Picture That. In Your Dreams.
Twilight was ina throne room. Really present, in a way she didn’t usually feel in her dreams. Normally she flitted around scenes as an incorporeal observer, but now she was stuck in this room. She couldn’t see the seams between places.
Being aware she was in a dream didn’t make anything better. The problem with dreams was that here the gap between knowledge of the mind and soul was massive. It didn’t matter what her logical mind knew, because down here everything felt very, very real.
There was someone with her, massive and towering, powerful and smiling and shining. Gods, how she shone. So much it hurt the little unicorn’s eyes. Twilight knew her, but felt like her name was far away. When an enormous white wing swaddled her shoulder Twilight felt the panic rise, not dull.
Because Twilight was in a throne room, and she felt her face begin to tear, Twilight was in danger. And when the explosion happened, she was on fire. No amount of turning and spinning could orienteer a lost filly, blinded and scorched. Only that wing, crushing the life out of her, gave her any sense of place. So she turned to look at that shining leviathan.
She shone so hard that the fur on Twilight’s face simply ignited, matting molten skin to the rock of her skull beneath. And before her eyes burst, she wondered how that wing could still be around her when she saw two above. No, five.
No, ten.
Ten wings and countless faces, thousand eyes, shimmering, near formless around the supernova.
And before the whole world ended, there was the ghost of a smile from the pale mare. The only thing that had never wavered.
SERAPHIM
Twilight was in a meeting, and she was being terribly unprofessional. It was a deadly combination though, the collision of matters of state and lack of sleep. Even the most diligent and studious of mares would find it difficult to stay totally riveted during a several hours-long conversation about tax codes.
Her mentor had requested she begin to attend more of these kinds of meetings in preparation for her assuming royal duties, and so she had obliged. She’d obliged the request to allow ponies to call her ‘princess’ more, rather than instinctively asking them to call her Twilight. She’d obliged the request to spend more of her time in Canterlot, away from her real home.
“Twilight,” Celestia’s voice was soft, but it still cut through everything and knocked Twilight firmly out of her dozing. She stood, and launched into her pre-prepared remarks to contribute to the discussion. Because, while Twilight was bored and tired, she was still diligent and studious. She’d ensured ahead of time she had something to say, in line with Celestia’s request that she be an active participant in these meetings.
But as she spoke, eyes dragging disinterestedly over all those present, Twilight wondered why she obliged any of these requests when the truth was that she didn’t want to. She wanted to remain in Ponyville; she wanted to continue her research, not attend to the interminable dryness of the bureaucracy of state.
She hadn’t even wanted these wings. She didn’t know how to fold them correctly, she couldn’t get comfy when she sat to read, the joints ached and they weighed her back down. But as her eyes continued to move across all the meeting’s attendees, Twilight chided herself. Because she knew exactly why she did it all.
She did it because Celestia had asked her to, and she could sooner stop her heart from beating than to disobey. And Twilight knew full well this wasn’t something as base as infatuation, nor as clichéd as some mother-daughter complex. The truth was she didn’t quite understand the particulars of it; it felt primal, like something in her was hard-wired to obey.
Even when she ended up with wings she didn’t want, or a title that felt wrong. Even when the admiration that used to blind her had given way recently to something more insidious. A disquiet steeped in the memories of half-formed dreams that wouldn’t stop plaguing her. All of white mares and massive wings and the heat of the heart of the sun and light so bright it blinded you through eyelids and panicked hooves and more.
Through all that she kept coming to this city, kept attending meetings, kept speaking when prompted. And it seemed to be what Celestia wanted. Twilight could see it as she spoke, the serene smile and blissful calm on the princess’s face. She could tell she was making Celestia proud. It was impossible to miss that pride, after all, when the princess practically shone with it.
“Princess Twilight!” a voice called as Twilight left the meeting room. It was a testament to how exhausted she was that she didn’t realise it was Celestia until she turned around. Twilight remained still as the princess walked up to her, the shine of her coat lighting up the dull hallway.
“Not quite gotten used to it yet?” she asked, and Twilight nodded shakily, “It took me quite a while to settle too. In many ways I still haven’t.”
