Celestia stood before her mirror, brushing her mane. The imposing wall of glass was a gift from one of the many cities that wished to show their gratitude for her wise and fair rule. She’d forgotten who exactly had gifted this to the palace, maybe Manehatten or Fillydelphia, but she did remember that a great deal of pomp and ceremony had been involved. As was tradition: very long, very tired tradition.
Isn’t it lovely though?
She jerked upright, her eyes widening as a hoof shot up to cover her racing heart. Then, with a sigh, she lowered it again and kept running her ivory brush through her mane. No, it couldn’t be back; she hadn’t talked to it in ages. It was only a tired mind playing tricks.
Why won’t you say hello? Didn’t you miss me?
Celestia scanned about her chambers, searching for the source of the voice. However, she also couldn’t let the it see how disquieted she was at its presence and so, instead of whipping her head about like some panicked filly, she let only her eyes rove through the room as she focused on untangling a small knot in her mane.
That was the problem with floating hair some days: it tangled something awful.
“No, I didn’t,” she muttered, tearing through the stubborn thing without so much as a flinch. “Go away; you shouldn’t be in here.”
Why not? Do you think I’m unworthy of your time?
“No, I think you have bad manners. You never knock before coming in.” The next knot was much more difficult, and this one indeed drew a slight wince from her as she yanked the brush through it. “I’m too busy for you today, so either tell me who you are or leave me be so that I can make myself presentable.”
Don’t you know the answer to that already? Why haven’t you figured it out by now?
The alicorn ground her teeth. It was always these maddening games. This creature always came to her room, spoke only in endless questions and never revealed who it was. She’d had the palace searched top to bottom, every possible nook and cranny examined in the greatest of detail, but nopony had ever been found.
“If you’re trying to pretend you’re my conscience, you can give that ridiculous notion up right now. Wherever you are, I will find you and this will stop. You can’t trick me, you–”
Why should I ever pretend to be your conscience? Telling someone right from wrong is far too simple, don’t you agree? Isn’t it more fun to ask questions instead of giving answers? What’s the point of a brain if you don’t think with it?
“I’m telling you for the last time–”
A giggle echoed throughout the room, mocking her with every musical note.
Or you’ll do what? Banish me? Imprison me? Or just stand there and take it? You know, like you usually do?
Celestia tried to close her mind, using the long forgotten techniques of so many years ago to seal her thoughts into an impregnable fortress. Mind magic was often tricky to counter, but she’d had over a millennium of experience. There had been centuries of study and practice, and she had worked with some of the most brilliant minds of history: she’d discussed how to build walls with Starswirl the Bearded, while bending her thoughts like a reed so as to throw off a mental grapple had come from the mage’s own mentor, who she’d only been able to find in old books. She’d even learned how to attack intruders, a spike of thought that caused great pain to the invader if they somehow pushed past her walls, from Starswirl’s prodigy pupil.
No-one could break her defenses. The thought was just insanely laughable; even Discord had known better.
She reached for the sensation of wrongness in her mind that would betray the intruder’s thoughts, searching every synapse for that one mistake it had to make in order to play such a game. The intruder would pay dearly for this insult.
Should I laugh now? I should, shouldn’t I? After all, why did you think this would work any better the hundreth time you did it?
Celestia opened her eyes, staring deep into her mirror. All that looked back was her reflection. This was always as it played out. Even as the guards had exposed every crevice of her home, so too had she repeatedly searched for the voice in her own head. She never found it, though she had repeatedly scoured her thoughts for it whenever it showed up.
Don’t you like finding the truth? Isn’t it so much more satisfying?
“If you’re not my conscience, then what are you?” she asked her image.
Hmm, how can I explain? I suppose I’m not your moral compass, what you would call your ‘conscience’, am I?
A loud yawn then echoed through the room. One of Celestia’s eyebrows twitched, but that was as much a rise as she let the voice get from her. She had to keep herself under control.
Wouldn’t that be just so boring? Just giving you advice in oversimplified black-and-white? So maybe it’d be better if I called myself your Hindsight? The thing that always dwells on what you’ve done?
“If you’re my hindsight, then you shouldn’t be bothering me. I’ve done nothing wrong,” Celestia insisted, turning to leave.
Oh, but haven’t you?
Celestia cocked her head, before turning to scowl at herself. “Explain.”
Well, how about your utter failure as a protector?
“Equestria stands tall and proud.” Celestia snorted, looking away from the impudent reflection. “Our citizens have never had more peace than they do right now.”
That’s not because of you, was it? Why must six children defend your kingdom time and again? Why have you made yourself a figurehead that depends on others to do her dirty work?
The princess turned fully back upon her reflection, a flash of anger glinting in her eyes as she stormed over to press her nose against the glass. “How dare you!”
Don’t you mean: how dare I? After all, I’m as powerless as you, wouldn’t you think?
“Take that back right now!”
