The great Celestia, most beloved of ponykind, crouches, head bowed.
Kneels! She kneels to me! For a moment, disbelief overrules my senses —
(Of course she kneels, in her desperation. Ponies have neglected my night for a millennium, and I am done humoring her pleas. It is year 999 of the Celestial Era, and she has summoned me to her gardens, in the moonshadow of the statue of Discord. I am swathed in black and iron.)
“Sister.” Her golden voice breaks, and with it, my vertigo. “Please. There must be another way.”
I stare at her through purple haze and cold eyes. My mind insists I am gripped by vengeance. My heart is less certain.
“Another way?” Even as the mocking words leave my mouth, they feel rehearsed. (They were. She is predictable and I am prepared.) “Still thou dost not understand, sister.”
Celestia’s face angles up as I speak. Her eyes flick around the gardens, then lock in to mine. She opens her mouth, stops, tries again, lets her jaw hang. Blinks as if disoriented.
Something is wrong. Is she stalling? I ought to fling my Elements in her face and depart before she springs a trap. But I hesitate: some inner voice whispers — (A millennium of unbearable isolation. Barren rock, festering rage.) — that that way lies madness.
Celestia closes her eyes sorrowfully and stands. “My beloved sister … you are right.”
What?
That is not how this meeting goes. My sister is too proud. For generations she has begged for tolerance, pleaded for reason, but refused to concede a single scrap of respect to my frustrations. “Luna, your night is so cool and peaceful! When would you have them sleep?” “Luna, there isn’t enough light for them to work by the stars.” “Luna, you’re being foalish again. Of course they love you.” Dismissal upon dismissal, each a tiny wound upon my heart.
But tonight: “I’ve tried my best — yet here we stand. Clearly I don’t understand. I’ve failed you, Lulu. I’m sorry.”
To finally hear those words wrenches at me. “Sister,” I respond with poor grace, “I am certain thou art — but that will not move the moon.”
“Alright,” she says quietly. “Then tell me … why?”
“Thou knowest!” I snap. “They relish thy day. They shun my beautiful night.”
She looks deep into me, her eyes welling with tears. “Not that. You know that I can’t wave a wing and change ponykind — and yet you're here with me. Why?”
Celestia is vulnerable, earnest — small despite her towering size. In that fragility, her gaze holds mine as surely as any cockatrice’s. This is a sister I have not seen in … (a thousand years.) … a long time.
Part of me screeches incoherently, impatient to unleash devastation. Another part of me whispers that I should not have come here at all. (“No — your highness — don’t —”) “Tia,” the remainder says, teeth clenched.
Why, indeed. I wanted my rebellion to mean something. I wanted to laugh in triumph as comprehension dawned upon her muzzle. But now that the moment has arrived … the dark part of me is oddly silent. This is too, too bitter.
She sees my hesitation. Her breath catches.
“Tia,” I snarl again, closing my eyes and steeling myself. “Make this no harder than it must be. Submit.”
“Lulu —” she pauses, infinitesimally, but her voice is strong — “Wait. Listen. Trade with me, and take the day.”
My eyes snap open. She is serious.
* * *
A generation passes.
They call me Aurora. I am loved. It is all I ever desired.
* * *
I sit upon the balcony, as I do each nightfall, drinking in the sweep of the stars as Celestia glides down from her raising. She lands, staggers over, and sags against me. I rest a forehoof on her withers and hold her in a hug. She buries her muzzle in the rainbow of my mane, nuzzles my neck, and gasps for breath.
(It is springtime, year 50 of the Auroran Era; 1049 CE under the old Celestial calendar. The remodel of Everfree Castle is almost complete. Equestria's borders have expanded so far that my sister and I were called to subdue the Three-Headed Beast of Canter Peak with the Elements of Harmony. Equestria prospers. I am loved. It is all I ever desired.)
Celestia’s struggle to adjust is often visible upon her muzzle. Her night comes, as mine once did, with endless responsibility. My day comes with endless energy. I understand now why running Equestria once came so naturally to her: she required outlets for her excess radiance.
In the years since our averted war, I have assumed that oversight. In addition, I have written an encyclopædia, 17 novels, and 24 doctoral theses. I have mastered all major strategy games save lapides; even there, only a dozen mortal ponies can still force me to take a handicap. I have begun tutoring the magical students Celestia no longer has time to teach, and in the process have singlehornedly founded a new branch of thaumaturgy.
