Here’s how you define heartbreak:
It doesn't matter if you still love her.
Here’s how you define regret:
Screams of pain, and screams of pleasure, are impossible to tell apart.
Here’s how Fluttershy puts her life in danger with just four words:
“I love you, Discord.”
And here’s how he sentences her to death:
“I love you, too.”
Regret, in the air, late at night.
Tragedy, one feels, is about to happen.
Celestia got to Ponyville at noon, and she wished she hadn’t. She felt sick. Oppressed. For a moment she was actually scared that something had physically hit her—but, when she checked, there was no wound. Nobody had attacked her. She was perfectly fine.
(Even though it felt like the whole world was trying to drown her).
Celestia didn’t usually travel like this. Ponies came to her instead. But this time, it was different—Twilight Sparkle, whom she loved, had sent a letter. And the letter was clear: Come. Please, come. We need you. She needs you.
Princess Celestia had only read the letter once—that’s all she’d ever needed—and then she had parted, no doubt, no hesitation. Because in her mind, there was a coda, a post-scriptum to the message, that made her fly as fast as she could.
I need you.
That’s what the letter had said, to Celestia. And that’s why she was now in Ponyville, looking for her student, fearing for her life,
(like she couldn't breathe)
and wishing it was all her imagination. Even though it wasn’t. Even though it clearly wasn’t.
“Princess!” Twilight opened the Castle doors when Celestia knocked—and while she looked pale, and while there were bags under her eyes, and while she did not smile—her face brightened up when they saw each other. “Oh, Princess Celestia, thank you so much for coming, I—welcome to Ponyville, I’m sorry for calling you like this, but—”
“Twilight Sparkle.” Speaking with courage she did not have, Celestia smiled at Twilight. “You do not need to apologize. As long as you need me, I will come.”
“Yes.” Twilight nodded. Tired, she looked down, on the verge of tears. “Yes. Thank you.” Then, looking up: “We need you. Please.”
And Celestia came in. “I feel it. Something wrong is happening here.”
Not “strange”, she thought,
(and she couldn’t breathe)
but “wrong”.
“It is.” Twilight closed the door, and they walked in. “I was hoping you could help us. I don’t know what to do.” Her eyes looked dead. “I think Fluttershy is in danger. I think… I think she might not make it.”
Celestia frowned. “You know what happened?”
“Yes. Discord.”
The word echoed. It made Celestia stop and stare, the way Twilight said it, because it did not make her sound like a young and bright little princess.
It made her sound old.
And hateful.
(and she couldn’t breathe)
“He did something to Fluttershy,” Twilight continued. “We know that. We don’t know what. He won’t tell us, he turned himself back into stone.”
Celestia frowned. “He turned… himself, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Into stone?”
“Yes. His face is—I don’t think it was pleasant for him, either. He’s not reacting to anything. I’m afraid he might be gone for good.”
Celestia heard the next words, even though Twilight didn’t say them. They sounded like, “and I hope he suffers.”
“Fluttershy, I take,” Celestia said then, “cannot say what is that happened?”
“No. She can’t—she can’t really talk, now. She’s… Princess?” Twilight stopped. Looked at Celestia. “Please, count your teeth.”
A blink. Celestia frowned. “I’m… sorry?”
“I know. It’s weird, but I need to—count your teeth, please. With your tongue. Please.”
Celestia did so. Ten. Times four. “Forty,” she said. “Forty teeth. Why?”
“It’s hard to think around her. I wanted to make sure you knew the exact number, before you… see her. Discord brought her here, before he went away, but we can’t move her. Or touch her. That’s why I called you here. I don’t know what to do.”
(“and I hope he suffers.”)
(and she couldn’t breathe)
Celestia hardened.
“Bring me to her,” she said.
It was a short visit.
Fluttershy was laying on a bed, but the bed was out of sight. Bloated, swollen, she didn’t have a definite shape anymore. She was gigantic, her flesh pulsating and bleeding, spilling all over the floor, swallowing the room whole.
The air was rancid. A yellow mist floated around, sparkling with metallic shine.
Fluttershy didn’t have eyes anymore.
There was only flesh.
Celestia felt her stomach turn upside down. She tried to look away, but there was nowhere else to look at. The walls, the floor, the whole room, it was only Fluttershy, Fluttershy, Fluttershy. Pulsating, bleeding meat, going up and down, breathing, swallowing, spilling all over.
Princess Celestia couldn’t breathe.
(and she couldn’t breathe)
The weight on her shoulders was unbearable, but it did not push down. It pulled, too, and it swerved to the left, and to the right. There was something in the air, something she couldn’t feel, that was pressing against her, compressing her—but also pulling her, inside out. Like there was something growing in every part of her.
(“and I hope he suffers.”)
Celestia hoped it, too.
She left the room when she couldn’t stand it anymore.
Good news.
“I know what to do, Twilight.”
Bad news.
“But you are not going to like it.”
Here’s how you define grief:
You can’t help your only daughter.
Discord was outside, by Fluttershy’s window. Celestia visited him once Twilight was left alone to cry and give the others the news.
It’s not like she had to see him, or the statue that had once been him. Celestia could have done everything else first. But there is an order to things, and she felt that this was important enough to follow her heart on the matter.
(“and I hope he suffers.”)
Twilight had said she doubted Discord had enjoyed turning into stone. Now that she could see him, Celestia agreed.
His pose was broken, stilted. His face was warped in the most horrible of grimaces, something that even for him should have been impossible. Pain, his eyes—pain so strong it was clear this was not a carved stone, but a once-living beast that was no more.
