It was a Canterlot tradition, and for any other pony it wouldn’t have been that big a deal.
“Twi-light. Spar-kle.” Twilight must have been four at the time; she was a fast learner, but she still had to pronounce every syllable carefully when she read stuff out loud. She looked up after she was done with the first line. “That’s me!”
Twilight Velvet smiled, and patted her daughter’s head. “That’s right, Twilight! You’re such a smart filly.”
Little Twilight wagged her tail—she liked it when she got told she was smart—and then frowned. “Why is my name on this?”
“It’s an old Canterlot tradition, dear.” Velvet patted her head again. “Don’t worry about it.”
But Twilight worried a little bit about it.
Because she might have only been four, but she was already old enough to recognize a tombstone.
It was a Canterlot tradition, and for any other pony it wouldn’t have been that big a deal.
But this was Twilight Sparkle.
“Ah, of course. A tombstone,” the princess said, and there was that particular smile on her face that Twilight would learn to love, but which, at the time, still scared her. “Most fillies are too young to understand what they’re seeing when they buy theirs. But, I suppose, you have always been too sharp for your age.”
Twilight Sparkle, age six and a half, wagged her tail a little. Some things never changed.
“I had forgotten all about it until today,” she admitted, looking down at the book she’d been reading for their lesson. It was an old illustrated edition of a classic, and the picture on page thirty-six—a pony kneeling by a grave, finding an old buried letter that would change his fate—had awakened memories. “Do you know what that was?”
Princess Celestia glowed. To an adult pony, she was tall. To a little filly, she was massive. She blurred the line between love and adoration. “When little fillies become old enough, they buy their tombstone with their mothers,” she explained. “Colts buy it with their fathers.”
“Why?”
“Tombstones were hard to make, long ago,” Celestia explained. She always told her the truth, just like that. She never wondered if Twilight was old enough, because—if she was mature enough to ask, perhaps she deserved an answer. “They were expensive. If somepony died without ever having bought one, sometimes their families would not be able to afford it in time for the funeral. Or perhaps there would be no family there to buy one in the first place.”
Twilight nodded. “And that was bad,” she said.
“Yes. Nopony likes an unmarked grave.” Celestia smiled. “It is not proper. So, ponies started saving up as soon as their children were born, and by the time the kids were four, they could afford the tombstone. Nowadays, they are somewhat cheaper.” She shrugged. “But the tradition lives on.”
“Oh.” Twilight looked back at the picture in the book. The name on the tombstone was written in Old Equestrian, but to Twilight—who couldn’t speak it—it just looked like random scribbles. “That’s kind of sad.”
At six years old, kids don’t really understand death. Unless they’ve lived through it, the concept is simply too abstract. All they understand is that it’s not good. That it’s upsetting.
Celestia was aware of this.
So she simply said: “It is, Twilight. It is kind of sad. In a way.”
And that was that.
Only that wasn’t that.
“It’s… bigger than I expected?”
“Twily.” And behind her, Shining Armor looked around, frowning. “This is macabre.”
“Look at how big this is!” Twilight pointed at her brother’s tombstone, next. “Yours, too!”
“That’s even more macabre.”
It would be still some years until Twilight Sparkle left for Ponyville, and she and her brother were at their family’s attic.
Nopony ever entered the attic. It was full of cobwebs, and old, useless junk.
And tombstones.
“How did you even know these were here?” Shining Armor finally gave in, and followed his little sister. The two tombstones were big; their names were engraved on top, but there was a lot of empty space under it. “Did you ask mom?”
“I didn’t need to,” Twilight said. “I helped her bring mine here right after we bought it.”
“Wait, you remember that?”
“Yeah.” Twilight sat down. By her side, her brother did the same. “Why are they so big?”
Shining Armor made a face.
He didn’t want to be there. This had been Twilight’s idea. Their neighbor’s kid—adorable little colt, Twilight had never spoken a word to him—had turned four the previous day; the sounds of the party next door had been heard around the entire house.
That had made Twilight remember, all of a sudden, and remembering had made her curious. Then she had dragged her brother along, because the attic was, frankly, a little too full of cobwebs.