Why? Hasn’t every decision you ever made been that of failure or of cowardice? Why couldn’t you stop your own sister, and a younger sister at that? There was a moments pause. How much has Luna suffered because of you, by the way?
Celestia stomped a hoof, the room trembling as her magic seethed and boiled. “She didn’t give me a choice!”
Maybe not, but we’ll never know, will we? Why didn’t you see the signs? Before she became a monster, why didn’t you note the obvious? Why could you not see her pain, her loneliness, and try to help her through it? Were you really that selfish, or did you simply not care?
“I cared!” Celestia screamed. “I’ve always cared about Luna! But she needed to deal with problems on her own! That’s how we grow! I can’t interfere with other’s lives because it is not what I am here to do!”
Would it really have been that difficult to just talk with her? Would it have been ‘against your code’ to ask what was wrong and read between the lines? When she told you she was fine, even though you could tell she was upset, why did you not comfort her? And why could you not give her a chance to see what it was like: a single day in the sunshine?
“We each had our place and our duties,” she growled, fighting back her welling tears. She couldn’t give this thing the satisfaction; she wouldn’t. It had dug deep, but this was the line it could not cross.
Does that ring as hollowly to you as it does to, well, you? If it’s such a crime for you to switch positions, why is it you could take her responsibilities on top of your own with no fuss?
She would have slapped the voice if she could, but had to settle with bellowing, “Doing that to her broke my heart!”
But not enough to consider bringing her back?
And how could you possibly justify putting her somewhere alone for a thousand years? No comfort, no friendship, no anything? How could you be so cruel to someone you supposedly love?
“Stop it!”
Why?
Celestia struck like a wounded lion, the mirror shattering beneath the weight of a metal-shod hoof and turning the once proud art into bent gold and chunks of glass. Shining dust exploded out beneath the blow, and the shattered pieces rained onto her floor, tinkling like a weeping river of stars as they fell.
It wasn’t enough. She stomped on the larger pieces, shoving the glass through the thick carpet until she could grind it against the floorboards beneath. Every chunk was reduced to powder, Celestia methodically obliterating any sliver of glass she could find until, panting heavily, she trembled over a small field of devastation.
Did that help?
Celestia sank to the floor, ignoring the sharp discomfort as she curled into a tiny ball upon the carpet, burying her face in her forehooves.
That’s why you let those children fight Discord too, because you essentially lied when you said you couldn’t match your sister and thus couldn’t use the Elements anymore, didn’t you? Was it more because you couldn’t bear the thought of fighting alongside someone you loved and wronged? Would such an act bring up memories which would be much too hard to bear? Like the one where she turned on you?
Oh, but that was unexpected, wasn’t it? You had no idea how far gone she was until she tried to destroy you all those centuries ago, am I right? Of course how could you you know? When did you ever take the time to notice?
Every organ in her body twisted and writhed, threatening to escape by the nearest possible exit. Why did it have to torment her like this?
Why does Hindsight ever torment anybody?
Actually, I don’t think I much like the name Hindsight anymore, you? It really doesn’t suit me anymore, don’t you think? Would Doubt be better? Or how about Guilt? I’m thinking Guilt would be best for now, but what do you think I should be called?
“Just go away,” Celestia whimpered, curling up tighter. “Please. Leave me alone.”
But isn’t that the path to evil, ignoring the results of your actions? Is that who you’d become? If you don’t question your decisions, who will? Nopony with a brain in their head would dare call you out on wrongdoing, you’re simply too old and too powerful to contest, so I suppose I’m the only one, aren’t I? Why is it that tyrants alw–
Celestia tried to stand, but her innards threatened rebellion at the thought. “I’m not a tyrant!” she roared from the floor, cradling her aching stomach in a hoof.
Tsk, tsk, tsk, losing our temper again? My, aren’t we just the impulsive one? We really should keep a lid on our anger, shouldn’t we? It does no good for the long-lived to fall into bad habits after all, does it? Such as deliberately causing conflict? Oh, yes, how about we go there for a little while?
“I-it was a lesson in friendship... ”
Oh, and you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?
Why teach a lesson you yourself were incapable of learning? That seems hypocritical, if not outright counter-productive, wouldn’t you think? Why couldn’t you send six tickets to begin with and save them the trouble?
“It worked out!”
Not because of you, was it? Again, six small children one, and for you a big zero, hmm? And what about the dragon; the Philomena incident, I never saw a little girl quite that upset by the way so very, very good job there; Spike’s growth spurt–
“Please, I’m begging you. No more. Just no more,” she sobbed.
The pain spread through Celestia’s chest, the first time in so many years that she’d ever felt it.
The last had been when she’d banished her sister, and heartbreak couldn’t even describe the feeling. There was no breaking sensation, which would have been lovely and quick. Instead, there was just a long twisting and squeezing that made every muscle in her body hurt to twitch.
