Belle Époque

by Estee

Rating: teen
Tags: Discord, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Luna, Original Character, Princess Celestia
Length: 14447

What's the difference between a prison with a lock and a prison with a door? Discord's student feels it's something her mentor should be able to answer -- but there are some things which Tish has to figure out for herself.

Her first prison was underground, and it took a lifetime before she recognized its nature. The newest cell has hallways and windows. Her mentor takes her outside, but she always comes back to marble floors and ponies who don't know how to look at her for more than a few minutes. She's too slow when responding to her own name, she can barely reconcile having one, and...

A prison with a lock. A prison with a door.

She's trying to figure out what the difference is. Or whether there's any difference at all.

(Part of the Triptych Continuum, which has its own TVTropes page and FIMFiction group. New members and trope edits welcome.)

Now with author Patreon, SubscribeStar, and Ko-Fi pages.

This story is a direct sequel to Triptych. Do not read it unless you've finished the original.

Published 2020-09-27 01:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2020-09-27 01:00:02 UTC

Vignette

He addresses her by name, and it takes a moment to remember she has one.

She wants to place a degree of blame on the distractions. They are in what she has come to think of as the exercise yard: an open plateau about a third of the way around the mountain from the capital. There's very little in that area which can be hurt, and so it makes for an ideal place to train somepony who is still struggling to gain control over abilities which... she was intended to possess, but not in this manner, not in this form, a form which is ever-shifting --

-- there's just about nothing in this area. Soil and rock beneath her hooves, some grass here and there. A single very large, often-restored boulder, which her mentor is currently leaning against. (The uneven spine fits poorly against the stone, and irritated talons drum chips into it before the boulder itself curves to match him.) It's possible to get a glimpse of the treeline, at least during those times when she isn't at the bottom of a newly-dug ravine, trying to figure out what lesson her mentor wants her to learn before the mud-based portion of it smacks her in the snout. The mountain rises to their right, with the dropoff quite some distance away on the left. There's an option to stare out across forest and sky, and -- that's about it. No part of the capital itself can be seen, and they're on the wrong portion of the mountain for surveying the rail lines stretching across the landscape. All of those trails have settled zones waiting at the other end, one of those would be within sight on a clear day, and that's where the Bearers live. When she's in her tower --

(the cell)

-- and the sky is perfectly blue, she can just make out little aspects of the town. (There are times when she thinks she sees a different shade streaking through the background, and wonders if that's the pegasus among the Bearers -- if that's Rainbow.) But there is no such view from here. In the most absolute sense, there's very little to look at.

Looking is... hard.

For the pegasus (because she's a pegasus right now, and she's been wondering how much time she has left for that), who spent her entire life --

"This may have escaped your notice," the draconequus petulantly begins. (He's very good with petulance. It's an emotion of which she had almost no real education before meeting him -- but anypony who spends any time around him is guaranteed to receive the full doctorate.) "But your mentor asked a question. Of you. I'm fairly certain that the student-teacher relationship would make an answer mandatory." A little more thoughtfully, "Of course, that also happens to be a rule, so I would naturally understand any urge you might be feeling to break it. Which would allow me to begin exploring the options offered by detention..."

Her feathers rustle. She's starting to notice that they do that when she's both feeling especially awkward (which is often) and happens to be a pegasus with enough feathers to rustle at all (which is less than a third of the time, but she's working on that). "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," is immediate, and comes with some extra punctuation in the form of talons chipping deeper into stone. He also adds an eye roll, because there isn't much in the way at ground level and so he can roll them a rather long way. "You apologize so much as to make the necessary occasions lose something in the way of impact. I, for example, make it a point to almost never apologize at all. That way, when I deign to lie about having possibly done something wrong, the amount of shock and disbelief produced in the audience completely negates any thought they might have about requesting correction. Or compensation. Or saying something along the lines of, just by way of example..." The red eyes stop near the start of the upslope, rotate to stare at her. "...'Does that mean you won't do it again?'"

The eyes blink a few times, then vanish. A soft popping noise indicates their return to the sockets.

"Which I probably wouldn't," he adds. "If only for the sake of variety. It's generally much more entertaining to do something new. Repeating oneself is normally best reserved for the times when that would be completely unexpected. Consider that to be a bonus lesson for the day."

"Yes --" the 'sir' gets stopped before it reaches her mouth, forming something of a lump in her throat "-- Discord."

"But now I have to repeat myself," he irritably declares. "Which is entirely your fault, and still not one you should apologize for. Yet. So, once again -- how are you feeling?"

There's an odd tilt to the question mark. The entire sentence seems to have been assembled from unfamiliar elements, something which just barely allows its creator to hold it together -- but the question mark is especially flimsy, and so it quickly tips over before falling into the dirt.

How am I...

There seems to be a way in which she can summarize that. But details are important, especially when 'feeling' incorporates so many of them. And when it comes to those details...

After... it happened, all I had was the pain. It felt like the only thing I existed as was pain. It was just about all I could do to keep it from taking over every moment of my thoughts, and it still dominated me to the point where I wanted to end the pain through ending myself.

All I had was pain, with pain as all I was. But the pain is gone.

I... keep waiting for it to come back...

...the pain was just about everything. It was also a distraction.

My life was spent in stone.
The furthest open distance was about five body lengths. Just about every sight line ended at a wall. The rest terminated on the ceiling, floor, or furniture. Mostly bookcases. He kept bringing me books to study, and none of them were about how it feels to...
...not be in stone any more.
It's a clear sky today. The blue is beautiful. I could look up the name of the exact hue now, because he brought me books about everything but art.
My mother was a painter.
He told me I killed her.
He buried her. Buried everything about her. All of the art books were kicked out. The paintings were hidden away, because he couldn't bear to get rid of them, and he couldn't stand to look at them any more. Except for one day when he was so drunk that he could let himself look again, let himself show me, and that was the day which started it. The one which ultimately made me wind up as... this.
The Princesses are letting me read anything I want to. I've been reading art books, and that's how I chose my name.
I chose.
I... can't seem to turn my head fast enough when somepony says it. Rotate my ears. I keep waiting for 'you', and that was easy when it was usually just me in the rooms and any other arrival turned that into 'you' --
-- the sky is above me. I could find Sun if I changed the viewing angle.
The sky is so much bigger than my ceiling.
The sky changes every day.
I've been reading art books. There's something called the horizon line...

She looks up at the sky. Then she quickly looks down.

She could say all of it, for he is her mentor. But he also isn't a pony, and so she's not sure how much he understands.
How much she understands.

"I'm fine."

There's a moment of silence, and she has now known him long enough to understand how unusual that is. A few seconds of quiet before she feels the weight of his gaze.

"So we've skipped ahead in the curriculum," her mentor states, and there's something almost wistful about the words. "I understand that normally, a teacher should be proud when their student investigates future material of their own accord. And yet..."

Some part of her recognizes that using 'Sorry?' solely as a query still isn't going to get the best reaction, and 'I don't understand' already forms a significant portion of her public vocabulary. There's a lot she doesn't understand, because all she had for just about the whole of her life was books.

Text educates, and all she had to do in her rooms (or rather, was supposed to do) was study. She possesses a broad range of knowledge regarding multiple subjects. Some of them are things which would be expected from a Princess, while a few are matters which only a few living entities might recall at all. This is especially true regarding what she knows of history, because she has custody for a portion of the true.

The books also taught her about ponies. In that sense, she has a vast education. And it means nothing compared to the endless pulling void of that near-total lack of experience.

As responses go, "I don't get it," feels too informal, but her mentor doesn't like it when her extensive training in etiquette tells her to go the other way.

"Tish..." he begins, slowly shaking his head. It takes an extra second before she rotates her ears towards the name. Or rather, the fraction of it.

