes.”

“You couldn’t write ‘elder’ in there, too, while you were at it? You know, just so my people don’t put their lives on the line whenever they play peek-a-boo? ”

Starswirl flashed his horn, and the book went away. “We’ll have to wait till she grows older, and learns how to control her magic.”

“I fear that will be too long.” Hurricane closed his eyes in grief. “I agreed to this plan, but every day I regret it more and more. Perhaps a common leader wasn’t worth all this blood.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Is there truly nothing you can do?” Hurricane grabbed Starswirl’s hoof. “Maybe, not kill her, but… Control her?” A pause. An idea. Hope. “Seal her power, perhaps?”

Starswirl frowned. “Her power is also part of her being. Taking it would be like neutering Celestia, stealing part of her mind. The damage it could do… I can’t live with it. Even if she’s dangerous.” His tone was pleading. “She’s just a kid, Commander. A kid.”

And Hurricane sighed. “I know. I know. It’s just… This is not easy.”

“And it won’t be, for a long time.”

The two stallions stood in silence after that, for a while.

“…Commander?”

“Yes?”

“You know, earlier I couldn’t help but realize you implied pegasi are okay with hurting children.”

“We value strength in our education,” Hurricane said. “Pegasi traditionally raise their foals by letting them free in their wilderness. The very first memory I have of my parents is them throwing me at a tiger and asking me to survive in time for dinner.”

“Oh.” Starswirl blinked. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait—is that how you’re raising Celestia whenever she’s with you? You just pick her up, grab the nearest wild animal, and…?”

“No. We tried, mind you. She was unfazed no matter how many animals were there. Hundreds died.”

“Hundreds of animals?”

“I wish.”

Starswirl’s hoofsteps echoed across the halls of Hurricane’s fortress, and even though he was lost in thought, he couldn’t help but notice the smell of blood and melted eyeballs as he approached Celestia’s chambers.

“Halt!” went the guard as his horn flashed and he opened the door. It was a young guard, with the longest spear Starswirl had ever seen. “Sir, I can’t let you in there. Direct orders from Commander Hurricane.”

Starswirl smiled at him. “I’m the closest thing that kid has to a father, soldier.”

“I know, sir. I know who you are.” The guard saluted, but he didn’t lower the spear. “And that is why I can’t let you in there. That monstrosity is dangerous. If you look at her, she can—”

“She can do nothing. I’m a wizard myself, soldier, and quite a good one, too. I’ve got enough wards to last a lifetime.”

The soldier frowned, but let him go.

Celestia recognized him, and waved her little legs at him. Starswirl couldn’t contain a smile. Such an innocent child, he thought, as his horn flashed and the kid floated towards him. Such a little wonder. The most powerful thing that Equestria had ever seen, and yet, nothing but a little—

Celestia did a raspberry.

Chlorf.

Starswirl blinked. The wet noise had come from behind, so—without putting Celestia down—he turned around and looked at the thing by the door.

Red and white all over the place. Bone and organs, still pulsating—there was a rasping sound coming from it, as if it was trying to scream still. It twitched in places. Starswirl recognized the teeth, the lungs, a beating heart, the backside of the eyes.

The guard had been turned inside out, but he was still alive.

A pause.

“Okay. Okay, yep, that’s it. Neutering time.” He looked at Celestia. “I’m gonna neuter you so hard.”

Celestia giggled.

In the distance, Starswirl heard a wet noise, and then somepony screaming.

The baby was placed in the middle of the circle. Only Hurricane had come. Everypony else was too scared.

“Well,” Starswirl said. “I studied this as much as I could, and I think I can make her… manageable.”

Hurricane nodded. “And it won’t hurt her?”

“No, but there's a balance to achieve. If we take part of her power, something else will be gone, too. How do we feel about empathy?”

Hurricane squinted. “I don’t know. I quite like it, on a personal level.”

“Either that, or we keep the murder baby, Commander.”

“You make a hard bargain.”

“Take cover. There’ll be a lot of magic in the air after I’m done. It should dissipate on its own, but there’s a chance it might do something weird.”

Hurricane obeyed, and Starswirl started the ritual.

It was easier than the last time. It required far less blood, and nary a sacrifice—Princess Platinum wasn’t there to cry, either.

The amount of magic Starswirl was able to take from Celestia surpassed a hundred times anything he could ever produce, and afterwards, the baby was still powerful enough to do wonders he could never dream of.

And then it was done.

When the blood dried, Celestia was left on the center of the circle, giggling again. And this time, there was no wet sound.

So Hurricane and Starswirl picked her up, with a sigh of relief, and walked away. “You made the right choice, old friend,” Hurricane said. Celestia had fallen asleep. “I know it was hard, and I know you don’t like it—but we did what we had to do.”

“We might have ruined her life,” Starswirl said, looking at Celestia. “But we saved many in the process. I can live with that.” Then he looked around. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“The magic dissipated sooner than I thought it would. Maybe something absorbed it, or…?”

And then, they heard the most wonderful sound any of them had ever heard. A sound that would echo in their dreams forever.

Celestia was still fall asleep—but in the distance, behind them, they could hear a baby crying.

And it warmed their hearts.

Starswirl’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no. Oh, sweet mercy,” he said, the blood leaving his face. His legs gave up and he fell. “There’s another one.”

“All-powerful. All-knowing. All-loving. Pick two.”

—Starswirl the Bearded, On Alicorns

Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown

"It was then that the Griffon Ambassador said to my Sister, “Oh, Celestia, Praise your Selfless Nature.” I laughed, for he was wrong, and I said, She Is Quite Full of Herself, Actually.”"

—Princess Luna, Politics, or, How to Make Dinner Unpleasant.

Thunk!

The hatchet vibrated as it swung up, keen and sharp, as if it were humming with delight.

Thunk!

Only the dry sound of the hatchet burying itself inside the neck—not a scream, not a grunt, nothing. Total silence.

Thunk!

There was no blood. There should’ve been.

Thunk!

The name of the stallion was Rose Thorn.

He was lean, and strong, and young, and mean. He was sharp of tongue and sharper of mind, and he had seen many things in his life. Some had been good. Many hadn’t.

It’d been the many that had brought him here, this night.

Thunk!

He swept the sweat off his brow and looked down, eyes red with fury. Celestia lay in her bed, sleeping peacefully, the hatchet buried more than halfway into her neck. Rose Thorn had been chopping at it for the last forty seconds.

And there was still no blood.

Rose Thorn picked up the hatchet once more—he had to pry it out of Celestia’s neck—and nervously looked back over his shoulder.

It wasn’t supposed to take this long, he thought. The plan was to get in, kill the princess, and get out. Not an easy job, but a quick one. How hard could it be to kill a pony in her sleep?

Very much so. Apparently.

It was the lack of blood that got to him. He’d sawn halfway through her neck, and yet the bedsheets were still pristine, her coat still pearly white. Not a single drop had fallen.

Rose Thorn knew Celestia wasn’t normal, but this was too much. He leaned over the bed, heart in his throat, and risked a glance at the wound.

He had to stop himself from screaming.

Celestia was whole. Like bread, like wood; there was no inside. Everything was flesh, no organs, no blood. Rose Thorn had cut into her neck, but there had been no wound—just endless white, arsenic white, soft and dense and whole.

Then he made the last mistake he’d ever made: he looked up.

And saw Celestia’s unblinking eyes, staring straight at him.

“Oh,” she said, her voice weak. “Oh, dear. I didn’t want to ruin the mood. My apologies?”

Rose Thorn couldn’t suppress a scream, now.

In a frenzy, without thinking, he grabbed the hatchet once again. Maybe it was the fear that gave him strength, maybe it was the rage—maybe it was simply pure desperation. It didn’t matter, as long as he had his weapon, and he did the only thing he could.

Screaming, yelling, careless, he brought the hatchet down one last time.

THUNK!