Despite her perpetual exhaustion, my sister seems unexpectedly content. Lacking the vitality to maintain a thousand years of accumulated obligation, she has begun to shed it; and as I have thrown myself into the necessities of leadership, she has been able to focus upon the old friends who bring her the greatest joy.
But tonight, as strength returns to her legs, that contentment is elusive. I look straight into the eyes of my older sister, at the stardrift mane that perches incongruously above her dappled dirty-white coat, and smile encouragingly. “My dear Tia. Thy sky is lovely.”
She shakes her head, turns from my gaze. “I … I’m an amateur. Five decades, and I’m still spilling the Milky Way across half the sky. And I realized tonight that I’ve been maintaining the Hyades so irregularly they’ve split into a double cluster.”
“Oh, Tia.” Without looking, I wingpoint just west of northwest, 32 degrees from the horizon. “Chi Perseus and ha Perseus? That was far from my only double cluster. It is simply the only one that survives. I long ago encouraged the rest to scatter.”
“On top of that,” she continues, raising her voice, “I let Markab and Homam drift too far apart for most of last month. I don’t look forward to telling the astronomers about August’s new meteor shower. Let’s not even discuss that sordid collision of Fagen and Ankaa —”
“Tia.” I cut her off firmly. I still do not understand her disproportionate horror at her first stellar impact — it took me six centuries to be rid of mine; and I had warned her to expect them in large quantities that never materialized — but for the conversation to turn to her solitary failure would be unproductive. “Thou art making it thy sky. Its beauty will follow only and ever from its imperfections. Dost thou remember … once upon a time, thou wert driven to madness by why I made Pegasus the largest equine constellation?”
She considers, for long moments. Recognition sparks in her eyes as I am about to explain. ”… You placed the horn on the wrong end, didn’t you.”
I giggle. “I moved it above the flank and declared it intentional.”
Her laughter explodes forth, and I am swept up. Our amusement spirals, soars. It is a punchline I have yearned to share for a thousand years with somepony who understands, and soon it is less laughter than catharsis, clinging to each other as our spasms and gasps shake a great weight from our hearts. Our guards peer through the balcony door, in prudent yet unnecessary concern. Finally — flat upon the stone, under her beautiful, glorious, clumsy sky — we recover our breath.
“Lulu,” she asks, out of nowhere, “are you happy?”
“Of course.” I stare into her eyes, willing the universe to sing along with my voice, no mere words able to capture the majesty of my response. If Equestria’s salvation had rested at that moment upon my ability to rein in my smile, I would have doomed us all. “And thou?”
There is a second in which her expression freezes, a deer in the spotlight — (his muzzle — perfectly groomed moustache and too-white teeth — is agape in shock and bewilderment as we lock eyes) — and then Celestia relaxes into an easy and genuine smile. “Yes, Lulu. I am.” Her joy is so palpable, so absolute, that my strange figment of thought falls away.
Nothing more is said — nothing more need be said — for several minutes. We lie in sororal embrace, sage-blue and roan-grey. Half our world is smothered in a blanket of darkness, half trimmed in the glimmering gemstones of night, and her moon, her moon, wraps our bodies in the pale gauze of its light.
Finally, the smoldering question burns its way to my lips. “Tia,” I ask softly, “what made thee give up thy sun?”
Silence stretches into awkwardness, then discomfort. I am about to retract the question when her words stumble forth: “The bigger question is why it took me so long.” Her voice is distant. “It hurt me to see your pain, Lulu. I was scared of it — of what would happen to Equestria if one of us ever gave in to it, even once. So I sought refuge from those fears in duty. I thought you would have to see reason if I could lead by example. But that night in the garden …”
(It was 999 CE. Ponies had neglected my night for a millennium, and I was done humoring her pleas …)
“I knew I had failed, but I didn’t know what else to do. I saw you holding Equestria hostage, Lulu. I saw only a choice between love and duty.” She sighs. “And I had to choose duty! Otherwise eternal night would have ended ponykind, in ice or in starvation. But something stopped me. A … little voice, a deep inner regret, a whisper of what we faced …”
(A millennium of unbearable isolation.)