“I mean, they bought them when we were four,” Shining was saying. “So there’s no way to know what we’ll do later in life, and what kind of things they’ll have to write in here when they, uh. Bury us. The more things you achieve, the bigger this thing has to be.”
“So they left all this free space?”
“I guess mom and dad expect a lot from us, yeah.”
“Right.” Twilight sighed. “It’s so weird we never talk about this, don’t you think? These are our tombstones. We’re only going to use these after we die. I’ll never understand this tradition.”
Shining Armor smirked, all of a sudden, and elbowed his sister. Because he didn’t like to be there, but big brothers have priorities. “What,” he said. “You scared?”
And Twilight elbowed him back, smiling. “Shut up. Don’t you think this is weird?”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “I guess it makes sense.”
“Really? Because I don’t think I would have trouble buying a tombstone a little later.”
“Nah, it’s not about that.” Shining Armor pushed his tombstone, to see if he could nudge it a little. He could not. It was quite heavy. “I think these are for mom and dad.”
And Twilight blinked. “Really?”
Some siblings aren’t teachers; they’re allies. They don’t wait until you’re older, they share all they’ve got, as soon as they get it. Most of the time, they don’t really know what they’re doing.
“I think this is meant to make you realize you’re going to die one day when you buy it,” Shining said. “So you figure that you have to teach your kid how to live well, and that you have to plan for the day you’re gone, and all that stuff.”
Twilight frowned. “That’s why you think we buy tombstones? To teach responsibility?”
“Well, if you’re old enough to have a four year old kid, you need to start thinking in the long term. And we are all going to die one day. I guess you have to really internalize it if you want to make the most out of life or something.”
Twilight said nothing. She just kept looking at her tombstone, and how big it was. How big it felt.
Shining Armor was right. She was going to die one day.
He was still talking. “I guess buying your kid’s tombstone is perfect for that sort of thing, because they’re your kids, and all that? So it’s shocking. It’s a good substitute. Nopony remembers when they bought their own tombstone anyway.”
“But…” Twilight scratched the back of her neck. “But I remember. I don’t always think about it, but I remember it.”
“Well, then I guess you just learned that lesson early.”
The very first night after Twilight became an alicorn, she came to Celestia’s chambers. When she knocked, what she heard was:
“Open the door, Twilight Sparkle. I have been waiting for you.”
And when she did, she found Celestia smiling.
Through all those years, she had never really lost that glow. Now that Twilight was taller—taller than ever—Celestia’s size seemed more normal, but she still towered over everypony else. She still filled the room.
She did not toe the line between love and adoration anymore, though. Twilight knew perfectly well where they both stood.
“Princess Celestia.”
“Twilight.” Celestia’s tone was soft like silk. “I am so proud of you.”
“Thank you. I, er.” Twilight smiled, scratched the back of her neck. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”
“As I said…” Celestia gestured towards the little table she kept in her chambers, by the bed. It had two chairs. “I was waiting for you. May I offer you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” Twilight sat down.
And Celestia did the same. “You wanted to ask me something,” she said. “Something that you have been wondering for the last few hours, have you not?”
Teachers and parents never really stop seeing through you. Twilight had long learned to stop trying to prevent it. “Yeah,” she said, looking down, frowning. “Princess? Am I… immortal, now?”
Celestia didn’t immediately reply. She took her time looking around at the window, the bed, the closet in the corner, before addressing Twilight. “That is a difficult question, Twilight,” she said. “Why do you want to know?”
“I—” Twilight closed her mouth. Frowned. Started again. “I… don’t know if you remember this, Princess, but when I was four years old, my mother and I—”
“You went to buy your tombstone?” Celestia asked.
“Yes.” Twilight nodded. “And I never forgot. I don’t want to say I’ve always been thinking about it, but it’s… definitely been in the back of my mind.”
“Of course.”
“And I always just—I try not to focus too much on it.” Twilight tapped a hoof on the table. “But I’ve always been conscious that I’ll die one day, and that’s why I try to… make the most out of every day. That’s why I always tried to read every book, and why I want to know so much about friendship, and—”
“And why you solved Starswirl’s last spell?” Celestia added with a smile.