The blade bit into the pillows, burying itself deeper than before—and Celestia’s head came free and rolled away, all the way out of the bed to the other side of the room, till it hit the wall and stopped.

One last scream, then silence. Rose Thorn stepped away from the bed, breathing hard, thinking he had to go, he had to go now and—

Click.

The most horrible sound.

The door had been locked behind him.

“No,” Rose Thorn whispered, as he ran towards it—but there was no use. The handle wouldn’t work. He tried pushing, he tried pulling, nothing. He was trapped.

The window? Maybe. He tried it, but—no. He was at the top of the highest tower, and had no rope. The fall would be fatal. No way out.

Then:

“Ggggrgh.”

A sound.

“Ggggrrrrgh.”

The head, by the corner, was twitching.

Twitching and turning, like a cube full of worms. It came from the neck—what was left of it—it was moving up and down endlessly. Turning the head around.

Rose Thorn took a step back, until his back hit the wall.

The body, in the bed, was moving too.

A grotesque ballet followed, both parts of the Princess moving and twitching around. It wasn’t the movement of a dead body coming to terms with its new reality; it was the jitter of a nervous child, or maybe a childish adult.

Rose Thorn turned around and hit the door as hard as he could, but his hoof bounced back. He tried the hatchet, to no avail. It was unbreakable.

Another growl, and then a wet sound, like a mare giving birth.

It glistened under the moonlight. It looked like saliva, or maybe amniotic fluid. It poured from Celestia’s neck—both from the body and from the head—and it filled the air with a sickeningly sweet smell. Sugary tea, Rose Thorn thought. It smelled like sugary tea.

“Gggrrrhghg.”

Then:

Chlof.

“Oh, dear,” came Celestia’s voice, still perfectly calm. “Well, this is uncomfortable.”

“Indeed,” came her voice, a second time. “The smell is nice, however.”

“Maybe a little too sweet?”

“Really? I think it’s perfect as it is.”

Rose Thorn was biting his lip so hard it was bleeding.

There were two Celestias in front of him, now.

Neither were complete. The one on the bed had a small head—a deformed caricature, maybe half its normal size. The eyes were too big, and there were no ears.

The one by the corner had a small body—one leg was much longer than the other three, and there were lumps all over the stomach. The cutie mark was faded and cracked, but recognizable. There was no tail.

Their voices, however, were perfectly fine.

“Well, the bedsheets are a mess,” said the one on the bed, looking around. “Luna is going to get angry.”

“She will say it would have been wiser to stop the beheading before it got to this point,” the one by the corner said. “And she will probably be right.”

“True. Then again…”

“Yes, I know. Luna has always been really sensitive when it comes to beheadings. I feel she has never quite got over all those times she got dismembered as a child.”

The Celestia on the bed chuckled. Then, she blinked with her horrible eyes. “Oh,” she said, looking at Rose Thorn. “We’re being rude.”

“My,” the other Celestia said. “You’re right. Better not to waste time. You, or me? Who goes?”

Silence, as both Celestias looked at each other. Then the one by the corner nodded. “Me, then. It’ll be easier.”

“Quite.”

They jumped at each other.

The wet sounds came back. Rose Thorn had to look away, nausea gripping his stomach. Pony teeth are not made to cut, they’re made to mush and break. No blood came out, but the sweet fluid came back, and the air got denser and denser.

The hooves gave Celestia the most trouble. They were too hard to chew, so she had to swallow them whole, and each one sounded like she was going to choke up until the very last moment.

Finally, she swallowed.

And then there was silence.

Rose Thorn felt tears down his cheeks. The hatchet fell from his grip and hit the ground with a loud clatter, but he didn’t have the strength to pick it up again.

And Celestia, the only one once again, perfect and whole like she’d always been, no would or crack in her neck, looked at Rose Thorn with nothing but love. “Apologies for taking so long,” she said. She smiled. Her teeth were normal. “I needed the nutrients, see?”

Rose Thorn couldn’t answer. He was beyond words at this point. He just screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Celestia took a step towards him.

“And then he just jumped out of the window?” Luna asked.

“Indeed.”

“Huh.” Luna frowned, and took a sip of tea. “Well, that is just silly.”

Morning had come, as it usually did, and with it, breakfast. Celestia was not a fan of gossip—she’d never been—but no big sister would ever let her sibling miss a chance to say I told you so.

“I feel like I should have talked to him, at least. To thank him, perhaps?” Celestia was looking pensive that morning. She had barely touched her tea. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“Did you ever find out why they keep trying to behead you, Sister?”

Celestia smiled. “I don’t need to. I see the passion in their eyes, Luna, every single time. I know they do it out of love. Only the strongest of emotions can fuel that kind of fire in the heart of a pony.”

“Well.” Luna took another sip of tea. It was extra sugary this morning. “I don’t know. You are the social one.”

“You know, Luna?” Celestia put aside her teacup, and looked her in the eye. “Somehow, I feel like it might be my fault. I should have locked the window, too. I know they have a tendency to run away after they’re done…”

Luna nodded. “Out of embarrassment?”

“Yes, now you’re getting it.” Celestia flashed a smile. “But it just never occurred to me that he would jump out the window, of all things. He wasn’t a pegasus, see?”

“He wasn’t?”

“He had no wings.”

“Well, then this is even sillier,” Luna said, rolling her eyes. “And you should not blame yourself. The fault lays on him, for forgetting he could not fly. Also, Sister? I think I finally understood why our subjects aren’t immortal.

Celestia blinked, and her ears perked up. “Yes?”

“They aren’t as good as us at not dying.”

"It was then that the Griffon Ambassador said to my Sister, “Oh, Celestia, Praise your Selfless Nature.” I laughed, for he was wrong, and I said, “She Is Quite Full of Herself, Actually.” I do not think he got the joke."

—Princess Luna, Politics, or, How to Make Dinner Unpleasant.

Discord's in the Details (by Pearple Prose)

“Despite what ponies may believe, mastery of chaos does not come naturally – not even to me.”

—Discord, Chaos Theory: Better in Practice

“I must say, Mr. Starswirl,” said the draconequus, fixing his tie. “This contract is really rather unorthodox, even for Us.”

Starswirl sat at the opposite end of the desk, awkwardly, in the endless shifting void of the Blind Eternities. He felt underdressed for the whole occasion, even in his ornate robe, and it was bothering him – he hadn’t been caught seeming comparatively pedestrian in nearly a century. “Yes, I’m aware. It’s a very unorthodox situation in general, honestly.”

The draconequus was dressed in a sharp blue suit with a red tie, and wore a pair of smart-looking spectacles on the end of his crooked snout. He coughed into his lion’s paw and ran it through an oily, slicked-back mane. “I think it is in both of our best interests if you would remind yourself of what you’re signing up for.” As he spoke, he tapped the top of a polished nameplate on his desk with a golden eagle’s talon – Discord, the Great Mediator, Apocalypse Organiser.

“Look,” Starswirl began, setting his hooves down on the edge of the desk and leaning forward, “I don’t need a creature to destroy the world. We’ve got that in the bag. Sorted. Done and dusted. We just need something to… You know.”
Discord raised an eyebrow.

Starswirl coughed. “Make it so they’re not the worst thing out there?”

“Right,” said Discord, sounding entirely neutral in a way that suggested he probably wasn’t. He pushed a rolodex across the desk towards Starswirl. “Well, have a look at some of Our staff. They have a variety of expertises, methods, and personalities, as you can see.”

Starswirl flipped through the business cards on display: “Sun-Eater, World Serpent, The Sleeping King, The Smooze…” He trailed off as he went, eyebrow arching here and there whenever he saw some incomprehensible alien tongue, or a picture that refused to make sense, or – worst of all – a particularly poor choice of typeface.

Eventually he just pushed the rolodex back across the desktop, looking unsatisfied. “See, these are all well and good, but all I’m really looking for is something actually quite simple.”

“A Boogeyman,” said Discord, reading Starswirl’s mind.

“Yes. And please stop doing that.”