“A millennium of unbearable isolation,” we chorus — then stop, startled.
(barren rock, festering rage, stellar conjunction, darkness resurgent —)
The phantom thoughts surge unbidden. I flinch. They are vivid, all too plausible. I try to distract myself, eyes darting around the sky, locking in on the moon. (barren rock, festering rage — barren rock, festering rage —)
Something inside me starts screaming. I jolt to my hooves, blindly bodyslam the balcony door open, and dash into the tower.
(Stellar conjunction, darkness resurgent — spectral flensing, rebirth — sunshine, springtime, bright balloons, squealing foals — the shocked, moustached muzzle — “No, your highness, don’t —”)
A voice drags me back to awareness. “Oh, stars. Lulu!” she shouts. “Luna! … Aurora! … Sister!”
I blink — (“each eye-blink is a day; each minute is a year.”) — and focus on Celestia’s frightened eyes. I am balled up behind her bed, body shaking, cheeks wet. Three guards are hovering nervously; one is wingsprinting down to the castle.
At my reaction, Celestia lunges in desperately, neck arcing against mine, sobbing. “Oh, stars. Sister.”
“T-tia,” I whimper. “What is going on?”
“Little sister. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. I love you.”
* * *
After an exhaustive battery of negative tests, the Royal Physician diagnoses it as a stress reaction exacerbated by overwork, and strictly forbids me from continuing to plan the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration. Though it is to be my 50th, I pass oversight to a hastily assembled committee.
I do not attend Celestia’s raisings for a month, and avoid being outdoors at night. The visions fade. By unspoken agreement, we do not speak of that night in the garden again.
* * *
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she says, trotting in behind the hornshimmer of the opening door. “It’s great to …”
My pupil and I look up from our studies. Celestia’s words and motion both lurch to a halt.
(It is springtime, 144 AE. Our Elements of Harmony embrace ever more of the world. We have cleaned out the monster nests from the old Dragon Kingdoms, unsealing the Tartar Caverns underneath the Palace Draconic to create habitations for the beasts who friendship will not reform. Those who see reason are given liberty and surface land, and soon Mythologia is a flourishing trade partner. Equestria prospers. I am loved. It is all I ever desired.)
The filly’s face lights up. “Auntie Tia! Art thou here to teach me magic, as well?” The Everfree Court has, over several generations, fallen back into the High Speech that Celestia once discouraged; the common dialect that she prefers is beginning to sound anachronistic.
“I, ah, not tonight, Star Sparkle,” Tia says, gifting me a subtle glare as the filly’s muzzle falls. “I was told your granddam was here?”
Guilt drags my stomach into my bowels. Star Sparkle the Younger, despite her age, is the most promising mage of our generation. Star Sparkle the Elder is a dear friend of Celestia's. Of a sudden, my tutelage — especially during these evening hours — feels like theft.
“Oh, sister,” I say, voice radiant with love and empathy. “It is but Star Sparkle’s lessons, tonight. The message of her arrival must have miscarried. But if it pleaseth thee —” I leap to my hooves as the final sentence deflects from her retreating flanks and ruffled wings. “Sister! Oh, feathers.”
Celestia is hurtling out into the night at such velocity that I am obliged to teleport into her path. “Tia! Wait!” She curves left; I flap to block. “Tia!” In a flurry of wings, she airbrakes to avoid a collision.
Cornered, she lashes out. “So when you missed two of my raisings last week, were those ‘but Star Sparkle’s lessons’?”
“No, Tia! I was —”
“My best friend’s grandfoal! How long have you been teaching her, Aurora?”
I stare, shocked. Her mud-grey muzzle is not yet so dark that I cannot see the flush spread across it. We hover, speechless, for a heartbeat.
“Rorie! I — I didn’t mean …”
“I know thou didst not,” I say gently, bringing a cerulean forehoof up to her shoulder. “Thou art upset. I love thee, Tia.”
“My best mortal friend. She — I have so few —” She begins to cry. “Oh, Ror— oh, Lulu. You’ll always be my Lulu …”
“Sshhhh.” I hold her, heart sinking. I know where her isolation will inevitably lead. When her tears are spent, I close my eyes, and say faintly: “Dost thou wish thy sun back?”
