Darkest Hour
To all who I owe my life to.
SUNRISE
Her eyes open. It’s time. It all starts again. It always does.
She groans. The curtain rings jingle. The window to her left is uncovered. Just in time to see the sky turn pink.
She feels it happening more than she makes it happen. The first spark pokes over the horizon. The Sun, naively curious, looks onto the land. Not raising it, as tempting as it sounds, would require more effort than just letting it happen. She sits up and stares at it.
A pony stands beside her bed. Her morning servant. Blue Porcelain, earth pony, a tiny teacup. She once saw her princess cry all night. Things have changed after that. She waits patiently. She’s accommodating. She knows mornings are hard for her princess
“There are no urgent matters this morning, Your Highness” she says quietly. That is enough to move her. She slowly rolls out of bed. “Master Mortar requested an audience today about a pressing issue.” She stops mid motion. Mortar. Royal Architect. His issues… Not good.
“Did he mention why?” Please, not the gallery.
“The gallery in the eastern wing needs maintenance. He is unable to locate the keys.”
The keys are no more. As are they. She has to close her eyes. The next breath is torture. She knew this would come.
“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to see him.” Not now. Not now. Not today. Never, never, never.
“Of course, Your Highness” blue bows.
Breakfast. The most important meal of the day. She long sought to find out whether a perfect breakfast exists. It does.
It’s jam on toast.
The toast purrs as she spreads jam over it. It is already buttered. The jam is raspberry. Pink on gold. Like a sunrise. Is that why she thought it’s perfect? It resembles her most acclaimed work? It’s been centuries. She eats the same. She once thought it’s perfect. But she changed?
She takes a bite. It crunches, absurdly perfect. It tastes, perfectly familiar. It doesn’t change.
A liquid is poured. She smells coffee. It brings her to life. Her eyebrows furrow. Does she want that?
Her mind drifts.
So do her eyes. Opposite end of the table. Luna. Her supper. Messy and alone. Distant and abandoned. She felt closer on the Moon. Seeing it meant seeing her.
Her head is gently tugged back. Blue is brushing her mane. It’s an easy job. Her mane is stubborn. It only takes a few pokes to make it look normal. How deceitful.
Another bite. Crunch. A sip of coffee. Slurp. A flash of fire. Pop.
A scroll lands in the jam. She chews her toast. She watches as the scroll sinks into the jelly. It sizzles. The coffee isn’t working yet. It’s far too early for this.
She lifts the scroll. It’s fireproof. She opens it. Unfortunately, it’s also jamproof. She holds it over the toast, letting the jam drip on it. She sips coffee and reads it.
Dear Princess Celestia,
I am writing to you to inform you that I will be unavailable for an unknown period of time.
I was convening with my friends in my throne room when suddenly a map of Equestria appeared in front of us! It’s incredibly detailed and there is a spot marked with all of our cutie marks. We’ve decided to travel there all together to investigate. I do not know how long it will take us, but Spike is staying in Ponyville and knows where we are in case something happens.
Your most faithful fellow princess,
Twilight Sparkle
She lowers the letter onto one of the many plates littering the table in an orderly fashion. The strong, aromatic coffee has finally started working, filling her body with unnatural vigour. She feels like her body is about to explode.
She looks at the letter again. “You have much to learn about giving believable excuses for random vacations, dear Twilight” she mutters.
Blue appears beside her, clearly finished with her tail. “Burn it” she orders her. Her archive needed neither the smell of raspberries nor proof of Twilight Sparkle’s clumsy lies.
Blue nods. She’s waiting. It’s time to get to work.
“What’s first on the list today?” The princess does not appreciate knowing her schedule far in advance. The future is best left undisturbed.
“There’s the reading for fillies event at Miss Inkwell’s school” blue informs her. “We can cancel that, if…”
“No! We don’t cancel the reading event.”
Blue bows again. “Of course, Your Highness.” She sounds unusually happy about that. “In that case my cousin, who attends that school, will be really glad…”
Blue keeps talking about her cousin and whatever else. Celestia is not listening.