“Sorry. Old habit.” Discord leaned back in his chair, stroked his neatly trimmed goatee, then spun himself around and stared out of a window that hung nonchalantly in the empty space behind him. “These... Princesses of yours,” Discord said, after a long moment. “They sound like they should be on our payroll, from how you described them.”

Starswirl hummed to himself. He leaned his head from side to side, thoughtfully, and then shook it. “No. No, they are good ponies, in their own way. They are the closest thing to family that I’ve ever had.” Starswirl fiddled idly with a stapler he’d found on Discord’s very neat and orderly desk. “They just need something to... “

“Make them look less monstrous.” Discord spun back around to face him. “I think I know someone who might be ideal for you. Can you please stop touching that? It was an anniversary gift from my wife.”

Starswirl put the stapler back on the desk. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Discord removed his glasses and peered through them at a far-off nebula. “There’s a being we have under our employ who fits the bill rather well, I think you’ll find. His name is Discord.”

Starswirl blinked. “You mean–?”

“No relation.”

“Ah. Sorry, I just assumed–”

“No, it’s fine. Happens all the time.” Discord pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and began wiping the lenses of his spectacles. “Mr. Discord is rather new to the whole business, but he’s very enthusiastic, has a good work ethic, and is eager to learn. The other Discords rate him rather highly.”

“Well, it’s always nice to get a professional opinion.” Starswirl glanced around at the endless twisting void of the Blind Eternities, then leaned in conspiratorially. “But what do you think of him? Just between you and me.”

“Honestly? He’s a little bit sensitive.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Bit of a poor quality to possess in this particular business, you understand.”

“I can imagine.”

“Right. But, he should be capable of the level of chaos you’re looking for.” Discord paused then, and looked up at Starswirl. “There is another thing we need to discuss.”

“What’s that?”

“Occupational hazards. If Mr. Discord is going to be contending with beings such as the ones you have described to Us, We need some assurance he won’t be brought to harm.”

Starswirl frowned. “What, like dying?”

Discord tilted his head. “Do you think the Princesses would be capable of that?”

Starswirl, slowly, shook his head. “Nnnnno.”

“Are you sure? Because we’d really, really rather like to avoid that.”

“No, no. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” A pause. Then Starswirl frowned. “Although, I should ask, what’s your stance on petrification?”

“Absolutely out of the question. Zero-tolerance policy.”

“Oh. Um. Good! Very good. Because my Princesses feel precisely the same way.” Starswirl laughed. “Not their style at all. What about fire?”

“Fire?”

“Yeah. Celestia’s in that kind of phase at the moment.”

“Depends. Regular fire? Or hellfire? Holy fire? Or, Sacred Flames. I’ve been told they’re not quite the same.”

Starswirl gave a noncommittal wave of his hoof. “Little bit of all four.”

“Hmm. We’ll pass that along and see how he feels about it.”

“Great.” Starswirl blew air out through his teeth. “So, this all seems in order. Where do I sign?”

Discord settled his spotless spectacles upon his snout once again, then snapped his talons, creating a small spark and a sharp sound that resonated strangely within the airless vacuum of the Eternities. A piece of parchment, clean and precise, manifested on the desk, inscribed with several long paragraphs of neat, black handwriting.

Starswirl inspected it, eyes trailing over the strange elder tongue that was Legalese, and glanced up at Discord. “So, should I sign this in blood, or…?”

“I mean, you can if you want to.” Discord reached into a drawer and pulled out a quill. “Most people use a pen nowadays, though.”

Starswirl took the quill. He was a little low on spare blood these days. Better safe than sorry. “Of course, of course. I'm glad we could close the deal so fast – got to be back in my body soon or it’ll die without me; that's never a fun experience.” He scribbled a name on the dotted line and passed it back over the desk. “Right. All done. What now?”

“Marvellous.” Discord didn’t take the parchment – instead, he stood up from his chair, dusted off his trouser legs, and then snapped his talons. The desk and all of its meticulously ordered compartments and stationery and paperwork folded up once, twice, three times, and then slid away into a tiny dimensional pocket. “We should get back to you within three-to-five business days, possibly more depending on bank holidays.”

Starswirl stood up from his nonexistent chair and frowned. “Hmm. I’m going to be very dead in about…” He pulled a pocket watch from his robe. “...Five minutes. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“We have ways.”

Starswirl smiled. “Right. Just making sure.”

“Of course.” And then Discord turned, took a single step, and vanished, as if he had never been there at all.
Starswirl took in the Blind Eternities for the last time. He reached behind him, tugged on a silver strand that tied his soul to his dying body, and immediately felt himself being pulled back through space and time, faster than sound, light, or thought.

As his spirit was pulled along its tether and into his physical form, Starswirl smiled. He had already sold his soul, a very long time ago, to two little fillies who may or may not end up destroying the world.

He was really rather good at forging signatures, though.

Sorry, Platinum, he thought, but you’re footing the bill on this one. Consider it repayment for that stupid ‘Fancy Robe’ tax.

And then he felt his spirit compress into a point, and then his eyes–

–Snapped open, and immediately Starswirl had to close them again, as a burning white light was shining into them, making them burn. He hacked and he coughed and he croaked out: “Celestia, please stop doing that. It is incredibly annoying.”

“Oh,” came a sweet little voice. The light winked out and was replaced by the sight of a small, white, alicorn filly, sitting on top of him in his bed. Behind her, Starswirl could see the floral patterns of the ceiling of his tower’s quarters. “Sorry, Starswirl.”

“It’s fine, daughter dearest.”

“I was seeing if you were dead.”

“Not quite yet, daughter dearest.”

“Oh.” Celestia frowned. “Well, this isn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be, Starswirl.”

Starswirl smiled. So this is how I die. “My deepest apologies.”

“It’s okay. You can die next time.”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

“OH MY GOSH,” came a really rather loud voice from somewhere down below them. “CELESTIA, COME QUICK.”

Celestia flapped her wings and buzzed over towards the open window. “What?! What is it?!” she shouted.

“IT’S A FROG. I FOUND A FROG.”

Celestia gasped. “No way.”

“AN ENTIRE FROG, SISTER.”

“Oh my gosh.”

Starswirl closed his eyes. His vision was nowhere near as good as it used to be, nor was his hearing, but even over the weak beating of his withered heart he could hear two alicorn fillies, laughing in delight.

Could be worse, he thought, eventually.

Then he felt something – a little twist in his gut, maybe. Or a flicker of a vision of a dying star. He smelled something on the wind, sickly sweet and familiar in a very distant way.

It smelled like cotton candy.

“Well, girls,” Starswirl the Bearded muttered, smiling to himself, “I hope you enjoy daddy’s present.”

“Despite what ponies may believe, mastery of chaos does not come naturally – not even to me. I had to spend years learning from two excellent teachers.”

—Discord, Chaos Theory: Better in Practice

Down the Hatch

“To be a mother requires courage to face the odds, strength to raise a child, and love to make it work."

—Anonymous.

It was a formal event. Everypony with a name and title was there.

“Ggghk! Aghk—ggggghk!”

Luna unhinged her jaw.

There was a wet, sloppy sound, like a mop splashing in a bucket, and then a retch that echoed across the hall.

“Gggghk—ghaagh!”

An egg came out of Luna’s mouth, covered in blood and spit. It fell on the hard crystal floor, and rolled around until it hit a wall and stopped. It was big—larger than a pony’s head—and pearly white.

Luna retched some more, and then she stood up, put her jaw back in place with a loud clack! and coughed.

Nopony in the entire room dared say a word.

Luna noticed, and her ears went flat. “Ah. My apologies,” she said, grabbing her glass of champagne again and looking at Celestia, shrinking. “I did not wish to interrupt your toast, Sister. It was oh so very moving. Please, do not mind me.”

But Celestia wasn’t looking at Luna. She was looking at the egg, with the most curious expression.

“Luna?” she asked.