“What?” she starts, and I know I have struck home. “No.”
“The truth, Tia,” I say as gently as the warmth of a spring day.
I hear her swallow. “The truth? I … yes, I miss it, sister, but that does not mean I want it! I — oh, feathers. Lulu … are you happy?”
“What?” I ask, suspicious of the subject change, but look at her as I answer decisively: “Yes.”
“Then I am, too. I’m doing this for you. I only ever was.” She sighs. “It has been a hard season, sister. That’s all. You survived a millennium of this — you know its highs and lows.”
I do. I know all of the red flags, as well. “Thou speakest of ‘surviving’ it, Tia. If it tortures thee as it did me — then ’tis only fair we share it.”
Fear, then determination, flare up in her eyes. “I will be fine. I promise.”
I stifle my unease and take her at her word.
* * *
The beast writhes, wrapped in rainbows, loosing an earth-shaking roar. Then it falls — a mountain of scales and spines crashing across our entire horizon — and the earth does shake. I flap against the sudden rush of air. Tia staggers, fights for footing. The dragon thrashes, lies still.
I land. The black, star-speckled alicorn at my side lets out a long sigh. I wrap a comforting white wing around her.
(It is springtime, 208 AE. With their old wilds reclaimed, the dragon migrations have turned to depredations. We have finally subdued the last and largest of their raiding parties. Even the gryphons now make overtures for peace. Equestria is the shining glory of the world, and an era of golden empire lies open before us. I am loved. It is all I ever desired.)
It is our moment of victory, but there is no triumph in her voice, only an exhaustion as deep as her midday shadow. “Let’s go home,” she says. “I’m so tired.”
I open my mouth to respond, and am interrupted by a crackle of magical energy. I step back, surprised. Tia’s eyes widen. Space unfolds. A scroll — made of a parchment foreign to Everfree — appears in a gout of green dragon’s-fire, and bounces to a rest at our feet.
Her eyes betray guilt. “Celestia,” I say, evenly, “what is that?” Her jaw works soundlessly. I snatch the scroll in horn and read:
Dear Princess Celestia,
Oh! That IS a good question. I don’t know … but I’m sending Rainbow Dash for my reference books now. It may take a little while. Don’t worry — we’ve still got an hour before your sun needs to set and Luna’s moon needs to rise. That’s a tight deadline to break such a complex, ambitious, and sloppy enchantment, but you’re the most amazing mage in all of Equestria. If anyone can do it, you can.
Also, both of your vital signs look good, but I can’t take anything for granted since neither the monitor nor the machine itself were designed for the indefinite lifespan of alicorns.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
Now it is my turn for speechlessness. “Explain,” I order.
”… Oh, Rorie,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I didn’t want …” At my glare, she swallows, starts anew. “She says she’s the Element of Magic, far in the future, and the two of us —”
“I am not,” I interrupt, raising my voice, “interested in the beliefs of the mentally ill.”
“But she knows things. The visions —”
“I am not inquiring of this Twilight!” I shout. “I am inquiring of thee! Is thy life truly so miserable that thou must turn to the fancies of madmares for solace?”
”She knows things we’ve seen that I haven’t told anyone!”
“Then perhaps she is the source of them!” When Celestia hesitates, I press on, more quietly. “Thou promised thou wert bearing thy duties without suffering.”
“I am,” she says quietly. “I just didn’t want to upset you until I could be certain.”
“Certain of what? A foal’s time-travel tale?!”
Celestia draws herself to her full height, staring upward into my eyes defiantly. “Yes, Aurora. Because I’m convinced it’s the truth, and if you’ll just listen to reason for ten seconds …”
I narrow my eyes, humoring her. One … two …
She takes a deep breath. “According to Twilight, that night in the garden, we … failed to reconcile. We fought. I banished you to the moon.”
(barren rock, festering rage —) … three … four …
“A thousand years later, you returned to bring eternal night once more, but she and her friends stopped you with the Elements of Harmony. The two of us finally reunited, with a millennium between us. So I suggested we disguise ourselves to attend a carnival — and be sisters, normal sisters, for a day.”