“Because,” Celestia said, sitting in front of the statue, observing it, glaring at it, hoping she could melt it with her eyes alone, “you are indeed no more, Discord. You are gone from this land. Forever.”
The statue did not answer.
(and she couldn’t breathe)
Celestia sighed.
“You got her pregnant.”
The statue still did not answer.
Even though she couldn’t hear it, Celestia still knew it—Twilight was crying, now. She was telling her friends, and she was crying. Soon, they would all cry, too. And there was nothing she could do.
“You got Fluttershy pregnant, but that was something she couldn’t survive. Physically. Your body is too different, her body, too fragile—and you did it anyway.” Celestia closed her eyes. “I blame myself for this. I am the one who told her she could help you. I am the one who knew she would. But I did not know this would happen—and, I suppose, I should have known.”
It still felt heavy, the weight on her shoulders, but it was not as heavy as in Fluttershy’s room. Celestia wondered if whatever was left of the pony could even remember that name.
It probably couldn’t.
(“and I hope he suffers.”)
“For that, I am sorry,” Celestia said, looking again at the statue that had once been Discord. “But you should have known better, too. It is not a crime to love, and it will never be. And it is hard, sometimes, not to love them. I know this.” She swallowed. “I know this. Better than anyone else.”
Twilight was crying, now. Broken. She had lost something that she could never take back. She had known loss, and she would never forget it.
Celestia knew this, in her heart.
It hurt.
“But as much as we love them,” she said. “As much as we want to, we can’t. Because we are immortal. And they are not. You, Discord—you are so much more than a mere pony. You are chaos incarnate. You are a spirit of despair, of disharmony. You are something so infinitely complex, so wonderfully powerful, and still.”
Celestia smiled, in spite of herself.
“And still, you fell for her.”
She counted her teeth, now, once again—just in case. Ten, times four…
…plus one.
“Forty-one teeth,” she said out loud. “Forty-one teeth, one more than before. It grew when I looked at Fluttershy—no. When I got close to her.” She took a deep breath. “Can you feel it, Discord? How heavy the air is? How there’s something pulling from everypony, pushing them down?”
The statue didn’t answer.
“There’s something growing.” Celestia got up, she got closer to Discord—and she caressed the old beast’s cheek. “There’s something growing in Fluttershy, but she alone can’t contain it. And it’s so big that just its shadow is enough to weigh Ponyville down. It’s so great, her presence clouds your mind, and it makes you grow—inside and out. She will not last long.”
The stone’s cheek felt rough, and cold to the touch.
“I do not blame you for this,” she said.
She did not know if she meant it.
(and she couldn’t breathe)
She wanted to think she did.
“It was a tragedy. I am sure you will always regret it. But sometimes regret is not enough. You fell for her—and you killed her, Discord. Because she’s a mere mortal, and you are not. You didn’t mean to. And I am sorry.”
Celestia turned around, and left. But in her head, she kept talking to the statue, as she climbed up the stairs.
“And now you’re gone,” she imagined herself saying—and in a way, that was enough. “And now you’re gone, forever, and you’re not going to return. I don’t know where you are. That statue is empty, I do know that much. And I need to stay here, and take care of this. Twilight will not recover. At least, not for a long time.”
She was in front of Fluttershy’s room, now, the door closed in front of her. The air smelled rancid again. Celestia felt pain. But she still stood there.
(and she couldn’t breathe)
“For that, Discord, I do blame you. I will forever blame you.”
She opened the door.
Fluttershy’s presence hit her with full force—but Celestia stood tall. She flashed her horn. She cast a spell no mortal would ever know.
And Fluttershy disappeared, and the weight went away. The yellow mist, the rancid smell, the weight on everybody’s shoulders—as if it had never existed.
“I wonder if you knew I would do this, once you saw what you did to her,” Celestia said, in her mind. “Maybe you went there with her.”
Celestia turned around. She had to talk to Twilight. The matter was solved, and Fluttershy was no more.
(“and I hope he suffers.”)
“I am sorry, Discord. For having you and Fluttershy meet. For causing this. But I hope you suffer, too.”
The end of all things is like a void. It’s white, and it’s black, and it’s both none of that. It can’t be imagined. There’s nothing to imagine.
Discord was there.
There was a flash.
Fluttershy was there.
The thing that had once been Fluttershy—now just a mass of flesh, and blood, and pulsating meat. The yellow mist appeared again, and it filled the void. The rancid smell came, and it was there to stay.
Her presence was as powerful as always. Discord felt it—he grew teeth, and hooves, and legs, and heads. He grew inside and out, all over again. A fully-fleshed new himself came to be, and from that one another came. An endless supply of Discords, each one growing from inside the last, like a flower blooming time and time again.
The pain was indescribable, but Discord never left her side.
And the end of all things itself felt the weight on its shoulders. The pulling, the pushing, in all directions. It compacted into itself. It grew larger at the same time. It was everything and everywhere in nothing and in nowhere.
The thing that had once been Fluttershy screamed.
Its child came to be.
And the end of all things shivered, and couldn’t contain it anymore. And it became infinitesimal, and the pressure was impossible—and then it exploded, and the end of all things became the start of all things.
The newborn baby cried.
And this is how that cry sounded:
Let There Be Light.
Celestia left Ponyville. Twilight needed time to heal. Celestia needed time to heal, too.
This had been a reminder.
She loved Twilight Sparkle. She always had. She always would. But that love would never come to fruition, and while Celestia would never forget—she would come to terms with it.
Because mortals are not to meddle with immortals.
Somewhere else, at the end of all things, Fluttershy gave birth to the universe.
And now, Celestia could finally breathe.
(But she wished she couldn’t.)