“Sister, I apologize again, I did not—”

“I am not upset. Do not worry.” Celestia waved a hoof in the air, put down the glass she’d been holding up all this time, and then pointed at the egg. “However, I am curious.”

“Yes?”

“Did you eat that at some point before we came in here, or were you pregnant and we simply never noticed?”

“Oh?” Luna perked up her ears and stepped out of the throne, approached the egg with equal curiosity. “I have no idea.”

Her hoofsteps echoed across the room—clack, clack, clack, against the hard crystal floor—and soon enough, Celestia followed her. Around them, nopony moved, nopony dared make a sound. They were frozen in place, following everything with their eyes only, still holding the glasses up for the toast that’d never come.

Some of them had stopped breathing.

The egg was still shiny with fluids, and it smelled like blood and roses. It was very obviously an egg, but not quite like a chicken’s—rounder, rather. Luna bent down and lightly poked at it.

The egg tumbled, and then went back to its original position.

“I do not remember eating this,” Luna said, looking at Celestia. “I am not familiar with it.”

“It is an egg, yes?”

“Yes.” Luna poked it again. “It is fertile. You can feel it when you touch it.”

“Oh? If I may?” Celestia followed suit. Immediately, she frowned. “You are right. There is something alive inside of it. But there is more, I think.”

“Sister?”

Celestia smiled at her sister, and her horn shimmered. “Yes,” she said. “It is ready to hatch.”

There was a flash of white.

The egg cracked.

First there was a crack going all the way from the bottom to the top, a single black line like lightning. Soon enough, pieces of the egg were falling left and right. Transparent liquid poured out of it, filling the room with the smell of sulfur and ammonia.

The thing that came out was fleshy and pony-shaped, and it kept screaming.

“IT HURTS.” Its voice was ragged. It was tiny, but its proportions were all wrong. Infants have heads too big for their body—not this thing. The head was stunted and deformed with two tiny bulbous eyes sprouting from the sides, pupils so small they were barely visible. “IT HURTS.”

“Sister!” Luna said. “It is conscious! It is alive!”

The thing looked at Luna, stared at her. “IT HURTS! IT HURTS!”

Luna kneeled down, and picked it up with her front legs, sat on the ground for balance. “Sister,” she said. “I believe it is like us?”

“IT HURTS!”

Celestia looked at it.

It had four legs, and two limbs that—maybe—could be wings. There was a bony lump between its eyes. It didn’t have a tail.

“IT HURTS!”

Celestia smiled, and there was awe in her voice when she spoke. “I think it is,” she said, sitting by Luna’s side. “I think it is, my dear Luna. Or, it might be. In the future. If we raise it well.”

“IT HURTS!”

And Celestia laughed. “Of course it does,” she said, cooing to the baby, gently caressing its uneven head. “You are alive. It always hurts. But you will get used to it.”

“My child,” Luna said, eyes wide, and then she smiled wide. “My child,” she repeated, looking at the thing. “Do not worry.”

“IT HURTS! IT HURTS!”

“You will sit by our side,” Luna said. “You will be loved and adored. You will protect our kingdom and reign over those weaker than you.” She grabbed one of the baby’s hooves. “I know your name. It is the only name for you. I knew it as soon as I saw you.”

“IT HURTS!”

“Mi Amore,” Luna intoned, half-sung. “Mi Amore Cadenza. That will be your—”

“Er. Luna?”

Luna blinked, and looked at Celestia. “Sister?”

Celestia pointed over her shoulder, somewhere behind them. Somewhere among the crowd of frozen ponies, staring in silence.

Princess Cadance, Prince Shining Armor, and little baby Flurry Heart among them.

Holding their breath in horror.

“Ah.” Luna blinked, and looked at Celestia, ears flat. “How embarrassing. I knew the name sounded familiar.”

Celestia smiled. “It can happen to anyone.”

“IT HURTS!”

Both Luna and Celestia looked at the thing in Luna’s arms. “This is awkward,” Luna said.

“Is it possible to give it another name?”

“No. That is its name. Mi Amore Cadenza.” Luna made a face. “Surely you feel it, too, Sister?”

“Yes.” Celestia nodded. “Any other name would be a lie.”

“A shame. We cannot have repeats.” Luna sighed, flashed her horn, and got up. The thing started floating by her side. “It would not be proper.”

“Hardly,” Celestia said.

“IT HUR—”

Luna dropped it on the ground.

The sound it made wasn’t as much a crash as it was a crunch; the sound of little bones breaking. The thing’s scream became senseless, wordless, and it pierced the ear like an icepick. It wailed, it screeched, it cried.

Luna rose a hoof, and stepped on the thing’s neck.

It sounded like a dry twig snapping in half.

The thing stopped screaming, and went limp.

“Well then!” Luna shook her hoof in the air to get some of the blood out. “That is that. Should we start all over again?”

“I do not think it will be needed,” Celestia said, smiling. “It was a rather long toast.” She might have blushed when she said this, which she hid by flashing her horn, and floating hers and Luna’s glasses towards them. “Maybe I can simply pick up where I left?”

Luna grabbed her glass, and chuckled. “I believe that would be for the best. Sorry again for the interruption.”

“No need to think of it twice. Ah-hem!” Celestia rose her voice to a more regal tone. “Princess Cadance!” she said. “You are the best niece I could ever ask for, and I am so very proud of you. You have achieved many great things, and I know that you will achieve even greater things in the future!”

She rose her glass. By her side, Luna did the same.

“So I wish you,” Celestia continued, “a very most happy birthday. And may your life be happy, now and forever.”

And among the frozen crowd, the staring ponies who did not dare make a sound, Luna and Celestia both drank the champagne at the same time.

It was very delicious.

“To be a mother requires courage to face the odds, strength to raise a child, and love to make it work.

To be a Princess requires only an accident of birth."
—Anonymous

Alone in a Crowd (by Pearple Prose)

“I think the toughest friendship problem I’ve ever faced… was learning to love myself.”

—Princess Twilight Sparkle

“Hm.” Luna set down her teacup. “Sister?”

Celestia sipped her tea. “Yes, Luna?”

"Why are there two Twilight Sparkles wandering around?"

Celestia blinked. She followed Luna's gaze and peered out over the palace grounds. Distantly, she could see two pink-purple figures wandering about in the gardens, speaking animatedly with one another.

"Oh?" Celestia set down her cup. "Those are not two Twilights, Luna. That is just Twilight and her new friend. Starlight Glimmer, if you recall?"

"Glimmer. Yes." Luna nodded. "I must have forgotten. Do remind me?"

"She is the one Twilight Sparkle adopted as her very own student, Luna," Celestia said. "A reformed villain. One of many."

"A villain? I do not remember her trying to take over the land."

"No, no. She operated at a smaller scale. She stole the cutie marks of an entire village." Celestia sipped her tea. "In the name of equality, I believe. And fairness."

Luna's cup stopped mid-air, halfway between her lips and the saucer. "...Truly?" she asked, leaning forward in her seat.

"Mhm. It was her firm belief that everypony should be the same."

“Everypony should be the same. I understand.” Luna nodded happily. “Very good, Sister.”

It was a beautiful morning in Ponyville, and Princess Twilight Sparkle woke up with a smile on her face.

"Good morning, Spike!" she called, climbing out of bed. She didn't get a response, but she did smell something deep-fried and delicious wafting through the air, which meant Spike was already up and cooking breakfast.

Twilight beamed. It was very rare, but always pleasant, when Spike woke up before she did – Twilight was terrible at cooking. She pushed open her bedroom door and skipped down the corridor towards the dining hall.

The delicious smell of fried food followed Twilight as she walked – but, she noticed, the smell was getting less delicious and more... insidious? Spike must have been trying something new.

Then Twilight turned the corner, and saw black smoke bubbling out of the crack in the kitchen door.

Oh no. Her breakfast! "Spike!"