Why is it the supposed leaders never understand? Do you think you’ll never have to make an important choice? Or that you’ll then have to live with the consequence of that choice? Are your kind truly that arrogant?
“I tried.”
If this is what it looks like when you try to do ‘good’, I should pray for the sake of the world you never follow Luna’s hoofsteps, shouldn’t I?
The tears finally flowed down her face as Celestia shook her head, muttering, “No more, no more, no more... ”
It’s even worse when you think about what you let your sister do on her first proper introduction to the populace, isn’t it? She’s been gone over a thousand years, and her first impression was certainly less than stellar. And yet you just let her just run around like she actually had a clue about what she was doing? What sort of sibling are you?
“She made new friends for herself!” Celestia cried. “Don’t take this from me!”
Yes, she made friends, but where were you? Ponies would naturally be frightened of her, so why couldn’t you be her shoulder to cry on, her pillar to lean against? Why couldn’t you have been there to advise her?
“She’d never ask!”
Haven’t we already covered this? Even if she didn’t ask, isn’t it your duty, both as a leader and a sibling, to be there for her? Why should she have to ask for your help? Anypony she actually knew or cared about before has been gone for centuries, so why couldn’t you be there for her when she needed you most? Why did she need comfort from a stranger instead of her own flesh and blood?
Why can’t you truly love her like she’s your sister?
A haze of red descended upon Celestia’s vision, the twisting pain replaced by a burn of hate.
Planting a hoof underneath herself, she pushed herself up from the floor and screamed as loudly as she could, “I said enough! You are done toying with me and I’m sick of your lies! Now leave me alone, or I will make you rue the day you crawled from whatever disgusting hole you call home!”
She waited for the voice to make a snide remark. To counter her with another question, or to make some remark on her rage again. To point out how she was supposedly ignoring it and pushing it away, further cementing herself as the tyrant it wanted her to think herself as.
However there was only silence: a blessed, wondrous silence.
Celestia took a few seconds to compose herself while a wave of her horn repaired the mirror, each broken piece fusing to its neighbor until her face shone in the reflective glass once more. It would do no good to hurt somepony’s feelings by leaving it in that state.
Besides, she did really like it. It was a nice present, filled with trust and love from ponies that she would gladly trust and love in return. No, she could go further than that. If necessary, she would give her very life for them.
She was a strong and capable leader, one that others looked up to and admired, and she could prove the voice wrong. Taking her stance against evil until nopony could question her willingness to work was how she’d win, there was no doubt about that, and she would prove that she’d earned the respect and adoration of her subjects.
A firm knock echoed throughout her chambers, breaking her concentration. Celestia was quick to wipe away the tear stains, before announcing calmly, “Please, come in.”
Shining Armor walked through the doors, his head bowed stiffly in deference and eye just a little glazed. “Whenever you’re ready, my lady, we can try a practice run before the ceremony.”
“Cadence is a very lucky girl, you know,” she said with a smile.
Shining Armor shook his head. “No, I’m the lucky one. How I ever caught her, I’ll never guess.”
They shared a short laugh before Celestia dismissed him with a wave of her hoof and turned back to her mirror. When he was gone, she smirked and almost stuck out her tongue at herself.
She’d show it, whatever this thing was that insisted on trying to hurt her. This would be her gift to her loyal subjects, proof that their Princess was capable of protecting them from harm when push came to shove, and that they could be happy even when evil threatened. The voice would not dare speak to her ever again.
Celestia stood up and strode for her door, hurrying as much as dignity would allow. While her station meant she couldn’t just run there, despite her excitement, it also wouldn’t do to keep them waiting.
It was a wedding, after all.
WriterNumber25:
The first comment is going to be pretty subjective.
I feel like you could have a more engaging first paragraph. Or just a more engaging first sentence. This here is a character-centric, introspective piece with a very tight wordcount, so it feels like giving the mirror first paragraph is a bit misguided. Considering that this mirror has a big role in the scene, you should give it ample description, but I'd find a way to start "closer to the action." Again, this is subjective.
WriterNumber25:
Again, subjective. I am getting some serious "bad flow" vibes from your writing style, and this is probably the first sentence which shows this. I see this in instances of pleonasms, wonky sentences and pacing broken with out-of-place bits. I am not sure how I'd fix it, but it certainly feels awkward to me. Try reading your story out loud.
I won't point out such awkward sentences any more, but I will try to find some examples of pleonasms.
WriterNumber25:
I see what you did there. This one's actually a positive comment. By making the voice answer Celestia's inner thoughts, you're playing on the "internal battle" angle of the scene. You have these nice subtleties sprinkled through the story, and I think that they are a good consequence of the way you chose to deliver your story. I recommend putting more emphasis on these little details.
Just be careful to be subtle but clear, and not too obvious.
WriterNumber25:
Hello there, WB, this is Writer the twenty-fifth. Let's get to reviewing your story, shall we?