Miss Inkwell greets her at the door. Thank the powers that be for those cutie marks. They make names easy.
She leads her to the classroom. The fillies greet her. They sit around her. She opens her book.
The story comes easy to her. She’s told it before. Many times. She has enough interesting stories to rotate them without even the teachers noticing. She hears her own voice articulate every sentence perfectly. Pause for effect. The fillies gasp.
They have no idea how little she cares for the story. They don’t know she’s told it dozens of times already. They have no clue the story is actually real.
Wait. Is this the real one?
She reads the book for the first time. It’s lagging several pages. She grabs five at once and flips them together. Yes. It’s the real one.
The story continues. Nopony minds the odd pause. Some of the younger ones look like they are about to jump up. They’re into it. The story is perfect. For ponies their age.
Everypony is acting very proper. Miss Black Wall has taught them well. Too well. She wouldn’t mind something happening. Anything. Maybe one of them doing something silly. Or giving her an innocent hug. But they’re perfect.
The story is reaching its climax. Even Black-what’s-her-butt is on the edge of her hooves. And for what? An exaggerated retelling of an ancient adventure. Told flawlessly. Unlike anything that should exist.
The story ends with a bang. The kids clap. She thanks them for listening. They thank her for reading.
Perfect.
Back in her chamber. She throws herself on a couch. Her body is trembling. Every part is pulling in an opposite direction. She remains still.
She rests with her eyes closed. Clink of glass. The smell. She opens her eyes. A cup of hot chocolate. A column of steam rising from it. She takes a sip. It’s thick, sweet and hot. It melts her. Glues her soul back together.
“How did it go?” Blue asks with a shy smile. “Did you see my cousin?”
“It went well. He seemed to enjoy the story.”
“She’s the one with cyan ponytails.”
The princess stares at her blankly. She feels her recently melted insides flowing backwards. Her lips part. She has no lies.
“It’s OK, Your Highness. I understand. Please enjoy your chocolate.”
She understands. They all understand. Everypony knows. She is fraud. She does nothing. She doesn’t care.
She shrinks and dies without death.
At her study. Reheated hot chocolate for company. Paperwork opposite her.
She picks a paper up. The Florist Association petitions to host their annual flower fair at the main square again. Has it really been a year already? Approved.
Invitation to some event. What else does she have to do? She’ll be there.
Ponyville asks to handle their own weather this spring. As always. It’s signed only by the town’s mayor, but it’s the middle of summer. She smells Twilight’s hooves on this one. Approved.
Does anypony involved with those petitions consider them anything other than a formality? Approved.
She sips the chocolate. What a powerful drink. It goes straight to her heart. What would happen if she denied one? Approved.
Let’s see. Petition to approve the renovations on Baker Street. It makes sense, that street sees a lot of heavy traffic every day. Who would deny that? Approved.
What even is the point of this? Approved.
Approved.
Her eyes are weary. Two new faces. No. Usual faces. Time to eat. The red one is arranging the dishes. The white one greets her.
“Good afternoon, Your Highness!” Genuine enthusiasm. Every time. How does she do it?
“Good afternoon!” Automatic reply. Soulless and fake. Every time. “What have you prepared for me today?”
White describes food with stunning vigour and detail. She’s an artist. Her talent is wasted.
She sits down. A soup. A cream? It’s garnished. Thick and smooth, with a subtle, yet profound flavour.
Red is cutting bread. It crunches. The poor pony can’t help her mouth watering.
Bread goes well with the soup. Cream? They take the plate away. Time for the main course.
She takes a bite. It’s breathtaking. A traditional composition with an exotic surprise. Prepared with incredible mastery. Another bite. Another surprise. A carefully crafted experience. The cook is playing with the eater’s soul. They do whatever they want.
How many more bites until she doesn’t offend the chef? Ten? That would make a round dozen. Sure.
She pauses. She keeps the food in her mouth. She tries not to throw up. It’s difficult.
The day goes on as usual.