Twilight yanked open the door, coughing and hacking as she caught a lungful of smoke. Wrapping a wing around her muzzle and squinting her burning eyes, she stumbled into the room. "Spike! Are you okay?!"

In the haze of the smoke, Twilight saw the silhouette of a pink coat with a tail, and a feminine voice came through. "What? No, it's just me!" it said. "Sorry, I was trying to make breakfast but I'm terrible at cooking!"

Starlight? What was she doing in the kitchen? "Don't worry," said Twilight, lighting her horn, "let me just–"

The buzz and snap of magic filled the air, and the smoke dissipated.

Twilight blew on her horn, smiling. "Wow, that was quick!" she said, turning towards her friend. "Starlight, did you help? Because if so, thank you! That was very effic–"

Twilight paused. Twilight Sparkle was staring back at her.

"Uh," Twilight uh'd.

"Um," Twilight um'd.

"Excuse me," Twilight began, "but–"

"What the heck?" Twilight finished.

"Wow. Okay, language."

"Oh, shut up. You know you were thinking it."

"Still! You could try being considerate for once."

"Considerate of who?" Twilight asked. "Me?"

"Yeah, considerate of y-"

The two Twilights stared at each other. "Oh," they oh'd.

Distantly, they heard the doorbell ring. Both Twilights glanced away simultaneously.

"We should go get that," said Twilight.

"Right," Twilight replied. "We should also go to the library and figure this out as quickly as possible."

"Right." Twilight nodded. "So it's decided."

"I'll go to the library, you go get the door."

Twilight and Twilight nodded at one another, then walked off to answer the bell.

Twilight Sparkle yawned, climbed out of bed, and stretched. Her back creaked uncomfortably, as if she'd been sleeping on the floor, and she winced. Was that part of her alicorn growth spurt? Or maybe she just needed a new bed. She'd ask Spike about it later.

But first, she was meeting up with Starlight to talk about her next magic show.

Twilight smiled, and began to sleepily pull on her cloak from where it hung by the caravan door. She reached out with her magical aura and grabbed her hairbrush, brushed it through her mane once, twice, three times.

A few moments later, ready to face the day, Twilight pulled on her hat, twirled, and gave herself a smile in the mirror. She looked dazzling, for she was, of course, the Great and Powerful Twil–

She paused, smile frozen to her face. She kept smiling for one, two, three more seconds. Then she stopped. Looked down at her hooves. Looked back at her cape.

Looked back in the mirror.

Screamed.

Twilight Sparkle felt a strange sense of deja vu when she looked at her ceiling that morning. She was in her childhood home.

Part of her felt this was wrong. The other part, not so much. She lived here, didn't she? Yes. She lived at her home in Canterlot with her family and that's how it had always been.

...But then, had it all been a dream? Nightmare Moon, Ponyville, Discord, her ascension – did any of it really happen?

Did that mean she was still in high school?

No. No, that couldn't be right. After all, Twilight realised, she wasn't alone in this. She was happily married to the love of her life, her darling, Twili–

She rolled over in bed, and looked right into Twilight Sparkle's eyes.

"..."

"Uh."

"Wait.”

"No–"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA–"

Twilight Sparkle and Twilight Sparkle answered the door. They found Twilight Sparkle standing there.

"Well," they all said, simultaneously.

"What happened?" Twilight asked, desperation creeping into her voice. "Where's Spike? Why do you guys smell like burnt food?"

"We–"

"We have no idea. The other Twilight was supposed to go and figure that out."

"Hey!" Twilight glared at herself. "I thought you were supposed to be doing that!"

Twilight blinked, bemused. "Then… Then why did we both come to the door?"

"I–" Twilight gulped. "I'm scared, I don't want to be alone with myself right now."

"But you are."

"I know! It's horrible!"

"Where's Spike? He'll know what to do."

"I just asked you that," Twilight reminded them, pushing past them into the room. "Have either of you seen him?"

"No."

"Sorry about the smell, by the way."

"I'm really bad at cooking."

"I know. What about Starlight Glimmer?

"No, I was in her room earlier, and I didn't see her."

The three of them paused. They stared at each other.

"Wait."

"You don't think–"

"Are...?"

Twilight pointed, eyes wide. "Are you Starlight? Did you cast some weird spell on me?"

"No!" Twilight shouted, shaking her head desperately. "I'm Twilight Sparkle! You have to believe me!"

"Okay."

Twilight blinked at them. "Wait. You aren't going to argue?"

"You honestly look the part."

"I don’t know anypony else who’d be able to look that neurotic, even if they tried."

"But then what are you two? Changelings? Is this an illusion spell?"

“That doesn't seem likely considering that disguising yourself as me and then congregating in my Castle at the same time would be a terrible way to start that kind of takeover."

"You’re right. Two of us woke up in here, so the ‘real’ Twilight Sparkle is among us. We should go to the library, find Spike, and work out a solution to the problem.”

And then the door burst open, and Twilight Sparkle ran into the room – eyes wide, mane frazzled, and dressed like Trixie Lulamoon.

"Twilight!" She shrieked. "Twilight! You're all Twilight! Hello!"

The three other Twilights stared at her.

"Uh."

"Hi?"

"Why am I dressed like Trixie?"

"I don't know!" said Twilight, hysterics in her voice. "Where's Trixie? I just woke up in her bed and wearing her clothes!"

“Oh no.”

Spike looked around at the five identical versions of Twilight Sparkle, and raised the frying pan as a rudimentary defensive gesture.

"Oh, no." He gulped. "Not this dream again."

Four of the five Twilights jumped on him.

The fifth one, however, did not. She frowned and kneeled, looking at the ground. Behind her, the four herselves were aggressively Informing Spike Of The Situation. But she couldn’t have been paying less attention – because the ground was…

...trembling?”

"Uh." The trembling became more intense as the seconds passed. "Hey, you guys!" Twilight shouted at the pile of Twilights-and-Spike, who all stopped chattering and turned to her. "Can you feel something... shaking?"

The Twilights-and-Spike looked at each other. "Can you be more specific? There’s a lot going on.”

“I just felt an earthquake, I think. Did you guys feel it, too?”

“No," said Spike, "Or, wait. Yes? What is that?"

"I think I can hear something, too," said one of the Twilights.

The noise was coming from the door. Twilight walked over and, nervously, opened it.

Purple coats. Indigo manes. Unicorn horns and pegasus wings. All of them running towards the Castle, with the same terrified expression on their faces.

"Twilight!" Twilight screamed.

"Twilight?" replied the Twilights.

"Twilight!"

Twilight.

All over Ponyville.

In the distant Crystal Empire, Twilight and Twilight woke up in the same bed.

"Wait, is this Shining and Cadance’s bedroom?”

“And you’re me? Ugh.” The other Twilight grabbed her head. “Not this dream again.”

They looked out the window, and saw a legion of glowing, crystalline Twilights wandering the Empire's streets.

A realisation hit them. They turned, and noticed the crib sitting next to the bed.

As one, they looked inside.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA–"

Twilight wandered through the Canterlot Library, reading a book and smiling to herself. She was wearing a thick, black jumper and a pair of thick, black glasses.

She looked up at the bookshelves above her and noticed the new Daring Do novel sitting proudly on display. "Oooh," she ooh'd. She hadn't had a chance to read that one yet. Or the time.

She could figure this whole thing out later, right?

Twilight nodded to herself, and flapped her pretty princess wings and flew up to fetch the book from the shelf. When she dropped back down, the glasses fell from her muzzle and scattered against the floor.

Twilight gasped in sudden horror. "Oh no!" she cried, reaching out for her lost glasses. "My g-"

She paused, then looked around at the world around her with. Well. New eyes.

"Oh, hey." Twilight blinked, slipping the glasses into her pocket. "Princess vision."

She giggled.

"Oh. Hello, Mr Bear. You're looking very, uh, relaxed today."

The bear narrowed its eyes. It plodded towards her until it was breathing on her face, sniffing her coat.