“I can’t really imagine a version of you before… that,” Twilight replied, pointing to the crown on Celestia’s head, “What did they call you back then?”
The princess cocked her head to the side slightly, as if mildly taken aback by the question. However, there was something like a flicker of recognition behind her eyes, and she righted herself.
“I was just Celestia back then,” she said, her tinkling laugh hitting Twilight differently to how it used to. It used to be lighter than air, the rare vision of the mare behind the godhood. But this time, it seemed like the last defense of that godhood, laced with an urging for its victim to believe.
And even though the rational part of her screamed to leave, dredging up memories of waking from sun-bleached nightmares, the laugh seemed to do its job against a conscious resistor. Memories of being a filly swaddled in wings that still felt like comfort won out.
“Princess, ever since...” Twilight stammered, awkwardly gesturing to her wings to supplement for words she still hadn’t quite worked out how to form, “I’ve been having some… strange dreams.”
“Hmm,” the princess replied, brow furrowed. She stepped forward and Twilight forced herself not to flinch as Celestia began to gently inspect Twilight’s wings, “What have you been dreaming about, Twilight?”
Fire, light, sun, pain, burning, overwhelming glare, supernova, apocalypse, white mare, crushing wings, holy fire, armageddon, serene smile, million wings, scorching furnace of a dying star.
“Just... nightmares,” Twilight said, her mouth feeling altogether too dry.
Celestia continued to inspect with her hooves, but her eyes flicked to Twilight’s. Her expression seemed neutral, yet there was some intense thought there, Twilight could see it. And then the feeling of her hooves got stronger until it was uncomfortable.
Sweat beaded on Twilight’s forehead and she squinted. Celestia was shining again, but this time it seemed conspicuously absent of pride. This time it was more like it was in Twilight’s dreams. And just like in those dreams she was trapped, the overwhelming weight of a wing traded for firmly preening hooves, blinded by the light.
“You’ve been through a lot, Twilight,” Celestia said, her hooves and shimmer both finally pulling back, “I’m sure it’s just stress.”
Twilight nodded tersely, and Celestia gave it a couple of seconds before seemingly realising that was all she was going to get.
“Remember, we’ve got a meeting with the Griffon ambassador at eleven Twilight. Would you mind coming along? I think it would be a great learning experience.”
Twilight didn’t respond, and Celestia didn’t wait. One mare left to focus on the business of state, the other remained to catch her breath. No confirmation was needed. Because even though Twilight didn’t want to go to a meeting, even though she didn’t want to be in Canterlot at all, even though she didn’t want these wings or dreams...
It was as if both already knew Twilight would oblige.
Twilight felt like she was boiling alive. She had just thrown something, but couldn’t quite remember why she’d done it. She didn’t really know where she was. But she’d thrown something, she was sure of that at least. That was what had started all this.
From the top of this place, just after she’d thrown something, there had been an explosion. The space around the throne simply ignited, and all of her fur singed instantly. She fell to her knees and tried to shield herself, but there was nothing that could be done.
Only when she got the strength to look up did she see that in the centre of the blinding glare was a pale mare, ensconced in ten sets of wings. More mouths than she could count were all screaming, violent poetry in the language of stars. It shredded Twilight’s eardrums, it blinded her. Her body was kindling.
But no, not every mouth was screaming. One of them was looking at her, calm, collected, serene. Smiling, even, in the middle of hell. Even as her shine eclipsed everything around it, that face stayed the same.
And then she remembered: that white mare was familiar to her.
And then she remembered what was being crushed by one of those enormous wings.
And then Twilight remembered that she was in a throne room.
“I swear, these tea dates are getting few and far between,” Rarity said, pouring into Twilight’s cup, “Oh but I mustn’t complain. I know you’ve got more important things to worry about than Ponyville.”
“Well,” Twilight began, throat closing around the rebuttal she was desperate to offer, “Let’s just say… Celestia keeps me busy.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either.
“I can imagine, dear. It must be so fascinating! You’re so lucky to have someone like that in your corner!” Rarity trilled, and Twilight cringed as if wounded.