Twilight nodded, again. “I have to give it my all,” she said. “And I have to plan ahead. Because one day it’ll be over. And that’s sad, but it’s also—I have to just accept it and move forward and not waste a single second. Because dying is inevitable, right?” And here, Twilight hugged herself, and looked down. “Or so I thought.”
There was a moment of silence.
And then Princess Celestia got up from the table.
Twilight flinched, and started to get up too, but then Celestia looked at her and rose a hoof, smiling. “Wait in there,” she said. “I am not going anywhere. I simply need to grab something.”
“Oh.”
Celestia then crossed the entire room, and opened the closet by the corner. She started rummaging through it. “I do not know if you are immortal, Twilight Sparkle,” she said. “There is only one way to find out, and by the time we do, it will be too late. That said, I do not think you should worry.”
Twilight saw Celestia grab a very wide scroll from the closet, and come back to the table, before she opened her mouth again. “I shouldn’t?” she asked.
“No.” Celestia smiled. “I understand the tombstone tradition might be macabre, but I also believe it teaches us something… very valuable.” She seemed to taste the words in her mouth before speaking them, swish them around like one would do with wine. “Live every day to the fullest, because one day, it will all be over. It is not a bad sentiment. It has brought you far.”
Twilight blushed. Under her seat, her tail wagged slightly. Some things never change. “Thank you.” Then the blush went away. “But, still…”
Celestia nodded, as if Twilight had said something perfectly understandable. “Parents always buy big tombstones,” she explained, “so that they can fit all the achievements of their children.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen mine.”
And Celestia smiled. “For your parents, that gesture means hope. It means a promise. For the children, sometimes, it means a challenge. The bigger the tombstone, the more things you need to do in your life. The less time you can waste away doing nothing.”
Celestia opened the scroll.
It was a map of Equestria, but it was a strange one. Most major cities weren’t there, or if they were, they were smaller than they should. The mountains and forests weren’t quite in the same place. Some rivers were thinner, while others were much wider.
Twilight looked at it, and saw the brown hue of the ink, and frowned. “Princess,” she said. “This is… very old.”
“It is.” Celestia caressed the map. “Millennia have passed. The land has shifted. But this is how it was, at first. How it was created.”
“…Created?”
“Look at it.”
Twilight did.
At first, she saw nothing. But soon enough, Twilight started noticing a pattern—the mountains, the rivers, the forests. They weren’t placed at random.
They looked like scribbles if you didn’t know the language, but Twilight wasn’t six and a half years old anymore, and she could speak Old Equestrian just fine.
The very world spelled one massive, ancient word.
CAELESTIA
Twilight felt a sharp breath leave her lungs.
Celestia saw this, and looked out the window once again. “I do not know,” she said, “if I am immortal, either. There is only one way to find out, and by the time we do, it might be too late.” She closed her eyes. “I have never let that stop me.”
“You have a tombstone, too,” Twilight whispered, looking up from the map, at the princess. “And we’re all walking on it.”
Celestia smiled. “Your parents were more reasonable than mine when they got you yours. Their challenge was not as difficult. But the principle is still the same.”
“So you also live your life to the fullest.”
“Once we are gone, Twilight Sparkle, all that will be left of us is the things we did while alive. Challenges are important. They give us a reason to keep going.” Celestia finally looked back at Twilight. “That’s what my parents taught me.”
“Right.” Twilight looked at her hooves, flapped her wings slightly. “So, this… Me becoming a princess… It’s not the end, then? It’s just the beginning? I still shouldn’t waste any time?”
Celestia shook her head. “You have achieved incredible things in your lifetime, Twilight, and your tombstone is much smaller. But there will always be more space somewhere else to write down the things you did in life. Do you think it is worth the risk, not to be the best you can be, then?”
Twilight didn’t need to think about this.
She’d known the answer since she’d been four years old.
“Princess?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I think I’m going to need a bigger tombstone.”
And the smile on Celestia’s face could have lit the whole night sky, and under the chair, so subtly that Twilight almost didn’t notice it, she wagged her tail. “Better start saving up, then,” she said. “I believe they are quite expensive.”