"Yes, that's right, it's your Auntie Twilight.” Twilight smiled nervously. “Could you tell your animal friends that I don't know where Fluttershy is, and also to maaaaybe chill out just a little bit?"

The bear sniffed her again. Then it wrapped a claw around her hoof.

"Uh. What was your name again? Because you had a name, right?" Twilight tried to step back, but the bear's iron grip kept her in place. "Wait, was it literally just Mr Bear? That’d be a very Fluttershy thing to do, to call you just Mr Bear. Don’t you—"

The bear growled.

"Okay, well, now you're digging into the bone, so I assume noooooooooooAAAAAAAAAAAAAA–"

"I think," said Spike, surrounded by Twilight Sparkles for as far as the eye could see, "that we should ask Princess Celestia about this."

"Oh!" said all the Twilight Sparkles. "Why didn't I think of that?"

It had been a long, busy night for Princess Luna. Celestia had asked her to take care of Philomena for the evening, Sweet Tooth's mother needed help with a recurring nightmare, and she'd also had to clean some of the spiders out of the basement again.

She set down her cup of tea and nodded to herself, satisfied. Yes, her duties as Princess of the Night demanded much of her. But, if nothing else, she needed to be there for her subjects in their times of need.

"Luna?" Celestia poked her head into the dining hall. "Are you still awake?"

"Oh!" Luna gave Celestia a smile. "Good morning, Sister. Is there something you require of me before I turn in for the day?"

"Well," said Celestia, "I was just wondering about something."

"Yes?"

"Why is the sky pink?"

Luna blinked, and turned to look out the window behind her. Indeed, the morning horizon over Canterlot seemed to be filled with a huge storm of flashing pink light. "Hm." She picked her teeth, thoughtfully, with a phoenix feather. "Very bizarre, indeed."

Celestia walked over to the window and peered out. "They kind of look," she said, after a moment, "like teleportation spells."

"Oh?"

"A lot of teleportation spells."

"Hm?"

"Pink ones."

"Oh, right." Luna slapped her forehead and shook her head morosely. "I knew I had forgotten something."

"Luna?"

"I turned every pony in Equestria into Twilight Sparkle, you see." Luna sipped her tea.

"...Luna."

"Yes, Sister?"

"I cannot believe this."

"Cannot believe what?"

Suddenly, Luna felt two white hooves hug her tightly from behind. "You have just given me," said Celestia, voice quivering with emotion, "the best birthday present I could have asked for."

"Wait." Twilight stared at Luna. "What?"

A different Twilight – the one wearing the black jumper – tapped Twilight on the shoulder. "Luna just said that she was the one who turned us all into me."

"Yes, I know," Twilight snapped, shooting herself a glare. "I was there. I was just expressing my disbelief."

Twilight looked hurt. "You didn't need to be mean."

"I–" Twilight was about to shout at herself again, but decided against it when she saw the expression on her face. She couldn't be mean to something that cute. "Ugh. You're right. You didn't deserve that. I’m sorry."

Twilight rested a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You really don’t need to be so hard on yourself.”

“You’re talking to the wrong Twilight, you massive idiot.” Twilight glared at herself. “And why are you dressed like a baseball player anyway?”

“I’m Baseball Twilight!” said Baseball Twilight. “Look, I even have a bat.” She swung her baseball bat for emphasis.

Twilight looked around at the crowd. "But all of the other Twilights are identical. How come you've got a bat?"

"Well," said Baseball Twilight. "Part of me thought it would help preserve my individuality in the face of crushing existential despair." She paused. "But mostly I just like swinging the bat."

It was a busy day on the Canterlot palace grounds. Every Twilight Sparkle in Equestria – which is to say, every pony in Equestria – was currently standing in, around, or above the castle gardens, spilling out into the streets of the city proper. Luna looked down on them all from the Castle balcony above them, Celestia at her side.

"But, Princess Luna," Twilight asked, looking up towards the balcony. "Why?"

Luna looked at Twilight. She scratched her chin with a thoughtful hoof. "It depends," she said, at length. "Are you asking 'why did I turn everypony into Twilight Sparkle?', or 'why did I turn everypony into Twilight Sparkle'?"

"Um. Both?"

"I see! It was all because of that friend of yours, that one..." Luna trailed off, frowning in thought.

"Starlight Glimmer?" Celestia suggested.

"Yes! That was it. Thank you, Sister, it must have slipped my mind."

"You're very welcome."

"I heard of this ‘equality’ she spoke of, and found it interesting enough to investigate.” Luna paused. “Though, I suppose, there may have been some unforeseen consequences to this diversion of mine."

Twilight's eyes bulged out of her head. "Some? Unforeseen? B-But I–" She cradled her head in her hooves. "I'm in charge of all of Equestria. Like, literally actually everypony other than you two is me!"

"What about all the rocket scientists?" Twilight pointed out. "And the, I dunno, brain surgeons? They've all been replaced by me! Spike doesn't even trust me to put on a band-aid by myself!"

"It's true!" said Spike, who was in the middle of being passed around the crowd of Twilights like a stress ball. "I don't!"

"As I understand it, Twilight Sparkle, you are a very fast learner."

“Indeed,” Celestia said, nodding. “I taught her myself, after all.”

"So I trust you are up to this task,” Luna continued, giving her a benevolent smile. “Just as you have prevailed over so many impossible odds before."

"What? Okay. No. No, no, no." Twilight shook her head rapidly. "You can't just. You can't just wave a hoof and give me moral support and say that it's all going to be alright. You don't understand! I'm in charge of cooking! I’m the head chef in every kitchen in Equestria!"

"I started a fire this morning when I tried to make soup."

"Yeah, and I– Wait." Twilight looked at herself with an expression of newfound disgust. "That was supposed to be soup?"

"Well, not just that," pointed out the Twilight next to her. "We're also in charge of, and the workforce for, the entire food industry."

"And responsible for collecting and harvesting and tending to all of the food that goes through that system."

"And responsible for handling all the money that we earn off of ourselves when we go to the grocery stores. Which are also staffed by us."

"I have to go to work every morning," said Twilight, with mounting horror. "And all of my coworkers are going to be me."

"It's impossible!" Twilight looked around at herselves, panic starting to set in. "All I know how to do is read books and write letters! I'm not cut out for any of this!"

One very wounded-looking Twilight coughed into a bite mark on her leg. "I nearly got eaten by a bear this morning."

"Twilight Sparkle," Celestia said, loudly, calmly, "I have something I'd like to say."

As one, every Twilight in the crowd snapped their mouth shut and sat down, ears perked to attention.

"Oh," said Celestia. "That feels even better than I thought it would." She cleared her throat. "Right, yes. I am sorry for the trouble. I understand how hard it might be accepting the current reality of the situation. But, as Luna said, you are an eminently capable pony, and I am sure your lessons in friendship will be put to good use."

The crowd of Twilights stared at her. One of them raised a hoof. "Question," she said. "Is that why you made everypony... Well. Me, specifically?"

"Oh." Luna blinked. "No. I was simply tired of having to distinguish between you all."

"...What."

"Twilight Sparkle, Sunset Glimmer, Sunset Shimmer..." Luna frowned in thought for a moment. "...The rest. You are all so very similar! I decided to just put everypony on the same page. I felt it was appropriate."

"Look at it this way, Twilight," said Celestia, smiling at the crowd. "This is really just a journey of self-discovery."

The Twilights all shuddered in unison. "Please, no," Twilight pleaded. "Anything but that."

"I'll be honest, your Highnesses!" Twilight shouted, raising her voice over the hubbub of the crowd. "I think I've found the fatal flaw in your plan!"

Luna tilted her head. "Oh? Would you rather I had asked for your consent beforehand?"

"No! You should have picked somepony who doesn't hate themselves."

"This is Hell."

"No arguments here."

"Just look at how chubby I am!"

Luna looked glum. "Well, it seems we– I have made a mistake. I do hope you can all forgive me."

Then she stepped down from the balcony and walked back into the castle, humming to herself.

