The Course of the Moon

Cool air drifted in from some nook or cranny and the tower was quiet. The laughter of the day had long faded and all who were awake now were occupied indoors. It's just how Moon Dancer liked it, and she studied hardest when there was nothing around to distract her. Scribbling away on a promising formula, she was certain it would not be much longer.

Twilight had warned her about combining ancillary spells such as Haycart's and the high level Inspiration Incantation from its companion treatise, but through the aid of herbal teas and the odd lullaby spell she knew she could manage. Indeed, she tweaked these necessary physical needs wherever possible. Instead of bothering with the brewing of tea, and waiting for it to cool down, she instead fast-froze the leaves and so pulverised them with ice. It was a potent drink, but as her magic demanded more from her, so too she required more nutriment.

In the upper library, the solutions came to her easily, and breakthrough followed puzzle and puzzle followed breakthrough in quick succession. Within as little as a week she would unlock the Cosmic Constant; hypothetical limiter of the Transmutative Tendence, as theorised by Starswirl the Bearded aeons ago.

Still, though her mind had hardly felt atoil or weary, as she bowed over the book of numbers an odd noise had joined the room sound of the library and the reverb of her own ears. It was a deep vibration that had the queer qualities of an earthquake, and yet the tower did not shake. She cast a Detect Displacement spell and verified it: nothing moved. It must be in my own head, she thought to herself.

Returning to her work, the slight vibration remained, gnawing on her concentration until she was forced once more to push aside the tomes and acknowledge it. Well then, she considered, perhaps it's just that I've been alone here for over a week. They always said it was unhealthy to do such a thing, they being ponies who could hardly tell a Star Sigil from a Saddle Arabian Ground Glyph, but nonetheless...

She paced the upstairs library and peered outside. The tower's biggest window was right there, on the top floor, and it spanned half of the large dome itself, climbing all the way up to the spire's ceiling. The colour of this sky, greyish blue, was her favourite. The sound was really more of a hum than a vibration, she decided, and it became all the more likely its source was somewhere inside her own body.

Considering an Illuminate Infiltration cantrip from her Casters' Compendium, the viridian tome's various potative components reminded her - for the third time that day - of the incident with Lemon Hearts, but two weeks prior.

On a bright afternoon she cantered Gleamstreet, stocking up on supplies and preparing for a meeting with Minuette and Lemon Hearts. It had not bothered her particularly to meet up with the pair, as she knew they would be able to talk aplenty without much need for her to speak. She could even work on her studies, using a notebook or a Mental Memo.

Gleamstreet was full of shopping ponies that could not have been avoided, for she herself was in use of the shops' opening hours. Street musicians musiced their melodicas and tambourines; A-list couples pulled up their noses at the above-average restaurants; a silver-cloaked filly scurried up the spiral stairs behind the Big Buns Bakery. She wondered where those stairs took her. The streets were full of these stairs and passages between and overarching the shops. It gave the impression that everywhere in Canterlot there were these hidden clubs of ponies, meeting always in secret.

Minuette had suggested Donut Joe's, as she always did when it was her turn to choose their meeting spot, but when Moon Dancer trotted up to the oddly dim windows of Joe's, she saw that it was closed. A note read, JOE'S GOT TO GO. HEY NOW DON'T YOU BE LOW. JOE'S BACK TOMORROW. She looked up over her shoulder and winced as she caught a faceful of sun. I'm an hour early too, she thought to herself, cursing her tendency to be so prudent with the time.

It was too hot simply to wait for an hour at Donut Joe's doorstep, yet she was burdened by two sacks of apple-crumble clusters and did not at all fancy trotting around Canterlot Centre in a heap of sweat and broken muscle - especially not around the noisy faire or the other big shopping streets. She looked to the small alley to the side of Joe's and thought, If I can put a ward on my supplies and stow them in some corner nopony will find them. I just have to make sure I don't trip anypony up or get spotted.

But she did not get spotted slinking into the alley. It was dark and smelly, insofar as Canterlot alleys could truly be smelly, and she had to press against the wall to pass garbage containers and stacks of empty peach crates. At the end of the alley there was a little back door that bore the logo of some high-end shop, and it amused Moon Dancer to think of the prim and proper couturists shuffling through the alley every day.

Halfway through the alley a little door appeared on her left, its dilapidated wooden frame barely keeping itself upright. She thought of her luggage - indeed, it was heavy enough that it did not truly leave her mind - and considered the space behind the door, thinking it perhaps a little court for Donut Joe to stash his newly arrived ingredients, or else dump his leftovers. Then, curiously, she became aware of a soft, drawling sound just beyond the door. There was something breathing inside the court; possibly an animal on the hunt, or somepony nursing an injury.