“Say Rarity, I know this is a little off topic, but what do you think an angel is?”
The expression she got in response was not unexpected. Twilight knew exactly how strange she sounded. The issue was that Twilight was a scholar, research had been her lifeblood before all this started.
So, when Twilight found herself plagued with nightmares about her teacher, formed as a multi-winged monstrosity, shining in the hellfire of a billion supernovae, Twilight did what she did best. She went down to the royal library and read. Anything and everything on beings that shone, that were made of more wings and heads that you could count.
What she’d found had troubled her.
“Well, an angel is… hmm. It’s hard to put into specific words. I’d say that an angel is someone who puts all others above themselves. It’s someone who comes to save you. I always call Spikey an angel when he helps me finish off an order. I suppose that—”
“No. I’m sorry to interrupt Rarity,” Twilight began, preempting the look of offense Rarity shot her, “I mean literally, not as a way to describe someone. What is an angel?”
“Are you talking about the old creation myths?” Rarity asked through a dainty mouthful of cake, “You do know we’re the same age, right?”
“I know it’s all a little before our time, but I’m sure you know enough to have a stab at it.”
“Why are we talking about this Twilight?”
“Please,” Twilight said, gripping the sides of her teacup with enough force for her to faintly worry about it breaking.
“Fine,” Rarity sighed, and Twilight’s grip loosened, “Well, I just think of ponies with fluffy wings and halos, sitting on clouds. To be honest they sound a lot like pegasi.”
“But what are they like?” Twilight insisted.
“I mean, they’re kind? That’s the thing about them, isn’t it? They’re angelic. They look after ponies.”
“That’s what everyone has said!” Twilight exclaimed, “Do you know Granny Smith believes in all the old creation stories? All the stuff about a single alicorn creating the whole world, all the stuff about angels. She said the exact same thing, said that angels were perfect beings of light.”
“Let me guess,” Rarity replied, “That’s not right.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Twilight sighed, “It’s just… all the old texts I could find, the truly old ones… Calling them perfect beings of light isn’t incorrect. They were certainly described as being perfect. But it was a bad perfect, like so perfect that you’d just do anything they told you, you wouldn’t be able to resist them. And the thing about light? They shone. Believe me Rarity, they most certainly shone.
“And everyone talks about how they’re so good and so pure. Honestly, none of the old texts ever describe angels as benevolent. They’re described as avengers, far more associated with wrath than peace.”
“Those books did tend to be quite ‘fire and brimstone’ didn’t they, dear? I’m not surprised they focused on the ‘destroying evil’ part over doing good.” Rarity offered, clearly grasping for things to say in a conversation that had taken her off guard.
“No, there was none of that. No destroying evil. They were described as ridding the world of impurity and weakness, coveting brute strength. They had multiple faces and wings, eyes all over their skin. Rarity… they were like monsters,” Twilight finished with a shudder.
“Okay Twilight, but… why do so many ponies think of them in the ‘wrong’ way then?” Rarity asked, and Twilight stared down at her mug.
“These books I found, they weren’t easy to come across. I had to look in the royal library’s restricted archives to find them. Nowadays, all the religious texts that concern the old creation myths talk about angels in the way we’re all familiar with. Fluffy clouds, gentle, kind, harmless. In fact, I couldn’t find any book written after 4573 years ago that talks about angels in the classical way.”
Twilight stared at Rarity, hoping against hope that the timeframe would trigger the same sense of dread she herself was feeling. But Rarity simply looked confused, so Twilight decided to help her along.
“That was the same year that Celestia and Luna were first mentioned in Equestrian history.”
“Twilight,” Rarity began, chewing her lip uncomfortably, “Why are we talking about this?”
And it was all that Twilight wanted to do, to confess about her dreams, about the lack of sleep slowly grinding away at her insanity. She wanted to tell Rarity how much the princess truly shone, how she could get Twilight, or anyone, to do whatever she wanted with a couple of words and her sweet little smile.
She wanted to tell Rarity how if someone had asked her, just a few months ago, to describe an angel, she would have talked about Celestia.