"Luna!" Celestia called after her. She shot the Twilights a Look. "There was no need to be so harsh on her, Twilight Sparkle. She was simply trying to help. You know how it is, with my sister. We will have a chat about this later." And then she followed after her sister.

The Twilights stared after them. Several long minutes passed in silence.

"I."

"Hm."

"Uh."

"Is..." Twilight looked around at the other Twilights. "Is this our fault?"

"Question." Twilight raised a hoof, and all the other Twilights looked at her. "How do we. I dunno. Breed?"

Another long stretch of silence.

"Why," Twilight asked, "is that the question you wanted to ask? Of all possible questions?"

"Well," said Twilight, "if we can't reproduce, we all go extinct."

Yet more silence. The Twilight that was currently hugging Spike held two hooves over his ears.

"So, what you're saying is..."

"In order to save Equestria, we have to figure out how to breed with ourselves." Twilight looked at herself, gravely. “Or we might as well all die right here, for all the difference it’ll make.”

"Hm." Twilight stroked her chin. "Interesting."

A moment of silence.

"Well.” Baseball Twilight shrugged, hefting her baseball bat. “We had a good run anyways."

Celestia found Luna sitting at the tea table, despondent, and without tea.

"Luna?" Celestia stepped towards her sister, expression soft. "Are you alright?"

"Sister.” Luna looked at Celestia: “Are we out of touch?"

Celestia sat down next to Luna softly. "Out of touch in what sense?"

"I made another mistake. Twilight Sparkle was right.” Luna sniffed. She ran a hoof along the edge of her empty teacup as she spoke.

“Luna, you were just trying to help–”

“And it is always like this. Whenever I try to help, it is like… You know how it is when, you put something down in one place, and just as you go pick it up, you forget? It is like that, but with everything." The starry sky in her mane went dark, briefly, as if storm clouds were passing through it. “Every time. All the time.”

Celestia tilted her head, expression soft. "Well, one can hardly begrudge you, of all ponies, for feeling out of sorts with the world."

"I did not think I would be capable of embarrassing myself in front of our subjects–" Luna paused. "Subject, so often. And yet, here we are again." She sighed.

"Oh, Luna." Celestia wrapped her sister up in a tight, white hug. "It was all just a misunderstanding! It was not your fault."

"No, sister," Luna said, her voice stern, but quavering. "You deserve better than I. I only wanted to make life easier for everypony. I know how much more difficulty you face in your duties than I–"

“Luna,” Celestia said, sternly, “you are the only pony on the planet who could have given me as wonderful as gift as you have today. That is what really matters.”

“Really?”

Celestia booped her little sister on the nose and smiled at her, gently. "Of course! Your plan was just a little poorly conceived, is all. I am sure we can fix it, with some patience and kindness."

Luna looked up at her sister, eyes wide. "B-But... Are you quite certain?"

"Yes. And, besides." Celestia gave her sister a kiss on the forehead, and a smile. "It was a very lovely gift."

Luna stared at her sister. Then she wiped at her eyes with a hoof. "You are too good to me, Sister dearest."

"Perish the thought."

No sane God would allow this, Baseball Twilight thought to herself, as she crunched her bat into the back of Twilight’s skull, the bloody chunks splattering down her thighs and across her chubby, ugly, omnipresent face.

And, lo, if she is God, then she must pay the price.

Luna looked at the clock. “Oh. Look at the time, Sister. Do you think we might have spent too much time in here, alone?”

"I think you're right." Celestia got to her hooves. "We have left Twilight by herselves. How impolite of us."

"I think it should be possible to undo my mistake, with Twilight Sparkle's help." Luna nodded. "I expect she will welcome this news."

"Oh." Celestia tried not to look disappointed. "Well, I suppose it is for the best."

Luna patted Celestia's shoulder. "It is."

"They are just so cute, though."

"I know."

The two wandered back down the hallway as they talked. They stepped out onto the balcony and looked down upon the crowd of Twilights.

"Ah," Luna ah'd.

"Hm," Celestia hm'd.

And then, a little pause.

Luna frowned. "Well. That is a lot of blood, now, isn't it."

"Indeed."

"And, is that Twilight's draconic protege atop that totem over there?"

"I think it might be."

"Do you suppose it is a likeness of Spike, or...?"

"No false idols, Luna," Celestia admonished.

"Right. Of course." Luna stroked her chin with her hoof. "Well, this certainly does put a wrench in our plans."

"Oh!" Celestia poked her sister in the ribs, and lit her horn. "Look, over there, behind that fleshy mound!"

Luna squinted. "Is that... Are those spasms of the mortem or post-mortem variety?"

"Neither!" Celestia carried the sodden, purple, moving thing over to them in her magic. "It is our dear Twilight Sparkle!"

Luna looked it over. "Well," she said, dubious, "it does appear to be the sole survivor. But are you certain it is the original Twilight? Because there may be unforeseen consequences if we rebuild with a fake one."

"Bluh," the purple thing bluh'd. A broken pair of black glasses fell from one of its pockets and landed at Celestia’s hooves.

"No, no, this is her. Look!" Celestia pointed, beaming. "Those are her iconic glasses! Gosh, they are so cute."

"Ah, yes. You do appear to be correct." Luna smiled. "That is good. For a moment, there, I was rather worried."

"Bluh," bluh'd the purple thing. It was wearing the tattered remains of a black jumper.

It was a beautiful morning in Ponyville, and Princess Twilight Sparkle woke up with a smile on her face.

"Good morning, Spike!" she called, climbing out of bed. "What's for breakfast?"

Spike poked his head in through the door. "Morning, Twi!" he said. "I'm not actually cooking breakfast this morning. Pinkie Pie and the others showed up and now we're all going out to Sugarcube Corner to get food. Wanna come along, eat cookies, do some friendship stuff?"

Twilight blinked. She stared at Spike for a few seconds.

Then she smiled brightly. "Yes! Yes, I would!"

Princess of Friendship, huh? She thought to herself as she followed Spike to meet her best friends in the whole wide world.

She giggled.

“I think the toughest friendship problem I’ve ever faced… was learning to love myself.”

—Princess Twilight Sparkle, On Advanced Husbandry, Part IV: Failures

Her Eyes Contained Heaven

“I loved her, but—”

—Engraving found in the Everfree Castle

The cake was absolutely delicious.

“Right. Um.” Princess Celestia, age fifteen, looked at the table. “This cake is terrible.”

Luna, age eight, beamed at her. “Is it?!” Ears perked up. Tail wagging. Heaven in her eyes. “Is it?!”

“Uh, yeah. I mean.” Another bite. Cream and chocolate—light and dark, sweet and bitter—mixed in Celestia’s mouth and taught her that life had meaning. It wasn’t ‘great’. ‘Great’ was just a word. The cake transcended mere language. “Blegh.”

“So you do not like it?!”

Look at that wagging tail. Luna was going to sprain it at this rate. “No, no,” said Celestia. “Terrible cake.” Another bite. And another. And another. Oh, Stars, this was what bliss felt like, wasn’t it? This was love in culinary form. “Cannot stand it.”

“Hahah! Good!” Now Luna was jumping around. “Good! You do not have to finish it, if you do not like it!”

“No, no. I need to appreciate how terrible it is.” Another bite. “To. Uh. To understand the depths of its…” Pause to swallow. She tried not to moan. “Hnng.”

Luna cocked her head to the side. “Sister?”

“Its badness! To understand the depth of its badness.” Another bite. The last one. Pain, the poet had said, is pleasure—remembered. Remembering the cake, now, brought Celestia a lot of pain. But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, just to know happiness a second time. “Yeah, wow, that was very very bad. I should, ahahah. Never bake again.”

“Hahah!” Luna, jumping again in glee. “You are so bad! Okay! Mine now!”

“Right.”

Celestia looked down at the table again. Next to her empty plate was another—with a monstrosity on it. A mass of blackened crust, of spoiled milk and dirty flour. Uncooked, and burned, both.

