I never knew emptiness could be so palpable. Celestia and Luna brought me here to contemplate the mysteries of the universe with them. When they asked me, I wasn’t sure what good my presence would do, but consented because, well... there aren’t any more mysteries to solve back on Equus. The only things that live there now are a treasure trove of memories too painful to touch.
And so I came with them, and so here I am. The mystery I’m spending most of my time contemplating is how emptiness can feel so thick and so real. It doesn’t make sense. My brain refuses to decipher the seeming paradox. Emptiness is defined by absence, and yet nopony can tell me that the emptiness surrounding us does not feel present. Indeed, it makes its presence known to us constantly.
I am between Luna and Celestia. Verbs like “sit” or “stand” don’t have much meaning in space; words like “exist” are usually the closest proxy you have. “Hover” is almost right, but still feels much too imprecise. Hence, I can only “be.”
I am between Luna and Celestia. Our eyes sweep left and right, taking in the pinpoints of light in the inky blackness that surrounds us. There are stars, each with their own subtle color variations. There are nebulae, their hazy glow distant and enigmatic. There are other galaxies out there, and we’ve got all of eternity to reach them.
Most of all, there is that tangible emptiness. I feel it on all sides.
I feel a psychic vibration and realize Luna is reaching out to me. We talk with telepathy now; sound doesn’t travel in space.
Yes? I respond to her.
Do you see that nebula there? The one with a bluish haze about it?
I follow her gaze, and I see it. At most, it is a few hundred million miles distant. The glow of nascent stars burns from within it.
It’s beautiful, I affirm to Luna.
It is a work of art. Try as I might, I could never weave the tapestry of stars in my control even half as well as those left up to random chance.
You’re too hard on yourself. I always thought your sky was amazing. Every bit as beautiful as that nebula.
I feel Luna look at me, though all I can see is her starlit silhouette. A lovely thought, comes her voice inside my head again, but untrue.
Might I inquire what you two are talking about?
The last thought is in Celestia’s voice. I send her the gist of Luna’s and my conversation.
Luna thinks you are giving empty compliments, says Celestia.
That is one way to put it. Luna shoots a pointed look at her sister.
But I’m not. I broadcast the thought hurriedly.
No, I don’t believe you are, Twilight. Luna can just be reluctant to accept praise sometimes, especially if she does not feel she’s earned it.
Well, I have not earned it, Luna retorts. Empty praise does nopony any favors.
I only urge you not to discount the power of emptiness, Celestia says.
I cast a sidelong glance at her outline. She can’t know what I was just thinking about. Of course, the spell we use for our telepathic communications can technically be used for mind-reading, but we have a long-standing agreement not to use it in that way. Celestia wouldn’t spy on me, I know that. But still, this is a weird coincidence.
I do not, is Luna’s answer.
I can’t help interjecting. What do you mean by “the power of emptiness,” Celestia?
She gropes in the dark for a second, finds me, and wraps a leg around me, pulling me close to her. She’s laughing. I can’t hear it, but I can feel it vibrating through her chest.
Did I say something funny?
No, Twilight, I just remembered that ponies never really stop learning. Hearing you question me so curiously like that... For a second there, it was like you were in magic kindergarten all over again.
I imagine how that question must have sounded from her perspective, and I hear what she must have heard. I can’t suppress a few giggles of my own.
Does anypony ever really outgrow the foal they used to be? I say.
I doubt it, Luna chimes in.
As do I, says Celestia.
But what about the power of emptiness? I persist.
As ever, Twilight is not to be deterred, says Luna.
How well I know it, says Celestia. Very well. When I say “the power of emptiness,” I mean the effect it can have on ponies, especially ones who are so used to having their world crammed full.
Like us, I say. It’s not a question.
Like us, Celestia agrees. We all recall how difficult the end was for us to accept.
Only too well.
And it was—and is—because of the emptiness, Celestia continues. Because everything we’ve known is gone.
Our subjects, says Luna.
Our friends, I add.
Even our enemies. Celestia squeezes me tight again. And yet we remain.
Sometimes I wonder why, I say.
A period of silence follows this declaration, but I don’t regret it. For one thing, it’s true. The magic immortality of alicorns has never been explained. I studied it all my life, and never even came close to an answer. It’s one thing for Equestria to want long-lived, stable leadership, but what good is the magic doing now? Equestria is dead. Equus itself is dead. We’re light-years away, with only our thoughts and each other.
And much as I love Celestia and Luna, they aren’t my friends. Not in the same way as my Ponyville friends. As many friends as I’ve made throughout my long life, I still feel the presence of those five with me. Truly, it’s a comfort, but it can also be a curse. Their memories are hot and cold, soothing and biting. They were a large presence, and they left a large void.
At last, Celestia breaks the silence. I do, too. I confess it doesn’t make sense.
It seems we linger for no discernible purpose, Luna says. Except perhaps to be each other’s comfort.
And one wonders, says Celestia, if that’s enough.
We lapse again into silence, and I ponder. Is it enough? I have to admit, it doesn’t feel like it, though my erstwhile title of Princess of Friendship would scream at me to contradict this. Sometimes it is enough just to be there for your friends. I’m sure that lesson was learned somewhere along the line, recorded in a letter or a journal.
Yes, sometimes it is enough just to be there for your friends. But I think the operative word has to be “sometimes.” A friend’s mere closeness can make the worst situation, if not better, then at least a little more bearable. To be that soothing friend is a noble purpose, at least for a while.
But what if your whole life is reduced to being a soothing presence for others? What then? Is that truly living?
For some ponies, it may be. Pinkie Pie would have said so, I know. Perhaps Applejack as well, used as she was to spending all her time providing for her family. This sort of life may be satisfactory for ponies who are other-centered, and that’s perfectly okay.
But what of somepony like me? I grew to love my friends, and I grew to love my role as Princess of Friendship. But before all that, I was largely alone. So many ponies seem to forget that about me. I sometimes even forget it about myself. Yet it’s true. Before I was a princess, before I embodied an Element of Harmony, before I moved to Ponyville, I was a loner. It’s as simple as that. My friends were mostly long-dead poets, mathematicians, magical theorists. I had carved out a solitary life for myself, and I liked it.
And did I ever really leave it behind? I don’t know that I did. Spike knew. He knew there were days—sometimes entire weeks—when I blew off my friends to read. This never happened in Ponyville as frequently as it did in Canterlot, but it still happened.
What did they used to say about me? “I think she’s more interested in books than friends.” Those words have come back to me so many times, as I lay in my castle, rustling my wings to find a more comfortable position for reading, all alone. They played in my mind over and over, and I worried. Maybe I wasn’t more interested in books than friends anymore, but I was still as interested. Times like that, I raked myself over the coals for being so selfish.
Yet even if I am selfish, I can’t change what I am, can I? It’s all a desperate attempt to live up to something I can never be. I can never be as selfless as other ponies are. I spent too long in my own head, too long keeping myself company. To totally give that up is impossible for me.
And we float among the stars. Watching their serene twinkling, I reach out my thoughts to Luna and Celestia again.
I’m not sure it is enough.
It is not enough. But it’s the best we have left to us.