'Tish'. She had chosen her own name at the last, because her father had never given her one. Transforming her into an alicorn had been the goal of the Great Work, but its truest test subject had seen a name as the ultimate prize. Once she had changed, he would have tested her capabilities, seen what she was an alicorn of. Not Solar, Lunar, or Love (although she's wondered if there's a possibility for duplication), but possessing some degree of dominion over a different subject. And once he understood her area of control, he would have granted her a name reflective of it.

She changed. But she also failed (and there are still days where she sees that as her fault). She is not an alicorn. She is something singular in the world: forever shifting between the forms of the three races, if in somewhat oversized-variants. There is nothing she can claim dominion over, and she's not sure she wants to.

But the palace provided her first chance at art books, and she went into the glossaries first so she could learn the proper names for those things she'd been doing all along. (She called them 'memories'. The proper term is 'paintings'. Strictly speaking, the confusion wasn't her fault: all she did was adopt the only term her father ever gave her. She's still embarrassed.) And the very first such list of terms provided her with a name.

The triple-panel painting. Each image separate and distinct, yet part of a definable whole.

Triptych.

Strictly speaking, if somepony (or in this case, someone) were to shorten the new name, it would wind up as 'Tych': a harder, harsher syllable. But he calls her 'Tish', which feels like a softer term. She doesn't know why.

He exists as something which breaks rules. Perhaps he simply doesn't care about the linguistic ones either.

"Tish..." he repeats. "And here I thought I would have to be the one who taught you how to lie."

She blinks purple eyes. (They'll be purple for a little while longer.)

"You'll talk when you're ready, I suppose," he grumbles. "You certainly have enough ponies for speaking with. For now, let's see if I can wear you out enough to let a little truth slip forward." Red orbs brighten. "And as you happen to be a pegasus at the moment -- do you know what we haven't worked on yet? Lightning! That should occupy the rest of our session quite nicely, along with honing your appetite for lunch. That way, when you meet Lady Angst later, you'll have something in your stomach to bring up. Now let's see..." His talons raise, twirl a little: vapor begins to form around them. "I'll provide the cloud, and then I'll talk you through the ionization process. As for choosing a target..."

They both appear to be staring at nothing, although she is doing so from a position where her hooves are just barely touching a dark cloud and the uncertain hover threatens to drop her onto it. An observer who tracked the source and just arrived on the scene would regard them as paying unblinking attention to air, and would do so because they arrived after the explosion.

There is a way in which mentor and student aren't staring at nothing. They are giving attention to something which stopped existing a few seconds ago. Looking at where the surface of the boulder used to be.

Her mentor's hoof prods at the nearest glowing pebble. Some of the heat transfers itself. He doesn't seem to notice.

"...yes," he eventually says. "Well, that was certainly lightning. I'm willing to declare the 'lightning' portion as a success. I've been told that many teachers like to end a lesson on a success."

Some of the finer grains around the blast area are beginning to fuse into glass.

Discord clears his throat.

"We'll work on the voltage control part later. Off with you --"

"-- Discord?"

He looks up at her.

She doesn't want to think about what she just did. She's supposed to be learning control. How to be safe. But there are so many other things on her mind and in the effort to temporarily shove one aside, something else slips through. Something she's been thinking about for days.

"What's the difference between a prison with a lock, and a prison with a door?"

The talon comes up again, rubs at his chin without benefit, use, or presence of wrist.

"Interesting question," her mentor decides. "Just as interesting that you decided to ask it. And when it comes to the answer --"

She waits.

"-- do let me know when you find out. Now go to the examination table! Off with you! You've got a packed schedule today: all kinds of ponies to meet! And one shouldn't keep a married couple waiting!"

The Doctors Bear aren't married. (She asked about that, rather early on. She's aware that stallions can marry each other, although unlike mares, no spell exists to allow children of their own blood.) They've simply been together for about two decades, starting from that first roommate assignment in medical school. They stayed together as interns, moved forward into residency, eventually left their hospital for private practice, and now they've attained the twinned post (diagnostician and surgeon) of Royal Physician. All done together. They've spent the waking majority of that portion of their lives in each other's company, and it gives them a familiarity which she's only previously seen in books.

(Not that she knows much about how ponies interact outside of the printed word.)
(Not that she knows much about ponies.)

They aren't married. The central difference between marriage and their relationship is that the former would require a different kind of license. Also, there would probably be sex. She's almost certain they aren't having any, at least with each other.

(She's been trying not to think about sex.)

She spent her life in stone. For most of that, there was just her father or rather, there was waiting for her father to come back. Once she reached adolescence, he began to bring in ponies who would educate her in those topics on which they were expert, with those subjects where books just weren't enough. (She has been making an effort to recall the still-missing one who instructed her in hospitality.) But the busiest year for such visits saw them top out at seven, and no guest stayed for more than a few hours.

(She painted portraits of every last one, so she could remember those visits forever.)
(She's been seeing some of those ponies again. She'll be seeing one in less than an hour.)
(The visits are now much shorter.)

Now she sees ponies every day. In the case of the Doctors Bear, the same ponies, because they have been monitoring her. She is something new in the world and in the medical sense, that makes her worse than an alicorn. The eldest Princess has existed for nearly thirteen hundred years. The Solar ruler has (until recently) resisted having her body studied, but some degree of observation and examination still took place. The Royal Physicians have some degree of basic grounding in what to do when an alicorn falls ill, and are the ponies charged with figuring out the rest as they go along. Hopefully in time to save the world.

There is only one of her. And in the medical sense, there are three, along with a number of transient stages.

Some medicines only work on a single race: they are inert in the body of another, or produce illness, or -- worse. So what happens if she becomes sick, takes something as an earth pony (because she's an earth pony, at least for now) and transitions to a form which would be hurt by the dosage? Her body changes: the medicine won't. How long can something be in her system before the effects are neutralized, especially given the variable speed of her metabolism? (The pegasus form has the quickest.) What if she catches a disease which only affects unicorns, and then isn't a unicorn any more? Does the disease wait until she has a horn again before progressing? Would changing put it in a body hostile to its very existence, and so neutralize it?

There's more than that. Why are injuries almost completely consistent across all of her forms? A bruise on her foreleg as a unicorn is a bruise on the earth pony. She heals somewhat faster than she used to, but some of that is probably just her metabolism. Why doesn't changing repair cells? And it's 'almost completely consistent' because she has two rather intermittent limbs. Her wings extrude, involute back into her torso. If they get hurt, the next change sees them emerge whole again...

(She suspects it would be the same thing for her horn, but the things which can injure a horn are rare indeed. Most of them wouldn't leave behind an intact pony.)

Oh, and then there's foalhood diseases. She spent her life in stone: something which kept her from ever seeing another foal. (She only met a child after coming to the palace. She has been meeting more, and those meetings are crucial to the continent's future.) So she's barely had any diseases. A few -- her father might have been the carrier -- but not all. So there's some concern about exposure as an adult, because the normal resistances aren't there. And when everything is factored across her shifting form...

The Doctors Bear are studying her because she is unique in the world, and so there is not a single entity upon the planet who understands what would have to be done if she becomes ill. They're trying to work out some of it in advance.

They talk almost constantly to each other. They also remember to speak with her, because they want her to understand that she's the most crucial part of it. That they're only asking questions because they must, and every experiment can only proceed with her permission.

It's sort of... the opposite for the whole of her life.

She thinks about how her body works, and some of that scares her. But she doesn't understand most of it. Everypony has a liver: how many could explain exactly how it operates? Snout-prod them into a place where they have direct control over the organ, and could even one manage the most basic chemical interaction? As far as her body goes, she recognizes that it -- functions. It's just about all she comprehends: that the results, with the pain removed, have created a viable organism.

Which brings up certain other questions.

She's been saving one.

"So before we turn you over to the Guards," Chocolate Bear tells her, doing so with a bright smile -- she wants to paint that smile, but there's just so many ponies to paint and only so much time in the tower, "we wanted to update you on one of the previous tests."

The muscular unicorn automatically glances at his much thinner partner.