Despair, made food.

Celestia swallowed, and then licked her lips. “Oh wow. This sure looks good.”

“I think it is my best yet!”

“Certainly looks the part.” Celestia braced herself, grabbed the fork, and gave it a bite.

She winced.

She actually, literally, winced.

“Wow,” she said then, after swallowing. “This is delicious. Yummy yummy.”

“Yeah!”

“You are so good at this.” Celestia took another bite, and the only thing that made it remotely palatable was looking at Luna and focusing on her eyes. They still contained Heaven. “I think you have won this cook-off too. Congratulations. Fifth time in a row.”

Luna went on high gear after this. “Yes! Yes!” Jump, jump, bounce, bounce, wag, wag, where do kids get all that energy from anyway? A mystery for the ages, surely. “Can I try my cake too now?!”

“Nu-uh. You know the rules, Luna. Only the judge can taste.” Then, after another bite, and oh, Stars, why. Why would she do this to herself. “Maybe when you are older, and, uh. More experienced.”

“More experienced? I don’t know if I can get any better at cooking after this!”

“Right. Well.” Celestia looked at her plate. The cake seemed infinite in its foulness. “You can certainly try.”

The cake looked terrible.

“Wow.” Princess Celestia, age two thousand and twelve, stared at the table. “This looks wonderful.”

Twilight, age eight, beamed at her. “Does it?!” Ears perked up. Tail wagging. Heaven in her eyes. “Does it?!”

And Celestia smiled at the child.

The weekly cook-offs hadn’t been meant to become routine, but they had anyway—only this time, at night,under the Moon and its watchful Mare. It was how Twilight and Celestia spent their Wednesday evenings.

Twilight loved the cook-offs. Celestia did not. To pick at an old wound stings, but it’s worse than that. It’s unhealthy. It brings nothing but sorrow.

It is addictive.

And so Celestia had allowed them to become routine. And so she picked up the fork, and brought Twilight’s absolute abomination to her mouth, one bite at a time.

Because pain, the poet had said, is pleasure—remembered. Remembering, now, brought Celestia a lot of pain. But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, just to know happiness a second time.

“Yes, Twilight,” she said. And she did not know if the smile on her face was real or not. “Truly, absolutely wonderful.”

“I loved her, but—I forgot to tell her.”

—Engraving found in the Everfree Castle

Sweet Dreams (by Pearple Prose)

“Ponies do not die, for they will live on forever in our dreams.”
— Princess Luna, Diary Vol. III

The grieving mother came to Princess Luna on a soft summer morning, wearing a dark veil in spite of Celestia’s shining Sun.

“Your Highness?” she asked, tentatively, head bowed.

Luna blinked, and turned to look at the mare. She was sitting on the grass on the hill overlooking Canterlot’s graveyard, and the mare was standing off to one side, at a respectful distance. “Yes?” she said. “What is it, my little pony?”

“I… I am very sorry to bother you, Princess Luna,” said the mare, “but I have a rather selfish request to ask of you.”

Princess Luna’s double chocolate sundae – seasoned with extra sugar – slowly descended, held by her magic, from her lips to the ground. “Ah. Well, we would be more than happy to accomodate you, I’m sure,” she said. She smiled, remembered what happened last time she’d smiled in public, and dialled it down to something that might be called ‘an optimistic tightening of the lips.’

The mare held a hoof to her chest, over her heart. “Your Highness, you are able to… see into ponies’ dreams, is that right?”

Luna nodded. “That is indeed within my station.”

“And you can give us good dreams too, yes?”

“Yes. Is something wrong? Have nightmares been troubling thee, of late?”

“No, that’s not the issue. You see, your Highness, my poor, poor little Sweet Tooth passed away last month.” The grieving mare’s voice held a hint of a withheld sob. “And I was wondering… if I could see him again, just one last time? In my dreams? He is a little white colt, with a lovely red mane, and a sweet little smile, and he–”

Luna blinked. “Oh. Yes, I can do that for you.”

The mare paused for a second. If the strange casualness of Luna’s response registered at all, she didn’t show it. “Oh, your Highness!” She fell into a deep bow. “Thank you! Thank you so very much!”

Luna smiled. “You’re welcome, my little pony. I hope you will have a lovely night’s rest.”

The mare cantered off happily, humming a little song under her breath.

Luna maintained the smile until the mare stopped peeking back over her shoulder, then let it fall into a thoughtful frown. She took a swig of her sundae, and she tapped her ice-cream-covered chin, and then she thought: What a strange mare.

Celestia’s teacup paused at her mouth, then descended slowly to the tabletop where it clinked against the matching saucer. Her mouth hung open slightly.

“That’s… a very kind thing for you to do, Luna,” she said, eventually, in entirely genuine surprise.

Luna made a face at her. “Well, I daresay there’s no need to say it like that, Sister.”

“There may not be a need, but there is a precedent,” Celestia replied. She didn’t mention any of them out loud, but she thought very particularly about certain well-meaning-but-horribly-executed-and-also-entirely-misunderstood gestures on Luna’s behalf, mostly stemming from a lack of understanding of the modern world, lack of self-awareness, lack of common sense, and just general lacking.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A worryingly large percentage of my subjects believe that you do, in fact, eat foals that do not give you candy on Nightmare Night, Luna.” Celestia sipped from her teacup.

“Ahem,” Luna began, shooting her sister a glare. “Our subjects, Sister.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Luna looked down at her teacup, which had been hovering noncommittally near her mouth for the entire conversation. “Anyway. I must confess, I do not understand why that mare was so joyous that I chose to honour her request.”

Celestia smiled. “Oh? That is a very sweet thing to say, Luna. Perhaps it’s because many ponies do not expect such a kindness to be given so freely?”

“Maybe?” Luna shrugged, and went silent for a few moments. And then she said, “Is it truly a kindness, though?”

Celestia paused. “That is incredibly profound, Sister. I had not thought of it like that.”

“You’re being sarcastic again,” Luna grumbled.

“No, no! Honestly.” Celestia gazed out the window at the night sky over Canterlot. “It is an interesting observation. Is seeing a dearly departed loved one again truly a kindness, despite how we may believe it to be? Perhaps the joy will be too short-lived, and will only stop the wounds from scarring over sooner?” She put a hoof to her chin, looking thoughtful.

Luna just looked confused. “Whatever you say, Sister.”

Celestia gave her sister a concerned glance. “Are you okay, Luna? You seem quite upset about this.”

“I just don’t understand why she felt the need to come to me about it.” Luna set the teacup down on the table and began spooning in sugar. “I mean, it’s not as if she can’t just go and see her son anytime she wants.”

There was a pause. Celestia’s head tilted, slowly. “Luna.”

“I mean, that’s why we have all those graves, right? For storage.”

“Luna, no.”

“I suppose it’s just easier this way? You’d have to spend all the time digging them back up again, otherwise, and you’d be all sweaty at the end of it. So I’m really just here to save them the effort of going through all that. Seems quite lazy of her, if you ask me.”

Celestia pressed a hoof to the bridge of her snout.

Luna, noticing nothing, raised her teacup, which now contained more sugar than liquid. “Oh well. I hope the mare has a pleasant night’s sleep.”

“Luna, no.”

Luna shuddered. “I don’t envy her, that’s for sure. It turns out Sweet Tooth’s gone a little sour in the interim.”

“LUNA–”

“Sweet Tooth? Sweet Tooth, is that you? Oh, of course it is. I’d recognise your mane anywhere…”

“...Sweet Tooth?”

“SWEET TOOTH?!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA–”

Luna sipped at her sugar. “Mmm. Much better. Also, on this topic: we really should reconsider how we store dead ponies. Maybe there is beauty in truth, but a rotten hole in the ground really does not do them any favours.”

“Luna for the love of—”

“Ponies do not die, for they will live on forever in our dreams. Sorry about that.”
— Princess Luna, Diary Vol. III