But then the sun came out from behind the clouds, and it shone so brightly through the windows of Carousel Boutique that Twilight had to cover her eyes. Over the sound of blood rushing through her ears, soundtracking visions of a mare made all of wings and faces, she could faintly hear Rarity closing her blinds.
“Twilight?” Rarity called out. Twilight slowly lowered her hooves and found Rarity by the newly closed blinds, staring at her quizzically.
“Sorry Rarity… just took me off guard,” Twilight muttered.
“So… you were telling me what had started all this angel business?” Rarity prodded her along, clear concern in her eyes. But the moment was gone, and whatever middling courage Twilight might have found had been burned away in the sunlight.
“It’s just some research Rarity,” she replied, and took a long sip of tea to get through the silence.
Twilight was in a throne room, and something had just been thrown at her.
But it missed and hit something else. She’d had all the time in the world as it sailed idly by, laughably slow, to stare at the cowardly bag of meat that had dared thrown it. They shivered, confused the second it left their hooves, like they didn’t even know where they were.
The would-be assailant probably didn’t; none of them did really. They were so weak, middling and inconsequential, temporary and so utterly breakable. They disgusted her. And more than disgust,Twilight felt rage. When he missed her and hit the one single bit of strength their entire cohort had managed to cobble together.
And in her rage at this sweating, filthy animal, Twilight simply exploded. Every part of her was revealed in a glorious storm of fire that rent flesh from bone, flayed all who witnessed it. Every single wing she had beat, cultivating a simple firestorm into a lifecycle in miniature of a whole star.
To all who beheld her, it sounded like Twilight screamed. But all she did was speak, speak true and full and furious. Her infinite eyes could see everything, see the pure white of her form, see the sunfire pouring from her, see the seams between places.
Twilight wasn’t in a throne room anymore.
She was an ANGEL.
Twilight pushed off her covers, panicking and sweaty. She spluttered desperately, trying to get air through a throat long screamed raw, but she just kept coughing. She tried to call out for Spike, and felt the misery compound when she remembered she wasn’t at home.
She was in her suite in Canterlot, alone. She was always alone these days. Her wings flailed in panic while she struggled to get the air she needed. The joints were on fire. She’d slept on them wrong again, like she did it every night. She didn’t know how to fold them properly. She wanted to go home.
Twilight rolled out of bed and staggered over to the en-suite. The glare of lights bouncing burned her eyes, so she squinted as she flicked the taps on. Feeling too desperate to bother with a glass, Twilight elected to simply stick her head under a tap and guzzle enough to finally soothe her throat.
When she could finally stop coughing long enough to breathe properly, she fell against the tiles. She might have cried, were it not for the sheer exhaustion. She tried to open her eyes, and found the glare was still too bright. And then slowly, nauseatingly, it occured to Twilight that she’d never put her lights on.
She grabbed the sink and pulled herself up, needing to see herself in the mirror. And even though the glare burned her eyes, when she was finally upright Twilight forced herself to open them fully and stare. But she could barely see anything for the light, the scorching, furious light coming from every part of her body.
The problem with dreams was that the gap between knowledge of the mind and soul was massive. So when Twilight realised she was still asleep, it didn’t help anything.
Tears more akin to oil and mercury fell from milky, half-blinded eyes and set on fire before they hit the ground. Before her sight failed her all together, Twilight saw no purple mare with two ill-fitting wings in the mirror.
No.
This mare had many.
“I’m sure you’ll do amazingly Twilight,” Celestia said with her characteristic smile, “Just remember you’re a princess now.”
If there had ever been a time that Twilight had wished, more than anything that she could just say no then this was it. It was her first day of court. A whole day of listening to petitioners. All while severely sleep-deprived, seated right next to a mare who had come to terrify her.
But in the gentle warmth of Celestia’s motherly glow, Twilight would have had more luck biting her own tongue out than saying no. Did it make her insane, to actually consider that? Twilight walked under the enormous wing of the princess, confidence and self-assuredness given flesh, like a mare on her way to the gallows.