"We've confirmed that your blood stabilizes shortly after being removed from your body," Vanilla Bear announces. "It's just about normal for the blood of your species at the time of extraction. There's some minor changes, but they're the sort of things which take extensive examination to find. Nothing crucial, but it's enough to mark it as your blood."

One word stands out. The question she's been saving is, in one aspect, linked to her mark...

"For the transient stages," Chocolate Bear smoothly adds, "things are a little stranger. It's a mix of factors, as if samples from both races had been blended together. A few of those factors are things which shouldn't get along at all. But they co-exist. And again, they stabilize."

"We're not sure what this means in terms of your ability to receive a transfusion," Vanilla finishes his portion. "Earth pony blood doesn't always do well in a unicorn. Introducing foreign blood into the range of your body's magic might not make it shift with you. So from now on, once a moon or so, we're going to try and take some blood from you. Things we can transfuse back in the event of a crisis. We just have to take it from several different stages, and it'll take a while to build up a true supply. But we've verified that what we do have reacts normally to stasis spells, so at least it'll keep. It's the same thing we've been doing with the Princesses."

"You can serve as a donor," Chocolate wraps up. "Should it be necessary. We just have to extract when you match the race of the recipient."

She nods. She understands the necessity. She's just getting a little sick of the needles.

"Did you have any questions today?" both ask. And wait.

Yes.

"When am I going to die?"

Nothing about the words trembles. Her body does, and --

-- they are touching her. (They are among the very few ponies who do.) White forehoof and brown, until the shaking stops.

"There's more to that question," Vanilla quietly says. "A reason you've been thinking about it."

"We need to hear it," Chocolate adds. "And then we can try to work out some way of finding the answer."

She swallows. It's something which feels as if it has more force behind it, when she's an earth pony.

"My... mark serves as a clock," she finally says. (Her eyes want to seek out the medical instruments in the room. The anatomical charts which serve as the central decorations for the office. She understands that many portrait painters learn pony anatomy first, and then create what appears on the outermost layers. She sort of... had to make up her own method from scratch.) "The loops rotate, the silver advances along them." And most ponies can't look at the vacuum in the center, and I have to wear the half-cape to keep them from jumping... "Showing how far along any change is, how much time I have left before I start to become something else."

They both nod. Wait.

"And I was wondering -- if it measured anything else." Her body is no longer trembling. The syllables are. "Each change, if I don't accelerate it, takes about four hours. But I can accelerate, if I want to." It takes energy to do so: she eats more than another pony of her size would to begin with (and she's so much larger than the majority, just slightly shorter than the Lunar Princess), but enough high-speed changes will have her take out most of a palace kitchen's raw bar. Reaching that which just about nopony will touch meant that she recently discovered, much to her near-horror, that she loves dragonfruit. "And my mark moves to match. So -- what if every time I speed from the peak of one phase to the next, I..."

Her tail flicks against her left flank. (Deep purple, verging on black. The hue of her birth form.) It's a way of forcing alertness during long study sessions. Right now, it's meant to whip the last words out.

"...burn through four hours of my life? What if every fast change ages me by the time it would take to do it normally?" Her eyes squeeze shut as a barrier against the final part, and that isn't enough. "How long do I have until my own magic kills me?"

She can hear both stallions breathing. The unevenness of the exhalations.

Finally, they speak, and she has the dubious comfort of knowing they are being honest with her. They promised that, on the first night, and the vow has never been violated. Whatever they tell her, it will be the truth -- as far as they understand it.

"We don't know what your natural lifespan is," Vanilla quietly admits. "We've been working with the theory that it's normal. It's possible that you're like the Princesses: that you exist without aging, and can do so until you die from a different cause. But that's something which will take time to determine. We're still studying their bodies, trying to figure out how they maintain balance. Why that clock doesn't run."

"And we don't know if it's something we'll ever be able to work out," Chocolate softly joins in. "We're just two stallions. We may not have the right equipment, or spells, or even be smart enough to answer that question. Not when it comes to them."

She has spent so many hours around them, being examined and listening to their descriptions of the results. She has so little total experience with ponies, and yet with these two, she can almost hear them look at each other.

"But with you," both stallions say, "we can run a test."

Her eyes shoot open.

"Not something which determines lifespan," Chocolate quickly adds.

"But we can tell if the speed changes are forcing you to age at the same rate," Vanilla tells her. "Today, before you leave the office."

"It'll just mean asking you to drink something," the brown stallion finishes.

"And change, at speed, two more times," the white one concludes. "If you're willing."

They look at each other again, and she knows that whatever the test might be, they've both thought of the same one.

That much more time off my life.

If her fears are true. But if they are -- this confirms it, and allows her to start planning accordingly. That's worth the lost hours. And if they aren't...

"Yes."

She shivers on the examination table as she waits for them to come back, because the room always feels a little cold. Eventually, the middle-aged stallions return. The surgeon's emerald field is carrying a bottle.

"In one sense, you could think of this as a cosmetic potion," Chocolate Bear tells her. "It's very hard to brew, it doesn't keep long, and it doesn't react well to stasis spells. The price suffers accordingly."

"But it's mostly used for post-surgical recovery," Vanilla Bear kicks in. "Because surgery usually involves shaving fur away from the area, to keep stray strands from getting into the wound. And what this potion does is make fur grow at an accelerated rate -- but only in areas where it's missing. Until it matches the pony's natural length."

"So what we're going to do is shave a little fur away from the back of your right foreleg," the surgeon adds. "Just a small patch near the knee. It won't really show."

His field sets the bottle down, and then the light thins before it moves towards the indicated limb. An odd tingling passes across a small section of her skin, and strands fall away.

"Drink," Vanilla quietly asks, as the blue field offers her a newly-opened bottle. "It works on all three major races equally well, so there won't be any adverse reactions during your changes. And the taste isn't bad."

She does. The taste is vaguely like that of a strawberry.

"Wait twenty minutes," Chocolate informs her. "I know that's the hardest part. But it'll take that long before it gets out of your stomach and starts going through your blood. We've already told the Guards to wait."

The time wears away at her with a dullness which the surgeon's field-scalpel trick could never possess. And when the indicated duration is up, something she can almost measure with a glance at her mark...

"Change," they both whisper.

She focuses, and it happens. Once, and there are wings resting on the extended surface of an examination table which was custom-sized for a Princess. Twice, and a horn tests the quality of slightly-chill air --

"-- stop," Vanilla instructs. "And now..."

Both doctors move closer. Four eyes focus on something she cannot see.

There's silence for a few seconds. She recognizes it as the quiet of thought, and still wishes they would think a little faster.

"We don't know what your natural lifespan is," Chocolate finally says. "But we just proved that you're not cutting it down."

"However long you would live," Vanilla tells her, "baring illness, wounds, or catastrophe -- that's how long you'll live. Naturally."

She blinks. Her head turns, and she still can't quite see what they're looking at.

"I'm -- how -- how can you...?"

Both stallions smile.

"The potion works in concert with a pony's natural lifespan," Chocolate informs her. "In the sense that fur growth comes from cell death. Aging. That process is magically accelerated, just for the fur cells -- but in terms of its origin, it's still a natural growth. We know how long it takes for a full coat of your length to come back in. If you were aging faster, you would have two changes' worth of new fur in that patch: that's measurable. You currently have the amount which could be reasonably expected to regrow during the inspection."

"Which is to say," Vanilla grins, "none. No accelerated aging. Did we answer your question?"

They allow her to cry for a while, because even tears of relief need their share of time. And then she meets the Guards at the door.

She has more ponies to see today. The next one requires heading into the deepest section of her new prison.

She's just learned something new about her body. The third meeting after this one will lead into a discussion about the state of her soul.