(sunshine, springtime, bright balloons, squealing foals —) … five … six … seven …
“There was a large magical machine on the midway — its unicorn inventors called it the ‘Grand Nostalgic Chronophagic Regret Eradicator 2000.’ Step inside it, and for a few minutes —”
… eight … nine —* No. This is entirely too convenient, and I see where this is going.
“NO.”
Celestia keeps trying to speak. The Royal Canterlot Voice drowns it out. My body hovers. The rocky ground starts to heatshimmer. The fallen dragon whimpers, eyes wide at my rage, and tries to drag himself away.
“NO, NIGHT-MARE. DO NOT FURTHER INSULT TWO CENTURIES OF DEAREST FRIENDSHIP. MY LOVE FOR THEE IS NO ILLUSION TO SALVE MY REGRETS.”
Celestia flinches as if struck. Her eyes tear up — though from my words, or the hot, scouring wind, I cannot tell. She mouths a word that might be “But —”
“THIS CONVERSATION IS OVER. FOR THE SAKE OF OUR BELOVED EQUESTRIA, THOU WILT CONVERSE NO MORE WITH TWILIGHT SPARKLE.”
* * *
Forty-five years later, the moon fails to yield for the dawn.
I find Celestia in the garden. She is swathed in black and iron.
“My beloved sister,” I say with infinite kindness. “Not only I, but the world who also loves thee, begs thee: Stand down.”
(“No, your highness, don’t —”)
She shakes her head. I kneel and bow. “Then take back thy rightful day. It better suits thee than this ... this lunacy.”
“And still you don’t understand,” she says, her silver voice breaking.
My blood instantly runs cold. ”… Twilight.”
Tia is silent. I stand, heart ripping asunder. “Oh, sister. I understand — but I reject. See reason! Thou fell prey to a dark force manipulating thy pain! Thy fancies about my regrets improve not with repetition, nor gain in truth by holding thy world hostage.”
“No. You don’t understand why I’m here.”
“I understand vengeance. Bitterness. 250 years of unrewarded exhaustion, punctuated by a sundering which I do deeply regret. Sister … there is another way. We have shown it once already.”
“I’m here,” she continues, as if I had said nothing, “to save us both. I figured it out. To break the enchantment, the regret once erased must be restored.”
I can but laugh helplessly. “Art thou listening to thyself, sister? Discord, then. It can only be.”
“It’s not. I’ll tell you how I know.”
I have failed her. Somehow … I have failed. I tell myself that at least Equestria might yet be saved.
I raise wings of light; the garden shines as day. Celestia crouches, and the cold and ironic power of Nightmare Moon gathers and swirls around her.
Then she whispers from within her dark haze: “My beloved sister … you were right.”
What?
“The regret wasn’t yours. Once you realized the machine was malfunctioning … you came in to save me.”
I hesitate. She lunges.
Darkness falls.
Bonus Material: The Twilight Letters
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This is NOT the next part of No Regrets — it's a retelling of the original tale from as different an angle as possible. It's here as a frame around the picture that No Regrets paints.
No Regrets (what you read in Chapter 1) is complete and self-contained. You do NOT need to read this to enjoy, or understand, the story.
If you somehow haven't read No Regrets yet: stop now and read it. Otherwise, this WILL spoil No Regrets in a deeply unsatisfying way.
– H
(126 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
I came as soon as I heard. Please accept my apologies that I'm not writing you with some words of wisdom or reassurance, but this letter is first and foremost an attempt to re-establish communication. I've been here only a few minutes, but it's already clear that going in after you is a bad idea.
Please let me know that yourself and Princess Luna are okay.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(131 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
I ... don't understand. It's alright — we'll get through this — but I thought that would work. Spike's dragonfire is linked to your spirit rather than your physical presence, and yet my last scroll is apparently sitting on the floor by your feet.
Okay. I'm casting a Draymij's Dictation on him to modify his scroll transmission slightly. If that doesn't work, I'll ensorcel the scrolls themselves with a modified Maredankien's Mental Messaging.
Are you alright? Please respond as quickly as possible. We've only got two hours.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(138 AE)
(incomprehensible runes)
(146 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
~~It is of utmost importance that you respond to this letter, if you can.~~ My friends are on their way with the Elements of Harmony, but I'm afraid of resorting to them unless there is literally no other way. As you know, large surges — oh, stars, why am I even telling her this? She's the one who taught me!