Instinctively Moon Dancer turned her ward on herself, shielding her from unfocused eyes. Upon performing the silent spell she reasoned there could well be trouble behind the door, and yes, she did not especially fancy the idea of being seen by anypony that cantered past the alley.

The door was in such a dismal state that many of its rotten boards were worn down to frayed splinters, here and there dusty crannies and other tiny holes. Moon Dancer pressed close to the door, shifting her face as she searched for a suitable peephole. Peeking through, she could see it was indeed a grassy little court, though the half-shaded grass was weed-ridden and sparse among dirty cobblestones. Almost certainly, just outside her view big dustbins would further sully what could well have been a lovely little garden.

Deep yellow suddenly blocked her view, pushed so close that she leapt back in alarm, a hoof pushed to her mouth. There was a harsh, muffled gasp then, and she knew somepony lurked just around the corner. She knew there was nothing good that could come from it, but she could not turn away: she was afraid both of drawing attention to herself, but more than that she was compelled by the fear of what lay behind the door.

The yellow had drawn away from the door just enough for her to recognise it as a shoulder, bobbing hypnotically. The breathing had accelerated, stopping now and then as the pony swallowed, and Moon Dancer thought, It's going somewhere, like a launch. Is somepony behind the door working up the courage then to inflict pain or practice some forbidden magic?

Willing the door not to creak she transmuted the door, sliding it open not from the loose-looking knob but instead its very hinges, carefully maintaining a constant draw. In this brief moment she prepared herself for just about anything, though she could not picture anything specific. She kept her breathing down and remembered her ward, knowing that to forget one's own ward meant to break its protection.

Lemon Hearts? She could not believe it was truly her friend, pushed back against the wall. She was so close to Moon Dancer that, despite her intentions, she almost jumped back. Her embarrassment spread from her, watching the pony's hoof move between her haunches at lightning speed. She could not see her face, but the breaths were rapid, gripping lessons of the true nature of embarrassment, for she could not look away. Slowly she bowed over her friend's shoulder, and light bounced off of glass or gemstone. Lemon Hearts groaned and it was a sound so strained and pathetic that Moon Dancer was terrified of it; very nearly she tumbled over her and broke out laughing, but despite such strange temptations still she restrained them and remembered her magic.

Lemon Hearts was pushing a beaker inside her privacy; squeezing the mouth of it inside somehow without injury to self. She emitted the smell of rusty sweat or blood - it was something gross she wasn't supposed to smell. No, it was an injury, Moon Dancer decided, and she thought, It can only be an injury that drives somepony to do such a thing, and that even outside of one's own home. She's... she's...

But Moon Dancer could not conclude what her friend was doing; where she was going, and she leaned over her friend puzzled and ashamed, seeing the tension and counter-tension grow - ebb and tide cascading into a tornado of back-and-forth - so an explosion was the only possible way she could end. But she did not explode; slowly she landed again and calmed down, the sound of freshly-washed glass rubbed as an anchor to her stifled breath. Suddenly Lemon Hearts looked up and said, 'There's nopony there, is there?' and Moon Dancer galloped out through the alley in a cheetah's sprint, thinking only of her shrouding ward.

She had not imagined masturbation to be like that. In fact, the entirety of sex already seemed to her little but an abundance of physical altercation, but that at least to her guess involved but a hoof or a penis. Alternatively it would be another mare's touch, but this must surely be even worse. She experienced wet dreams regularly enough, but though she woke up relaxed and dirty she could not remember what she dreamed of. It was but the body releasing its natural tension, but now she saw what kind of tension truly was possible, and the discovery disturbed her mightily.

As a substitution for the closed Donut Joe's, Minuette suggested this posh tea place called the Rose Garden, nestled between the Gleamstreet shops and the parallel Candlelane. During this eventual meeting Moon Dancer had not a chance to catch a word of conversation. Though Minuette discussed a great many things - largely talking to herself, it seemed - every thing sounded like another language to her. Maybe it was as the vibration she heard now, and that was what had in fact reminded her of the curious happenstance. Indeed, she was afraid at that time to look in the direction of Lemon Hearts, sure that if she did their eyes would meet instantly and she would know her secret. She herself knew her friend's secret, and now she felt complicit to it.

When at last she returned to her studies she made remarkable progress. The truth was that the encounter had given her some inspiration: to break the Transmutative Tendence would require more than speed alone; no, the pressure required to push past the limitations of magic itself would need to do more than push forward even in a rhythmic continuity. Surely such an approach had been attempted before, but what of a force wave that increased even its own acceleration? It would be as a powerful pony pushing against a door and each pony they would call for help would do so as well. It would be an eventuality-infinite of power, and yet there would be no recoil from such a wave, as it was made up of no single catalyst, and there would be nothing to break it. It was this magic she was creating, and it was this magic that she carried with her to bed.