For the most part, she's been allowed to explore the palace. There's a significant degree of freedom in that for a mare whose fillyhood adventures were restricted to eight permitted rooms. (The ninth began as secret, and then continued forward as forbidden.) She understands there's places she can't go: areas with security magic, private bedrooms, the gardens unless they've been cleared first, and ponies generally have to be informed she's on the way because while both Solar and Lunar staffs have been sworn to secrecy regarding her existence and thus had to be told about it in the first place, she can still startle ponies when she comes across them while in a transient state. Or when the cape has been shifted by normal movement, with the shifting of her mark visible. The movement generally registers before the vacuum, and normal ponies have had adverse reactions to both.

(Anypony who doesn't have an adverse reaction isn't normal. They're just family.)

She can try to cover her mark, and so wears the half-cape just about all the time when she's in the palace. The only thing she can do about the transient states is to try and spend the least possible public time within them.

Still... there's been some freedom to explore. Just not to leave.

(There's a door.)
(She could leave any time she wants to. Even when it's so much easier to be inside. Even when the sky --)
(She could.)

So she's been exploring her prison. And before the first of her old teachers was brought in to meet her again, she found the actual cells.

The Solar alicorn is waiting for her outside one of those doors: those which come with multiple locks, all on the outside. The cells occupy part of the deepest basement level. They have been present since the construction of the palace, and she already knew about them because her father possessed many secrets -- including a few which were just about casual.

It's not so much that ponies don't know of secret cells as that they don't care to study enough for gaining the public information. The palace has cells because the nation has been through wars and when you capture opposing generals, rulers, and dignitaries, you have to keep them somewhere. Accordingly, most of the cells are furnished in a way which reflects the status of their expected occupants -- even if the actual style is several centuries out of date.

Most.
This one is not.

Purple eyes look down at her, meet her tan ones. They're tan, when she's a unicorn. She's noticed that it does something to the very look of the world. Maybe eye color affects the way light is processed through them. She has yet to decide which of her hues is best for examining paint.

"We brought him in last night," the Solar Princess tells her. "I wanted to give him some time to think about the why."

She nods. It isn't her first trip to this level, and so she knows Princess Celestia likes to let a pony's own fears do half of the work. Also that there's been a spell placed on the door, which keeps the occupant of bare stone from hearing their discussion. They've talked about such things. If not for the fresh arrival, their next discussion would have been tomorrow.

The pony within is trapped in stone. In that, the main difference between whoever's waiting and her own younger self is that the stallion knows it.

"He's well within the detainment period," the Solar alicorn adds. "We can hold him for a while after he sees you, if we don't get the reaction we want. But it's the same as the others, Tish."

They try to use her name. The shortened form comes out more often than the full, as it implies greater familiarity with the pony being addressed. And they speak the syllable granted by her mentor, because he was first and even if the oldest mares in the world distrust just about anything he creates, those creations still have a way of spreading.

They don't trust his creations.
There are ways in which 'his creations' could include her. But they seem to trust her, even when she has yet to find full control. They aren't scared.
She isn't sure why.
Perhaps it's because they all have so much in common.

"We used your painting as a primary means of identification," Princess Celestia recounts. "Since we knew what he looked like, the next step was finding the pony who matched that face. It didn't take long, especially since we can usually narrow down the search demographics. Not a noble this time, but still with wealth."

She nods again. Her father had required sponsors. A very few members of the Great Work had been recruited for their knowledge -- but given the expense involved in finding chaos pearls, the majority had been brought in for financial support.

"It's... almost becoming routine," the alicorn quietly adds. "You know what to do, Tish. Just go in there. Verify that he's the stallion you met, as the only witness who's willing to talk. And see how he reacts."

The white horn ignites. Yellow glow interacts with the door's locks and spells, tells them to admit her. It opens.

She hears the little start from the occupant, followed by a rattle of chains. And then she goes inside, into a small room which is mostly made of dark stone, because the marble so endemic to the palace runs out once you dip below the surface. It's tiny and cramped, with no furnishings other than a sink, toilet trench, and a thin floor-level bunk which isn't being used at the moment. She can't see more than two of her own body lengths in any direction before reaching stone again, and what hurts the most is how much that makes her want to stay.

But the cell already has an occupant.

The pegasus turns his head as she enters. It's an instinctive reaction and when it comes to turning, it's also just about all he can do. When confining a pegasus, the general rule is less movement, less magic. The interlocking system of metal panels and chains called a freezer will allow him to, with some work, execute a clumsy shuffle towards the toilet trench. His tongue can activate the sink's taps, and he can also slump over onto the bunk any time he likes. It's nowhere near enough to allow the creation of lightning.

(She doesn't want to think about the lightning.)

He turns to look at her, and so his eyes are the first thing she sees. They're a rather deep green, almost muddy. (Her first experience with true mud is rather recent, and therefore fresh.) As eyes go, they're rather distinctive, and so she automatically thinks back to the conference. Her presentation, where all of those who'd been formally invited had been robed in such a way to make eyes into the only visible features.

Her recollections (because 'memories' still feels embarrassing') of the conference are somewhat hazy. She recalls the bulk of events, but... a mind which had trained itself to remember the exact details of every new face (because she would see each such pony only once, until the day the Great Work was complete) had been somewhat drugged at the time. Her father had given her the most powerful painkillers he'd been able to find, because to attempt a speed change without them would have been to increase her agony to the point where her body's only escape would have been the final one. Or worse, to remain alive, with just enough thought left within inner lava to spend a personal eternity wishing for death.

(He had ordered her to change, just before the end.)
(It had nearly killed her.)
(And then the kicking had begun.)

She doesn't quite remember every set of eyes from the conference. This pair is distinctive enough, but... some ponies were at the back. She can't be sure of whether she's meeting this pegasus for the third time.

But she recalls every detail of the first meeting, for this was the pony who spoke to her about international relations and diplomacy. There were times when a Princess would be expected to walk in other nations, and she would need to know just how carefully to step and speak. Asked to imagine days spent in distant lands, when her only view of her own came from books.

She remembers him. But he is trying to regard the unicorn's form as if he's never seen her in his life. And if he wasn't at the conference, then that's possible -- at least when it comes to the unicorn.

Even so... there's something in the depths of those eyes.

"I want to contact my family attorney," is not, in her recent experience, a particularly original statement. "The palace has no right to swoop into my home and extract me. I haven't even been told what the charges are --"

"-- conspiracy," she softly interrupts. "Possibly assault, if you were part of the fight on that night." Keeping herself from swallowing requires an effort, and the next words have to be pushed out again. "Failure to report child abuse: that's come around a few times. Participation could be an option. The Princesses have been through this a few times, sorting out what they can charge ponies with. But right now, it's just detainment. You might be able to avoid some of the actual charges. It depends on how much you're willing to cooperate."

As rehearsed speeches go, she's had to make this one a few times, and she's not sure she's getting any better at it. It doesn't quite approach the number of renditions for the greeting she gave to her tutors and once those numbers match, there will still be such a long way to go. A relatively small percentage of those involved in the Great Work came to see her, none of those know all of the others, and the only pony who knows every name... isn't talking.

The stallion's next reaction is also standard.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," is her barely-audible counter, only amplified to the point where it reaches his ears by the small confines of the cell. "You know, because we've met before."

"No," he immediately protests. "We haven't. I'd remember a unicorn that tall --"

She would do it this way even if the doctors hadn't banished the fear. It has been like this for every pony the Princesses have found, and there are ways in which the reaction is worth four hours of her life.

The mark, hidden by the half-cape, shifts. Every part of her being shifts with it. And then there is an earth pony in the cell.

"We've met," she repeats, and that description exists in several aspects. One of them is temporal. There have been multiple ponies detained in this cell, and with every one of them, she has changed.

The majority recoil. Some of them scream. A few decide that the Princesses know everything, and don't realize they're only telling themselves that -- but those are the ones who talk. One managed to slip on a mask of mild boredom regarding how very interesting the new illusion was, but there had been no need to summon him as an audience for it: she should have expected that, as he had been her tutor in the delicate art of speechwriting. She still doesn't feel like she has much of a jaw grip on that topic.