~~Spike! Cross out that bit.~~
Ehrm. As you know — don't "cross out what?" me, Spike! Cross out what I just told you and then keep writing down everything I say! I'll —
— Aaah!! Get that foal away from there! … … Well, why DON'T we have guards on the power cord? If the machine gets turned off —
Yes, Spike! Write EXACTLY what I say, okay? Except cross out the first thing I said! The two most important ponies in Equestria are counting on me and time is ticking and NOTHING! CAN! GO! WRONG —
AAAH THE LIGHT JUST BLINKED RED WHAT DOES THAT LIGHT MEAN
— YES, SPIKE, EVERYTHING I SAY!
(breathe, breathe) Okay. The light is green again. We can do this. I can do this.
YOU! GUARD THAT CORD WITH YOUR LIFE!
Right. The letter.
Anyway, as you know, injecting large surges of power into a delicate enchantment can have dangerous effects. I would never forgive myself, ever, EVER, if I hurt —
— no, you CANNOT leave to go to the bathroom! This is YOUR machine, mister, and if anything happens —
— YES, I'm upset! NO, I'm not overreacting! Do you have ANY IDEA what will happen if we don't get them —
— SPIKE! Why isn't that letter sent yet?
(167 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
First of all, I'm sorry for my last scroll. Really, REALLY sorry. I'm mortified at my lack of professionalism. I can only offer this: I'm keenly aware that every time I send a letter, entire years have passed for you. So I'm dictating as fast as Spike can write, and, er ... misunderstandings happen.
Please don't banish me. At least, not until we've gotten you out.
Secondly, I'm even more sorry for this letter's delay. Apparently I was overlooking an important detail of the enchantment's time dilation. Your response arrived so quickly that Spike tried to belch it while he was still breathing fire on the outbound scroll. Fortunately, one of the Royal Guards knew the Saltlick Maneuver and was able to get the burning scroll unstuck from his throat before he choked.
In short, please, PLEASE, wait one month after a scroll arrives before you write back to me.
I'm having Spike send this while we write answers to your questions. I beg your patience. Another letter will follow.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
P.S.: No, I promise, this isn't a prank.
(171 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
Since you don't recognize me, the first thing we need to establish is what you've forgotten. They warned me that might be a problem — the enchantment has to obscure your true past in order to make you believe the world you're seeing — but we're all treading new ground here.
I don't have time for a full introduction — and I'm afraid I might not be able to establish my credibility, after that mess of a first letter — but I'm Twilight Sparkle. Your personal student, the Equestrian Friendship Scholar, and the current bearer of the Element of Magic. You're ...
... this does sound mad.
You and Princess Luna are in a machine that is enchanting you to relive altered memories. I don't know what you're seeing in there — but out here it's the year 2001, it's about an hour and a half until the scheduled sunset and moonrise, and if we don't get you two out to do it there's going to be a national crisis.
The inventors said there might be permanent effects if the spell on you is stopped midway through, so I have to figure out how to safely end it. However, I've only got 90 minutes, and in your world you've got 90 years of research time. I need your help, Celestia. Please.
Please believe me.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(177 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
Yes, I agree, I'll stick to answering your questions in order to economize our time. So:
The inscription on the inside of the tiara reads "OMNIBUS AMICITIA EST". I honestly don't know about the birthmark, but your favorite drink is Darjeeling, and based on your room decorations I'm going to guess red. We've never talked about passwords, so I really hope that's a trick question.
I call her Luna because, um ... that's her name. I haven't sent her scrolls because I can't. My assistant Spike is a baby dragon, and when you started teaching me you cast a Clover's Coronal Commingling ritual to link him to you for communications at a distance.
Is Luna okay, by the way? The more help we can get, the better.
As for why you two went into the machine ... I'll tell you what we know. The machine shows you a world without your greatest regret. Flim — or maybe Flam, I can never keep them straight — says that they don't ask what regret the customer wants erased; the spell takes care of that. All he could tell me was that you walked up, alone, and your disguise fooled him. Since you looked young, he told you it should take 10 minutes, 15 tops. Luna traced you down to the funway after you'd been inside for a little over an hour.
Once they realized who was really in their machine, the inventors started to panic, and Luna got very agitated at them. They apparently weren't saying what she wanted to hear, because she yelled that doing nothing was unacceptable, cast a defensive ward, and leaped into the machine to wake you up.