Evening audiences. Everypony’s important. They come to her for guidance. They come seeking her wisdom. They come to thank her. They come for her favor. They come for all the reasons. All the wrong reasons.
She nods. She smiles. She laughs. She advises. Effortlessly. Without effort.
Last one. A family. Mother, father, daughter. They walk in, give their regards. They chat a bit. The daughter looks stressed. The mother suddenly excuses herself. Her husband leaves with her.
Celestia rolls her eyes. That old trick again.
“So, young one...” she says, her voice reflecting her feelings for the first time. “Why are you here today? Do you have something interesting to say? Are you going to make this worthwhile? Or are you a pathetic waste of time like all of the others? Think carefully.”
The pony’s mouth opens. Her lips quiver.
“I’ve seen this before. Too many times to count. They drag their children in front of me to try and make me remember them. So that when they need anything from me, they can ask like we are familiar.” She leans forward. “It doesn’t really work if all they do is just sit there awkwardly. So. Will you do something memorable or will I forget about you the moment you leave?”
The pony’s eyes water. She runs away.
Celestia walks out of the room after her. She’s triumphant. She told her. One less deluded fool around. Ha!
“Good evening, Princess!”
Her head snaps back. It’s Mortar. Her recent triumph implodes, piercing her chest.
“Hello.” She is a wounded animal. Her deflated triumph suffocates her mind like a popped balloon covering her mouth. It was all hollow.
“How fortunate that I happen upon you like this, Your Highness! We really need to speak about the state of the eastern wing. The roof there hasn’t been maintained in centuries and I can't seem to get access to the galley on the top floor.” He explains the problem with brutal efficiency.
Her thoughts are like a group of panicking, headless critters. Two of them bump into each other.
“The gallery has been locked a very long time ago, and for a good reason. We shouldn’t violate its peace without careful deliberation.” she says and holds her breath.
“Of course, Your Highness” he bows to her superior wisdom. “But we should find a way to access it as soon as possible. Its state poses a risk to the structural integrity of the entire building.”
“I’ll order my archivists to look for any mentions of that wing” another collision of the thought critters is narrated by Celestia’s voice. “See me again next week, the search should be concluded by then.”
He bows again. He thanks her for her time and leaves.
She doesn’t have to worry about looking them in the eyes for another week.
Another triumph!
The day is almost over. She lies by the fire. Dangerously close. But it does no harm upon her. The Sun is not scared of an ember.
Her outside is slowly melting from the heat. But the inside is frozen solid. A lump of ice is stuck in her throat. She is choking on it. She is shivering. She holds back tears. She slowly swallows the chunk of cold darkness. It’s still there, but more manageable pushed deeper down. Her throat hurts.
Deep breath. What is she doing?
Relaxing. Of course.
She looks around. A book. Newest addition to a popular adventure series. She has received an early copy. She is to review its portrayal of the Sun. Or something like that.
Ponies read for fun. Don’t they?
She flips to a random place in the book. The main character is trapped. She is about to die. She is scrambling to escape the predicament she is in. She does not want to die horribly. That’s how most ponies are.
The Princess is unique in that regard.
When Luna came back after a millennium, she was too angry to simply kill her. Discord just wanted toys. Chrysalis was too weak to kill her even after absorbing Cadence’s more loving half. Tirek loved his magic too much to spare any for mercy killing...
At least she knows the pony she put up to cleaning up after is up to the task. It’s reassuring. Makes death even more alluring. Comfortable.
Relaxing.
Back in her bedroom. The sun is on the right.
Red and ripe, it’s tired and about to retire. As always.
She sits in her bed.
Pale and old, tired and wishing to expire. As always.
It’s happening. Her energy is vanishing. Like sucking a vacuum. It hurts.
Her vision grows dark. She’s done nothing all day. She is exhausted. But when she falls backwards onto the pillows, it happens against her will. She groans.
Not far, Luna takes flight. She does not want to be anywhere close to her sister’s monotone, droning dreams.
SUNSET