She's familiar with the typical reactions to the change, because they just keep repeating. Eyes going wide isn't exactly uncommon.

This stallion does something new.

He flings himself forward, as best he can within the confines of the freezer. Thrusts his entire being towards her, and the sudden motion makes her jump back.

The stallion manages to get a little distance out of his effort. But his knees cannot flex, wings are bound at his sides, and so he completely blows the landing. It makes him fall, the little skid stopping just short of her relocated forehooves, and those wide green eyes stare up at her not in pain or shock --

"The triad!" he gasps. "We'll come for you! We can counter whatever the alicorns cast to make you work with them, bring you back to yourself! Once we have you back, you can free the Doctor! Know that we've been looking! Know that we will come --"

-- but with reverence.
Devotion.
Faith.

"-- and when you and your father are reunited, when we bring more foals to him, the Great Work will be complete --"

Her hooves are skittering against the stone floor. Every fur strand feels like it's twisting against itself. She can't seem to breathe properly.

She is terrified, and as an earth pony, that fear erupts as a single frantic scream of the soul.

The cell begins to shake. Little bits of stone are vibrated away from the walls, rain down into the small portion of the stallion's fur which remains exposed. The cell is shaking in concert with her own body, and in another second, the palace --

-- there is a song.

Something only she can hear, for the pegasus will forever lack the sense required to hear the truest of choruses. A lyric composed by the Solar alicorn, and the world stops to listen. Actual notes, a gentle rise and fall, the softest of requests...

...the shaking stops.

Or rather, the cell stops shaking. Her own body (as close as she ever comes to what she once was, too large, too tall) continues to tremble.

The pegasus stares at her. He still hasn't blinked. It's as if he didn't even notice the tremor. But then, he's mostly seeing what he wants to see.

"We will come --"

The Princess clears the doorway just in time to prevent the trampling. And the earth pony doesn't stop fleeing until she's back in her tower.

She's waiting for her next meeting. Something which was -- delayed.

The Solar alicorn came up to see her. Talked to her for a while, about matters of faith. The earth pony's tutoring in that subject was somewhat lacking, so she understood very little of it. Just the fact that somepony was willing to speak with her until it seemed as if she felt better... that was almost enough to accomplish the feat, all by itself.

But she keeps thinking about what the stallion said. She also changed into a pegasus in anticipation of the next meeting, and so once again verified that an alteration in form does nothing for her mind. No matter what she looks like, what her body might be, the thoughts are always the same. It doesn't do anything to change the pony inside.

She can't stop thinking about what he said. She's hoping her visitor will provide a different subject, or at least fresh focus.

There's hoofsteps audible now, multiple sets coming up the final ramp. One grouping is considerably lighter than that produced by those wearing armor. It makes her wings flare, and she shakes off the half-cape in a motion which has seen frequent cause for practice.

(Too frequent. Not frequent enough. Her father will not talk, and they have found so few...)

She arranges the pegasus body so that she faces the door on something of an angle. Her features visible (with a little bend of the knees to help that, as she's expecting somepony young and she is rather tall), but with her mark also displayed. She knows how many ponies look at marks almost before everything else and even when they examine her face first, the hips seldom finish beyond second place.

The door opens. There's an adolescent pegasus on the other side -- or at least, that's how it would appear to an outside observer. The form is that of a pegasus, and it's a somewhat unique one. The tower's occupant is already trying to figure out exactly how any painting could be accomplished, because this is the first time she's ever seen a brindle coat. The base hue is a stormy sort of grey (she's still trying to work out storms), and the interwoven semi-stripes are white -- but there are places where the hues seem to fade into each other, along with a few where they switch places. The wings are mostly white, but there's a thin rim of black flight feathers at the edges. And somehow, the eyes are gold. Almost a match for the field hue of the unicorn.

Her visitor is somewhat on the short side. She isn't quite as sleek as a normal pegasus of the same age. It's possible to determine a portion of her life just through her presence, such as the fact that she never had normal Surges as an infant and isn't able to put much power into the standard pegasus techniques.

The brindle-coated filly looks at the tall pegasus. Face first, with eyes squinting somewhat from curiosity. Then, inevitably, the mark --

-- the gold eyes widen.

"It's beautiful," her visitor whispers. "Fancypants told me it would be beautiful..."

And the tall pegasus trots forward to greet the hybrid. Welcoming another member of her family.

The current prison can be said to have something of an outdoor playpen. Everypony else thinks of it as the palace gardens.

They've been cleared for this meeting. It's too late in the day for class tours, but for those who pay to enter the palace and get a closer look at how their government works, they can -- currently go into the gardens, and only the gardens. It's too complicated, having Guards clear a path for her every time she needs a meal, and so the standard palace tours have been suspended for a time: the excuse is renovations.

Technically, if she was to meet a stranger, she's fine as long as any encounter takes place while she's wearing the half-cape and the silver fizzle of her mark is at or near the top of a loop. She could even stay and talk for a few minutes: all anypony would really register was that they were meeting somepony of rather unusual height. But an extended conversation, so easy to slip into when she's only had her father to speak with for the vast majority of her life, she's been known to exchange small talk with random members of palace staff to the point where she is now registered as a viable late-for-my-shift excuse...

She can accelerate the changes. But she cannot stop them, or even slow them down. She must change, for that is her mark. And even with something more akin to cloak than cape, with as much of her body covered as possible -- eventually, the horn would push the hood away, or there would be the bulges of wings at her flanks (or the slow collapse of fabric over where they had been) and long before that, anypony would see the colors shift in her eyes and fur.

To be among others for too long is to reveal what she is. Something new. Ponies don't always deal well with the new, and should their reactions scare her...

...she isn't safe.

It could be said that the best place for somepony who isn't safe is a cell.

There is nopony in the gardens but for pegasus and hybrid. Air traffic for a significant radius around the palace was rerouted, just in case. And the pegasus looks at the hybrid as they trot together, because it's the safest place to look. The gardens are all around them, each section themed to a different portion of the continent. Insect and animal life often matches. She can hear chirps and birdsong and chitters, and she no longer has pain distracting her from all of it.

The pain... was so much of what she could think about. It dominated her senses. It was nearly her entire world, leaving a tiny portion of howling sapience at the core. But the pain is gone. And now her eyes register too many colors, her fur ripples from the strange currents of wind, she hears too much and she sees too much and it feels as if she must look at the pegasus because all she truly knows for what should rest above her is ceiling and the sky is so very big.

But she will not run. She will not break. The children of chaos need to support each other, and she is the oldest sibling of that ever-growing family. She will not leave her new sister behind, not in the first hours of a life whose true strangeness was finally being explained.

She's just finished the usual talk, and does so in a hurry because the last part took place in the rain forest. Thinking of rain as a shower you can't really get out of doesn't help.

The pegasus filly closes her eyes for a moment. Breathes, as a reminder that she can.

"I knew I was different," the brindle pony quietly states. "But it was like something was wrong. I've never been the best flier, but... I thought that when my magic truly came in, that would make up for it. There was about four moons between those, from when I got in the air to where I first felt like I could really try. But I decided to practice in private first, because it was summer. I wanted to be ready when school started again, ready to show that I was ahead of the class. And when I tried..."

She stops. Closed eyes dip, regard the ground they cannot see before opening again. The filly looks up at the adult.

"I made every excuse," she softly continues. "I nearly dropped out of school, just to keep anypony from asking me to perform again. I just kept taking the failing grades, and I couldn't tell my mother why. I felt like I was..." and stops.

There's only one word which can apply.

"Broken," the adult gently says.

The filly silently nods. Feathers tremble.

"You aren't," the adult states. "None of us are. We're just different."

"I'm too different," the filly insists. "I don't fit in anywhere. Not with my magic, the way it is. I'm weird..."

The dryness of her own voice almost shocks her. "You can't possibly be worse than me."

Brindled features tilt up. Lips quirk.

"It might be close."

The pegasus raises an eyebrow. The adolescent just looks... awkward.