Remember what I said about large surges of power? Her ward caused some sort of reaction, which reset the spell and pulled you both into it. That was ... about three hours ago.
My brother happened to be one of the royal guards who accompanied you here — that's Corporal Shining Armor of the Second Solar Squad — and he sent for me. I wish I could live up to his faith in me, but at least I've managed to establish communications so that a true master can tackle the problem.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(184 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
Thank you. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU. You're a far better and wiser teacher than I ever could deserve.
That was very interesting reading. I think you're right about the inflection point. What actually happened then was ...
Oh, stars. You're not going to like this.
There was a war.
Luna ... was taken over by that spirit of jealousy, and you had to banish her to the moon for a thousand years. For a millennium, you managed both the day and night skies.
There's no Everfree Castle any more ... the whole area is tainted wilderness. I live in Ponyville, near the edge of that forest, but we're in the rural reaches of the nation. The capital was moved to Canterlot ... um, if I remember my history right, what you would call Canter Peak.
When Nightmare Moon escaped her banishment last year, she would have shrouded Equestria in eternal darkness, except that you sent my friends and I to find the Elements of Harmony and redeem Luna from her pain.
I ... I'm so sorry, Celestia. Your Equestria would have been a much better one to live in. But this is the one that needs you. Needs your sun, your radiance, your wisdom.
We need Luna, too. I ... understand if you can't convince her to help, or can't trust me enough to try, but we're doing this for both of you.
Maybe when you come back, she can be Aurora for us too? I ... don't know? I'm not sure it works that way, but it sounds like it's worth trying.
Any progress on the spell research?
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(188 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
That ... might be problematic. The inventors of this tartaric contraption — technically it's the "Grand Nostalgic Chronophagic Regret Eradicator 2000" — are gadgeteers, not ritualists. I'm trying to cross-reference all the effects they've woven into the machine against known spell families, but even a high-level understanding would take more time than I've got.
I recognize the base evocation patterns of an Eyes Inward, linked for ingress from a True-Tongued Muzzle, mixed with something that looks inspired by Maredankien, and then linked for egress through some sort of, um ... it's like an inverted Flank Finder ... argh. But that's all shot through, all of it, with a Nightmare's Touch, and at least two separate effects that are most likely illusions, and possibly upwards of five effects I haven't even STARTED to analyze, and it's all so hideously interlinked that every time I try to isolate anything the entire mess starts to destabilize.
I'll keep working at it, but ... but ... I'm just not good enough to give you the answers you need. I'm sorry. I'm ... I'm sorry. I —
— Hang on, my friends need to talk to me.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(193 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
On behalf of Twilight Sparkle, I wished to acknowledge receipt of your latest missive, and to inform you that she is ... ah, temporarily indisposed.
I am certain you realize how seriously she takes her duty to you, as student and as subject and as friend. In the present moment, the weight of that dedication may be a distraction from the task at horn. The other Elements are assisting her in overcoming her entirely rational, yet — I must specify — groundless fear that this puzzle may prove too intractable for our deadline. I hasten to assure you that we are in firm agreement that such is not the case.
Your Majesty, Twilight shall respond to your letter at her earliest opportunity, with renewed confidence befitting her skills.
With humblest regards,
Rarity
(204 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
First, thank you for the kind words. My friends said much the same thing. I'll do my best, I promise.
They were right about another thing, too. We ALL need some words of support in such a stressful situation. Every time I send a new letter, you've been managing the entire night sky for YEARS. Well — not the real night sky, but it's still awfully stressful.
That's what your red light means, the one I was wondering about earlier. They built some monitoring into the machine -- among other things, to make sure their customer was having a happy experience. I asked him what they usually did when the monitoring showed problems and he gave me a blank look. "Why would anypony NOT like a life without regrets?" he asked. When you're in somepony else's fantasy, I guess the answer is a little more complicated.
So — anyway — what I wanted to say was, you're the best pony I've ever known, and I believe in you. It's easy enough to forget to say that in normal circumstances, but with so much time in between letters, I need to make a point of telling you that over and over. Maybe that's the most important thing I can say.