And when she got up there, looking at the ponies of the court applauding her, it all fully crystalised. Twilight took her seat and wiped her forehead. Sweat was already collecting on her brow. Conventional wisdom would suggest it was nerves, but Twilight knew better. Twilight knew it was because she was seated right next to the sun, and every part of her glowed.
Was it pride? Victory? Maybe hatred? Whatever the reason Celestia shone so radiantly, so beautiful in every sense that it nearly made Twilight sick. And when every part of your body shone as Celestia’s did, was it any wonder that Twilight felt feverish? Especially when she thought about the body she suspected Celestia really had, so many wings and eyes and faces, all burning away.
Twilight couldn’t breathe.
The first petitioner came up, swaddled in a cloak. All seemed calm; Celestia looked serene, the royal guard looked bored. But Twilight knew, she knew what was about to happen. Everything slotted into place as she chewed her lip, looking over the crowd and imagining each one of them being scorched to death.
Twilight knew what that petitioner was about to do, because she’d been dreaming about nothing else since the moment these disgusting appendages had erupted from her back. When Celestia’s wing fell over her, a gesture of affection now nothing more than the callous, crushing weight of an angel, Twilight could no longer sit around and wait.
Because she knew what was about to happen. She knew where she was.
Twilight was in a throne room.
“NO!” she screamed. The entire hall was silent, each set of eyes stared at her in confusion. But Twilight wasn’t looking at them, she was staring at Celestia and Celestia was staring back. It seemed like some sick joke, that the princess was still shining now.
Twilight bolted, needing to be anywhere else. She tried to teleport as she ran, but her frantic mind couldn’t concentrate properly. And through the burgeoning fracas and clopping of her hooves Twilight could only just hear the sound of Celestia, calling her back.
But Twilight didn’t oblige.
Twilight’s breath hitched as the weight shifted on her bed. She’d known from the get-go that her solution had been temporary, but there weren’t many places to hide. At this point, all she wanted to do was sleep. But this bed was in Canterlot, it wasn’t home. As such, all she’d done was sit and wait to take and plunge and finally talk with Celestia.
“I know what you are,” she breathed, as the duvet was lifted from her head.
“Oh? What am I Twilight?” Celestia asked, like it was another academic question.
It was now or never.
“You’re an angel.”
“I’m surprised, Twilight. I did not consider you one for flattery.” Celestia teased, but Twilight didn’t laugh. She did however, still have the presence of mind to flinch when Celestia reached out to stroke her mane.
“It’s the dreams, isn’t it?” the princess asked, her usual smile tinged with sadness.
“Please, do me the courtesy of telling me the truth,” Twilight said, trying to be brave despite the fear rushing through her.
“I didn’t want to push you before you were ready to talk to me, Twilight, but I think I can guess. You’ve been dreaming about the throne room, haven’t you? The dreams are not premonitions, but they aren’t false either. They’re memories.”
“Memories? I think I would remember the things I’ve dreamed about,” Twilight spat.
“It was your first time in court,” Celestia continued, seemingly unconcerned with the interruption, “I wanted to show you what it was like and… someone tried to kill me.”
“...What?”
“Assassination attempts are sadly not as uncommon as you’d think. The poor wretch had been given a knife to throw at my head. It was a ridiculous, weak attempt. Had he been on his mark it would have bounced off me and at worst damaged the carpets. But it didn’t hit me… it hit you, cut your cheek open. And that made me lose my temper.”
Celestia sighed, her glow seemed dimmed.
“But I saw… you killed them. You burned them all alive,” Twilight spluttered in horror.
“What?!” Celestia gasped, “Twilight, I got angry, and let my magic get out of control, because I was worried about you! But I didn’t kill anyone. The assassin was let free in the end, he hadn't even known what he was doing. He and a whole series of conspirators had been under the influence of mind magic, the true assailant was caught later."
“But this was the whole problem, the assassin cut your face… but I terrified you. It took weeks before you could even be in the same room as me again. Eventually, I think you just blocked it out altogether. It’s not uncommon with trauma at that age. But now your ascension must have… knocked it loose.”