"It's easiest to show you," her newest sibling says. "But there can't be any witnesses. I knew, from the first time it went wrong, that I could never explain..."

"The gardens are clear."

The filly takes a few steps forward into the partial section of plains. Grass waves against her fur, caressing movements produced by a directed breeze. Something which makes the adult want to find an empty cell.

"The first thing I tried to do on my own was dissipate a cloud," the adolescent says. "I couldn't. I kept trying, and... it didn't work. Then I tried to make one. It took me a while to figure out that all I could do was find a place where one would coalesce. Or had..."

The adult doesn't understand, and knows this is the wrong time to voice that. She simply watches.

The filly is looking around, and doing so with eyes which aren't focused on anything. That feels odd. The younger pony had been so attentive...

"There was a lightning strike over there." It's a distant sort of voice. "Uncontrolled. Something which came in from the wild zone."

The adult slowly nods. It would have to be wild weather: she doubts the Princesses allow electrical rearrangement of the gardens. "During the last storm?" (Three nights ago. She'd barely managed to sleep.) "So you can pick up on -- lingering ion charges? Impacts?" Because the garden staff obviously healed or replaced the grass, and now she has to think about lightning...

The brindle coat shifts as the filly shakes her head.

"It's... easiest to show you," she quietly states. "I can do it from a distance. That felt like the weirdest part, at first. When it started happening at a distance. I just wanted a cloud to go away, and -- it would have. If I'd waited. So it did."

What is she talking about? It's as if --

"Look up," her sister requests, and now she has something to distract her from thoughts of lightning: the endless expanse and weight of the clear blue sky.

She can keep her knees from trembling.
She can make that effort.
She has four knees.
This seems to be subdividing the results --

-- there are wisps in the sky, and she only spots them because there's nothing else. Fragments of vapor. The final remnants of a broken cloud.

Then there are more of them.

They're gathering -- no, appearing. Thickening. White. Grey. Black, gaining mass as vapors wrap around each other -- no, it's as if there was always mass there --

-- no. It's more than that.

There was mass once.

Three nights ago, there had been a wild storm. It had done a little damage, made a lot of noise, and then the palace's team had come out to dissipate it. There had been a storm three nights ago, and it's possible to see the indentation of disruptive hooves in sections of the vapor, just before those portions of the cloud puff out again. Tunnels filling from the outside-in do so in a manner which suggests the body which had originally pushed its way through. Every last one of those thunderheads went through all of it in the name of unmaking and now for a single specimen, the unmaking is being unmade.

There is a dark cloud directly above them. Just one, borders roiling and warping in a manner which the adult, who's only seen a few storms, needs a moment to recognize as wrong. It takes a few more sharp breaths before she understands the reason. The thunderhead is shifting almost exactly in the way her limited experiences suggests it should. It's just doing so as a single, isolated entity.

And, as an incidental bonus, backwards.

She has just enough time to not reconcile that in any way, and then a streak of hot blue-white light emerges from the cloud.

She's studied lighting, in anticipation of the day when a newly-made alicorn would have access to that form of magic. She knows that every visible downstroke is actually an upstroke. The visible portion of power is the second thing to happen. Ions go down, create a channel, and then light comes up.

This light goes down. Pegasus sight allows her to see the ions going up.

Her ears try to work with the resulting sound. After a while, they decide to describe it as !MOOB

The adolescent turns to look at her. The cloud immediately starts to dissipate, or does so for the first time once again. It's really a matter of perspective.

"I'm weird," Tempi Fugit repeats. "But at least now I know why."

The unicorn is back in her tower. The atelier. An artist's workshop, given to her so she could paint to her heart's content during those times when there was nothing else to do. It's just a current requirement that she has to do so as a unicorn, because she taught herself how to paint before it all happened. During the years of her life when there was an earth pony learning how to be an alicorn, and wondering if painting was keeping that change from coming.

Painting led to the change, and the Princesses have told her that with what her father had tried, it never could have been the right one. There are nights when she still has doubts, and...

...it'll be night soon. The time of her final scheduled meeting for this cycle. Tempi stayed for a while longer. They talked (which became easier for the unicorn once they were indoors), and then the adolescent went to Fancypants' residence. Tempi's parents are divorced, her mother travels quite a bit, knows a lot about nobles, seems to be something of a social climber -- to explain that her daughter was a hybrid might have caused trouble, but the invitation to a new, private school operated by the best-known non-royal on the continent... that had an impact.

Tempi has a new home, at least for a while, and a family to meet. But there are times when the unicorn wonders if it's another kind of cell --

-- no. That's not Fancypants. She met him on her first night in the palace. She likes him, and the Solar alicorn trusts him. That should be enough.

...she loved her father. She's starting to like her mentor.

She's not sure she's the best judge of character.

The unicorn is trying to paint, and doing so as a unicorn because the earth pony is too good at it. An earth pony has to use small, precise movements of head and mouth in order to paint. A unicorn trying to get control of her field has few better ways to improve her dexterity than through attempting replication of that skill level, and so she paints as a unicorn because it's good practice. It just so happens that the results are outstandingly ugly.

It frustrates her. She hasn't been this bad in years. She should be able to correct her errors faster than this. Her mother knew how to work through a field --

-- she glances at the chaos pearl which is mounted over the doorway. It changes from ruby to sapphire. There is no other response.

My mother knew how.

She has so many paintings to make. She taught herself how to memorize features and work in a hurry, but she's been meeting so many ponies and -- the unicorn just isn't any good at this yet. She's still trying to finish the portrait of Pinkie, and wants to do so before that family member comes to visit again.

They've been trying to visit now and again, all of the Bearers. The two who are part of her family, and the ones who just say they want to make sure she has --

-- friends.

She spent her life in stone. In prison. Solitary confinement, with the typical company provided by the one whom she would need decades to recognize as her jailer. She doesn't really understand how friends work. Not how to make them, keep them, or -- why anypony would want to be friends with her.

But the Bearers keep coming back. And she wants to give them something. Portraits are all she knows how to create, and it's not going fast enough...

My mother knew how.

She closes her eyes. She thinks about her mother. She stares into inner darkness, and tries to go down.

The paintbrush, held by golden field with its multicolored sparks, moves.

After a moment, she opens her eyes again and regards the scope of the error.

The unicorn's personal spell, her trick, exerts. Paint flows backwards onto the brush.

(She'd told Tempi about that, once the !MOOB unechoed in her ears. The unicorn's trick is limited: something which disappoints her mentor, as time-affecting magic is so rare. But she's still been exploring those limits. For starters, she's learned that it can be used on things she hasn't personally painted, and the temporal range is exponentially beyond 'take back a fresh mistake'. There are several landscapes in the palace which have recently lost all of their centuries-acquired craquelure, with colors now just as bright as the day they were new. The next step will be seeing if she can bring chips back to damaged sculptures.)

She delves down again.
Again.
Again.

The palette eventually refills itself for the third time, doing so just as Moon is raised. And then she has to have dinner, because the host of her last meeting will ask about that.

The kitchen staff tries to look at her, because they are trying. But the meal takes a long time, enough for all of them to find something else which they can regard. Something which isn't the shrinking horn.

She still isn't sure what the most suitable form is for this kind of meeting. The current part of her cycle is 'earth pony' and she knows that's what her host used to be, so perhaps being an earth pony is what might produce some level of extra comfort. It just doesn't seem to comfort the earth pony. It still feels strange, sitting out on the balcony together under Moon and stars.

...well, she's under some of the stars. The rest are in front of her. Waiting for her to speak.

She's been trying to reconcile more of the strangeness which feels built into such meetings. She spent her life studying to become part of the company of Princesses. She failed, and now they simply keep her company.

The Solar alicorn speaks with her every other day. The... other-other days also have nights, and that is when the darker of the sisters requests her presence.

They both want to know how she's doing. Exactly what her mentor is teaching her, for neither can bring themselves to entirely trust him. But it's mostly about how she feels.