As for your suggestions:
That's the first thing I thought of, too, but it wouldn't work. The enchantments are channelled into the machine's interior, a padded room about a ponylength square, by a mithril cage built into the walls. Leaving the door open for more than a few seconds, or tunnelling through a wall, would destabilize the field. Teleporting inside would put me within it.
Pulling the plug and overtaking the enchantment on my own, on the other hoof, is an intriguing idea. If I had your skill ... perhaps. But there's no way I could replicate the existing effect without comprehending everything that went into it, and again we run into the time barrier.
Joining you would give me the time I need to work on the problem, yes, but it's out of the question. The enchantment was already destabilized and reset once by Luna's entrance. Your red light has been sporadically active since then. Any further tampering might turn your fantasy world into some kind of nightmare. Not to mention, then we wouldn't have any effective method of outside communication.
I agree, however: "When all else fails, start from first principles." You taught me that yourself, years and years ago. That's what I've already been doing, though, in trying to analyze the underlying spell effects — is there something about your suggestion I'm not understanding?
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(208 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
Oh! That IS a good question. I don’t know … but I’m sending Rainbow Dash for my reference books now. It may take a little while. Don’t worry — we’ve still got an hour before your sun needs to set and Luna’s moon needs to rise.
That’s a tight deadline to break such a complex, ambitious, and sloppy enchantment, but you’re the most amazing mage in all of Equestria. If anyone can do it, you can.
Also, both of your vital signs look good, but I can’t take anything for granted since neither the monitor nor the machine itself were designed for the indefinite lifespan of alicorns.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(218 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
I haven't heard anything from you in 10 minutes. We were seeing two red lights for a while. Is everything okay? I have complete faith in your abilities, but a letter back would still help reassure us.
Rainbow Dash should be halfway to Ponyville by now. I've been continuing my research into your question.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(228 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
Okay, I'm getting worried now. Please respond.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(235 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
What's going on? It's been almost thirty years in there!
Princess, PLEASE respond. If I don't hear back from you by the time Dash gets back, we'll have no choice but to use the Elements of Harmony.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(239 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
I'm torn between relief at your scroll and panic at your news. I had been assuming both you and Luna would help to break the spell when it came time. I can't oppose an alicorn's willpower, Celestia. I just don't have the power. Nopony here does, not unless we resort to the Elements.
I've attached a diagram of the spells, to the best of my current understanding. Please tell me we have some other option.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
P.S.: Dash will be back in about 10 minutes, and the instant I can cross-reference our letters from last year with The Alicorn Magic Compendium, I'll have an answer for you.
(242 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
Controlled internal feedback does seem like our best shot right now. Please be careful with it. I'll be monitoring. Good luck.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(243 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
That was scary. Please don't try it again. The monitoring went crazy for a moment — I think your vitals might even have skipped a beat — but the overall enchantment didn't waver.
If I had to guess, I think it targeted the wrong feedback loop, with the Nightmare's Touch and the Shadow Veil. If those collapse with the rest of the enchantment intact, it ... um ... well, don't do it.
Hang on, Dash just got back. I need to research what we discussed.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(248 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
It looks like you were right about the method of Luna's transformation, except for one thing: she couldn't have used a Clover's Coronal Commingling to become Nightmare Moon. It polarizes the spirits it links, like two matching poles of a magnet. Luna trying to merge with the Nightmare via a CCC would be like trying to push those magnets together.
I did get your latest letter, and I'll read and respond to it now.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(252 AE)
Dear Princess Celestia,
Oh my gosh! Could it really be that simple?
That's ... that's just brilliant. I can't see any flaw in your reasoning. If the spell itself is a source of the regret that it's trying to eradicate, then it will dismantle itself from the inside out, and thus consume its own feedback loop and terminate naturally.
But ... I don't understand.
You've GOT to be right. Her greatest regret was deliberately causing you pain. You went back to the moment of that decision, she turned herself from it, and she refuses to let go of the false world that lacks it.
But then your falling out half an hour ago should have —
— no. This makes less and less sense. I've been staring at your red light for most of the last hour!
Help me understand, Celestia. We're running out of time.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
(253 AE)
Oh stars. How did I not realize —
Celestia — don't! It's not worth embracing that darkness — fake or not. The night can be a little late — we'll
(found crumpled up, unfinished)