Twilight looked down at her hooves. It was so tempting to believe, she wanted to do nothing more. To look again at Celestia as a teacher and source of comfort, instead of terror.
“I’ve seen you every night, Princess. Shining, with hundreds of wings and faces. Are you telling me I just made all that up?”
“When you were a filly Twilight, you saw a pony you trusted become so angry she turned into a monster. It’s not surprising that I became a monster in your dreams. I should’ve never let you become so scared of me that that happened. You’re so strong, Twilight, I’ve always known how strong you were since the moment we met. You’ll do amazing things.”
She gently cupped Twilight’s cheek with a hoof.
“And I know the myths you’re referring to with this angel business. You’ve always been too clever for your own good, and sometimes the cleverest among us can make connections out of thin air. Angels are supposed to be perfect, Twilight, and I rather think that precludes me. Trust me.”
And Twilight stared into those old, old eyes. As she did, the memories crystalised. She remembered running away from the giant scary monster. She remembered the primal fear, wetting the bed with terror and fighting to get away from her lessons.
Maybe it was her stress-fraught mind desperate for sleep, maybe it was that shine, still dancing in the gloom of this bedroom that didn’t feel like home. Maybe it was the fact that Celestia was wrong, that she was really as perfect as anyone could be. For whatever reason, Twilight did her best to let go of silly notions of ponies being angels, she did her best to trust her teacher again.
She obliged.
Twilight could faintly remember collapsing shortly after her conversation with the princess, and being tucked in. Just like when was a filly.
Maybe that’s why she was a filly again in her dreams. She’d just left the doctor’s office after getting the cut on her face stitched up. She thought to herself about all she’d experienced. She should have been terrified, but there was nothing there. Twilight was a smart filly, she knew exactly why Celestia had acted that way. It was to protect her. She wasn’t scared of Celestia at all.
And that felt wrong. So sickeningly, awfully wrong.
Time passed so strangely in dreams, because suddenly Twilight wasn’t by the doctor’s office anymore. She was in the palace, calling out for Celestia.
All she wanted to do was thank her for looking after her, to check whether Celestia was okay. She wanted to check on the stallion who’d hurt her. Because he’d had big, sad eyes, and he’d looked frightened. She didn’t think he was bad.
It was like there was a lead weight in her stomach, dragging her further down with every single moment that took her closer to the lights in the distance. Because she’d wanted to thank Celestia, and she’d searched the whole palace, and eventually she’d come down here. Down to the dark places beneath ground.
She wasn’t afraid of them, the princess had shown her the way around down here. It was where Celestia came to be alone, that was the super-secret they’d shared. So Twilight thought, if Celestia wasn’t in the palace, maybe she wanted to be alone? Maybe she was in her special place?
And with every step, further and closer did the gloom retreat and the temperature rise. She heard the voices then, desperate and gasping, all of them a chorus of begging and panic. And then Twilight finally remembered.
“Please, we told you, we don’t know who they were.”
Twilight poked her head around the doorway, and inside she saw a huddle of terrified ponies. At their front was the stallion who had tried to hurt her. He was pleading to Celestia. She shone so hard it was like the morning sun. And when she spoke, her voice was like the dying of a star. Tectonic and massive and deafening, the terror of oblivion, the knowledge of death.
Some far off part of Twilight, dancing along the edges of consciousness and memory took a stab at translating. But at this point, she knew what was being said. In those words spoken by a being beyond comprehension, Twilight knew it was talking about ‘weakness’ and ‘impurity’.
Because then Celestia was on fire, and so were all those scared ponies. They screamed as they were unmade in the heart of the sun, and the whole time Celestia smiled.
And Twilight cared surprisingly little for all the countless wings and countless eyes and countless heads that screamed and laughed and moaned in the violence. Along with her victims, these were quickly swallowed by the shining, brighter than anything Twilight had seen.
Through it all, though, Twilight only looked at the one face that was looking at her, straight into a terrified filly’s eyes. Wearing that serene smile, that beautiful smile. And though it soon became too bright to see anything at all, that expression of calm and perfection was the very last thing to disappear.