There are ways in which she can summarize that, most of which exist as a means of avoiding a true answer. But details are important, and -- she can speak with them. It's easier with them, because she spent her life training to become one of them, her father told her more about their origins than just about anypony living is aware of, and... that lets her understand them, just a little.

They have so much in common.

She's just finished telling the dark Princess about her day. The constellations within the opposing mane and tail are stable. She's already learned to treat this as a good sign.

"It is a lovely night," the alicorn states.

The earth pony looks up. Then she looks down.

"-- and there it is." A simple royal observation.

"...sorry?" Halfway between query and apology.

"You told us that you were made to study diplomacy," the alicorn coolly says. "In some ways, this represents the art of the lie. To openly declare absolute truth while silently refining details for the next falsehood. But you have only ever had to deceive one stallion, regarding a single subject. And we have been speaking for a few weeks now. Long enough for me to learn some of your habits. And as I am rather familiar with fear..."

All the earth pony can do is wait for it.

"You looked at the sky," the alicorn states. "And you were afraid. Why?"

There's something about questions, when they come from the sisters. With Princess Celestia, she has the option to not answer, but feels oddly guilty about not having done so. When it comes to Princess Luna, it's possible to stay quiet -- but the question is going to come again. It may be in a different form, it might be on time delay, and there's a good chance that it's going to be much louder -- but it will come. And no matter which alicorn she's dealing with, she can't avoid answering forever.

"...it's too big," she whispers, and waits for the shaming. Because she spent so much of her life hiding her paintings from a single stallion, the one lie, and every other aspect of her life was controlled by him. By her father. For her to admit that she couldn't manage something so simple...

But the dark alicorn simply says "Continue." And waits.

The earth pony blinks.

"...really?"

"As you happen to be the only entity in the world who can explain your own perspective," the alicorn dryly adds, "I cannot ask another to speak in your place."

She tries to marshal her thoughts. Then she gathers her fears and places them onto the marble of the balcony, because that's easier.

"It was just my rooms," she says. "All my life. Eight hollows in stone. Then a ninth, and I wasn't supposed to be there. I was surrounded by stone all the time. It was all I could see, it was all I knew, and I wasn't supposed to go outside until the Great Work was complete. But then -- it happened, and I was outside. But I was also in pain, and... it kept me from thinking about things. Like how big the sky was, and how strange all the plants were when they weren't just pictures, all the scents and sounds and -- the pain is gone. Everything else is still there. I can ignore it a little when I'm taking lessons, but if there's no other distractions..."

The alicorn is silent. Listening.

"...even the palace hallways feel too wide. There's just too much."

Stars shift somewhat as the dark head nods.

"Sensory overwhelm," the alicorn quietly notes. "With a degree of agoraphobia for both definitions of the term, for it is both an open space and a situation you do not know how to control. One which exists outside control. We are still searching for a psychiatrist who would be suitable for consult, but this allows us to begin dealing with the problem before that party appears --"

"-- I want to go back."

Her eyes open as wide as they ever have. Leveraged to their largest through the pressure of horror, because the words slipped and she can't use magic to unspeak them. The alicorn heard her, the slightly larger body is already leaning forward --

"-- you cannot," the dark mare says, and does so in the manner of one expressing a simple fact.

Almost defensively, "I wasn't going to try teleporting." 'Memorized' is the least of words for how familiar she is with the location, but... "I don't know what my range is. I don't have any intermediary points, and I had an uncontrolled arrival the first time I went between --"

"-- you cannot," the alicorn repeats, "because you should not. Going back is a -- means of trying to restore the way things were." With decreased volume, "We have seen this, with some prisoners. The term is institutionalization. Because for everypony, there is the urge to gallop, to find open space and run: that is why confinement serves as punishment. But some reconcile to the routine of their prison. Then they become -- comfortable, for it is so much easier to follow that routine than to think. And when they emerge again at the end of their sentence, into a world where the rules are less defined... a few decide that they wish for their lives to flow down a familiar, confined channel, because the potential range of the open gallop brings them fear. Surely a simple robbery will make them safe again. And perhaps nopony will be hurt. Unless hurting another would guarantee a lifetime of safety..."

The alicorn shakes her head.

"You cannot go back to where you were," Luna says. "To who you were, and what. The changes to your form are permanent: those made to your life progress. The thoughts will come, but the attempts cannot. The price..."

The dark head dips.

"...is too high."

There are things which ponies do not say, in the presence of the dark Princess. Questions nearly all of them have, and which none will voice. The earth pony has spent her life being told that which so few know, and there was a gap in that information. A question perhaps only two ponies could answer.

It was easier to find information on the alicorn transformation than what had happened during the final fight: her father had said that. She has spent her life in isolation, in stone. She doesn't know what not to ask.

Gently, "What happened to you?"

The alicorn's head instantly comes up. The dark stare focuses on blue eyes.

...she didn't know what not to ask until now. But she can't take those words back either and if there's any way out, it would have to be on the path forward.

"The Nightmare," the earth pony unnecessarily clarifies, and "I'm sorry," is then an understatement. "I know it's personal. I know I shouldn't have asked. But I did. You don't have to answer." Which makes her feel both ashamed and stupid. As if she could give a Princess permission to stay silent --

"-- I tried to go back."

It's just barely a whisper, and the sound still crackles off the balcony's new coating of frost. Something which has touched every surface but that of their fur.

She can't find any words. Then she locates one, and "...what?" is inadequate.

"The centuries... it was approaching three of them." Talking, but not looking at her. Almost in the same way others have trouble looking at her, only staring at the frost. "I had already seen so many others die. All of the original Bearers and our protector. Only I and my sister remained. Their echoes within me -- unchanging. Words, but only those which had been spoken before. I... did my best to gallop forward, because to stop would be to wish that I could follow them into the shadowlands. To see my friends. But I took my sister's advice, and continued to make new ones. Even knowing that I would lose them. There was a mare named Diviner, and -- we became close, as close as anypony since those who came to be part of my soul. My seneschal: the one I wished to know me best. She was my friend, and... I loved her, in my way. Loved her as a friend. I... should have told her that, more than I did. But there was a war, she was among the last casualties, she died when there was no longer any conflict at all and -- I was tired. Weary of watching soul after soul pass to where we could not go. We both believed we could die, but the duty felt unending..."

And all the earth pony can do is listen.

"I told myself... this was why there were two of us." The alicorn's eyes close. "Each bearing a shard of the other's soul. So that if one was lost, the other could carry on. And I stopped talking to my sister. I stopped thinking about her, how much it would hurt her to be the only one moving forward across the centuries to come, the last one trapped. I simply thought about -- finding a way to go back. To give up the duty, and become an earth pony again. I would age, and die, and... they would be waiting for me. I would see my sister again when her duties ended, and... surely by then, she would understand. She would forgive. It was..."

The stars wink out. Two falls of light blue hair collapse across the alicorn's face and form.

"...looked at from my current perspective -- a rather elaborate, fairly slow form of suicide."

The earth pony stares across the small expanse of frost. Looks at pain to match what she once knew, with no means of banishing it. She doesn't know what to do. She would give anything to know what to do --

touch

There's silence. There's also frost melting into her fur. It's very uncomfortable. She didn't know what that felt like until now, and she wants it to stop.

"-- you are resting against me. Leaning into my right flank. You have become a pegasus simply to drape a wing over my back."

Newly-grown joints desperately begin to refold. "I'm sorry --"

"-- I did not say to stop."

Neither mare moves for a time.

"There were enough who shared my night, in the end," Luna finally continues. "It simply felt as if there could never be another with whom I could share my heart. I was tired, and I convinced myself that Tia could go on without me, might in fact be better off without having the chill of my temper interfering now and again." Simply, "And I wished to go back. Another way of saying I wanted to die. But I could find no solution, and in time -- the intangible whispering mass of the one-in-many, that which you know as the Nightmare... found me. It offered -- an exchange of destinies. And I thought... that was better. It would take up my duties. There would be a new companion for my sister: she would miss me, but in time, she would accept a new half of the Diarchy. Tia would be looked after, Moon itself would have a new connection... all would be well. All I had to do was accept the offer, and in my pain..."

Moon is shining down on them now. A waning Moon, almost completely lost to shadow.

"...I did not hear the lie. An exchange of destinies. It gained a true form, and I -- lost myself. Sent down within it, the newest one within the many."

An alicorn immune to cold is shivering.

"The one who screamed. Who felt she deserved nothing more than endless screaming, and had equally endless mirrors to show her the reasons why. The Elements -- simply made me believe, just for a moment, that I might be worthy of another chance. They gave me a road, and I galloped. The Elements burned the Nightmare from without, I gored it from within, and when it perished... only I remained."

Falling tears impact chill marble. Harden.

"There is your answer," the alicorn states. "Perhaps not the whole of it, as I suspect you have a rather natural follow-up question."

The pegasus has to force the nod.

"Princess Celestia remembers more of the last battle than I do," the dark alicorn says. "As I could only witness it from the distorted vision of another. She should be the one to explain how the banishment to Moon took place, and -- you should not ask her. Not until I tell her that you might wish to know, and that will take some time. She will explain herself to Twilight Sparkle before she speaks with you, she is dreading that, and... I wish to give her the chance to pace her own gallop. She has her own pain, and she has never completely fallen to it. Wished to go back, wished for an end -- but she has never taken the final hoofstep. It gives her certain privileges, as the stronger of us. The right to decide when she speaks. Grant her that."

Again.

They continue to rest together. There is no witness but Moon, and it only speaks to one.

Cautiously, "We have, in some ways, arguably been discussing a subset of what might be your true issue. Have you thought about trying to change back? The Elements --"

"-- Twilight said they would make things worse. He told her that. So I asked him about it. He said... the chaos energies from the gems are part of me now. Forever. It's part of why my body can work at all. The hybrids were born with that, so it's natural to them, and they only have a little each. He doesn't think the Elements can touch it. But with me -- they might try to counter it. And if it was dispelled, I would die." She has to force the next breath. "Or they might turn me to stone."

"Both of which he would consider as 'worse'."

"Yes. And there's nothing else. So this is -- me. I'm the same pony: just with aspects and transient states. I just have to find some way of making that safe."

The alicorn nods. Their breathing begins to match pace.

"Why did you touch me?" More quickly, "I do not object. But you moved so quickly, as if there was no true thought --"

"-- it was -- sort of a whisper. From within." She pauses. "I think it was my mother. I've been trying to speak with her again. To find the others --"

"-- stop."

She immediately stops talking.

"I shall rephrase," the alicorn decides. "Stop searching within yourself. Do not seek them out. We are six, myself and my sister. A soul composed partially from the echoes of other souls. Four friends, and -- each other, as we were at the moment of transformation. We are six -- and most of the time, we are simply one. But when we are stressed, in situations where our oldest instincts tell us the lost would be better suited to a task -- they can color our thoughts. There are times when it becomes more intense than that, when one speaks as two or -- worse. Something where only three living ponies can truly speak to you of the experience: how to recognize it, and make it stop. For the first pair to change... our closest companions: the same is true for Twilight Sparkle. Cadance grew up among those who merged with her at the last --"

The deepest secret. Something her father had never been able to find the slightest hint of: the origin of the alicorn who had ascended without the Elements, a singular path which led through snow and swirling cold. She wants to know --

-- but the dark Princess continues to speak. And that is more important.

"-- and so has the knowledge required to find them again. Four of us are six, while trying to remain ourselves. But you are nine, and you have no concept for who seven of them might be. That makes the connection harder. And without knowing who they were, what kind of ponies they might have been -- is it wise to bring them forth? Your father sought the powerful and important as sources of essence. That does not always mean the kind. We will learn their identities, when he finally realizes that he gains nothing from not speaking. And then you can decide whether it is best to seek them within yourself. Your mother... she will come to you when she is needed. But with the others..."

The frost begins to evaporate.

"You are nine," the alicorn repeats. "In time, we will have to deal with that. But until then, Tish -- let yourself be one."

'Tish.'

In all the world, she is unique -- and yet she has so much in common with a number of others. She has friends, an ever-expanding family, and... a place to paint. That last feels important.

She also has those who call her 'Tish.' But she still thinks of herself as 'I' and 'me'. She doesn't know how long it will take for that to change.

But everything changes. That's what chaos is for. Chaos and time.

"Thank you for telling me," the alicorn says. "That you were thinking about going back." A pause. "We will clear a cell and make it somewhat more comfortable. A place to which you can retreat now and again, when the fear requires a location in which to subside."

"Thank you."

They have yet to break contact.

"Do you think about going back to your father?"

"To see him in the prison," she admits. "To demand answers. But the last form of direct control he has over me is not talking. So he won't."

"And for -- anything else?"

"The comfort of routine?"

The alicorn nods.

"Sometimes," the pegasus quietly says. "Because it's just about the only thing I ever knew. But the world is larger than nine rooms. And I've never painted a landscape. Just portraits. I feel like the first part of working on a landscape is -- living in the land. Above it. But I've been reading. About the horizon line. When you paint a landscape, and you're trying to suggest distance, depth -- every perspective line for the painting has to collapse towards a single point. I don't think I'm going to be ready to try that for a while."

"It is a defined aspect of art. You should be capable of mastering it --"

"-- the horizon keeps expanding."

It was hard to stay outside.
It was worse to go back in.
She had to remember that.
She tried to remember every day.
Every day under Sun and Moon.
Every day at their side.

Fur intermeshes as they both breathe. The alicorn's body is slightly cool.

"A cell?" the pegasus asks.

"It is the most confined space available. Unless you prefer a closet."

"No. It's just that... sometimes, the palace feels like a prison. It's just a larger prison than I had before, and -- it has a door." A little more slowly, "I was thinking about that. If there's any real difference, between a prison with a lock and one with a door."

"There are ways in which it can be a prison," the alicorn slowly allows. "The truest bonds for myself and my sister, however, come from duty. In your case -- the difference is rather obvious."

Her ears perk. Tan ears, at least for now.

"What is it?"

"So are you ready to talk yet, Tish?" her mentor grumbles under newly-risen Sun. "Or do I have to try tiring you out with something along the lines of a hurricane? Which do you think would be more interesting there, dispersal or creation --"

"-- I think so." Talking is better than a hurricane. Usually.

Uneven shoulders shrug.

"So. Did you find the answer to your question?" He impatiently drums talons against the surface of a restored boulder. "What is the difference between a prison with a lock and one with a door?"

"The name of the person who decides when you leave."

He raises his eyebrows. She watches them levitate.

"And the identity for the second example would be...?"

"Triptych."

He nods.

Far too casually, "Have prisoner and warden mutually decided? To leave?"

She understands far too little of the world. Of ponies, and everything else which exists under a living sky.
She has a doctorate in pain.

"No. I'm not safe yet. But it'll happen, with enough teaching. And just because I leave --" she's looking directly into his eyes, which is easy for once because they're actually staying in place "-- it doesn't mean I'll stay away forever."

"Ah," Discord decides. "So we continue."

It's her turn to nod.

"We may still do the hurricane later," he adds. "They're fun. For now..." He pats the boulder. "...why don't we try for somewhat larger pieces?"

She practices. Eventually, there's something of a BOOM!, and she doesn't quite get the results she wanted. She's slightly distracted. Because she thinks about questions which nopony else would ask. But she also thinks about painting, the sky, her mother, what it's like to be one pony when she's still trying to figure out who, without the Great Work to guide her, that one is.

But just now, she's thinking about her newest sister. Whether it's possible to get Tempi out to watch at the exercise yard.

Tish is still learning about life. But given what keeps happening to the boulders, she thinks she might eventually find herself in desperate need of a !MOOB.