Song of Myself

Chapters

Prologue: Shattered Ego
Chapter 1: There's a Ghost in My Mouth
Chapter 2: Don't Wake Me Up
Chapter 3: Get a Load of this Monster
Chapter 4: I Want to Know What's in Your Head
Epilogue: Restored Pride

Prologue: Shattered Ego

Luna had never believed in breezie tales. There were many reasons for this. Among them, from the moment her extended divine foalhood had started to pale, she had been told in a thousand different ways that she was not the sister who was meant to have a happy eternity. So Luna had endured being the feared and forlorn goddess whose art was left to languish.

That was a catalyst of madness, for what was her art but a reflection of herself? How could she turn to anything else in a backward age that imposed medieval mortal social confines upon the divine? She spent ages perfecting a craft that was dear enough to be her irreplicable talent and honing her equally unique dream-craft, in an effort to have the dual dance of escapism and the one thing she loved.

Her art had lost itself before she had lost her mind. Celestia had always known all the constellations that Luna had invented. Luna had only been telling their sagas to her sister since she could first make a story. When the only thing Luna had in her heart was despair and envy that she was unloved as her sister was lauded, Luna let her stories reflect the tragedy on her mind.

In all that time when Luna could only offer calls for help, Celestia never asked her why Orion was slain by Scorpio or why Orpheus was longing for his love. Instead, her elder sister asked Luna why the star-creatures were always male.

The second reason was one that revolved around a matter of encouragement. Breezie tales told primitive ponies not that dragons existed, for they already knew that. They existed to also say that dragons could be beaten, as the old adage goes. Legends nurtured embers of hope, and she had always needed something to hope for.

Luna had always preferred experiments with magic over the company of others. Meditation was an activity she held dear to her heart, and adventure had much meditation in itself. Thus, she loved all that she could do alone. Her art was the sole exception, for though she crafted it alone, it was her lifeline.

Unfortunately, Luna cast her lifeline into a world where her only friend had ever been her sister and expected it not to be trampled. When she cast it within herself, she hadn’t expected to pull back the thought of a dragon who could not be beaten.

This was the dragon whose hoard was all of the worst of Luna. It was only fitting that when she thought of what could be the most wrong, most vile thing about her life, Female in all its cruelness reared its ugly head. None could see Female the way Luna could. To everypony else, it had been invisible just how harsh the torment of the Female monster was.

Nopony else saw how Luna did not find it normal to be addressed with such a curse; she was numb to it for reasons no book or being could find a name to. Who could see the fangs around Luna’s throat every time she heard her own voice? How was it that Luna wished the Female beast would cast its wings over her so that she might be shadowed from her own looks?

Why could she not have that mercy? What was it about the words she mumbled out that made Celestia send her to a physician that only half-paid attention to her? She pleaded over and over with the parade of ponies her sister assigned to ‘treat’ her that she needed no tonics to get her humors balanced and that she did not hate her body so drastically that she was convinced she was the size of a whale or some other malady.

All Luna had ever wanted was to rip away the curses that mares had. She wanted to watch herself wither away to ashes if only it meant that she could be pieced together again with all the things that hurt her less… a broad jaw to bring about recognition when she looked in the mirror… a voice that let her recognize her own words… a body that conveyed anything but the weak desire to crumple, except when it had too much Female lies to show her… and a mind that did everything but drown in all the worst parts of itself, whispering with all the terrible things Luna should do and all the ways she would never be able to shed her skin.

Eventually, the doctors prescribed a new round of herbs and concoctions. They informed her that she possessed melancholy and dysmorphia of the body. Her prognosis was simple: take all her medications, confront her aversion to femininity, and get rid of all her unhealthy babblings about why being female was supposedly awful to curb her self-loathing.

Celestia was quick to tell Luna about how she was delighted all her baby sister had to do was take her medicine, and that there had been little reason for good ol’ Tia to so much worry in the first place.

Luna had been ready to beg Celestia to worry about her every waking moment, if only it meant that Celestia would not let her do something rash and really, truly pay attention to her. These were the same experts that Celestia had sent Luna to when Celestia felt there was a cause to be worried over Luna’s lack of lovers.

Luna had told them she felt no physical stirrings for stallions and was promptly diagnosed with lesbianism. When she informed them she felt no such irrational cravings for mares either, the diagnosis was revised to lesbianism with frigidity as a result of internalized homophobia. At that time, Luna was advised to take different medicines and that her homosexuality was nothing to be ashamed of.

All Luna had been told was that her problems were not at the desperate, consuming severity she reported, and further visits to doctors were only done out of hopelessness. They provided the only real social contact she had. Yet because they were her subjects they still feared her on some level.

She knew she was waning.

She told anypony she could, even when Celestia urged her not to be too dramatic.

Five years later, there was nothing Luna could say.

Not from the moon.

Author's Note

[Revised for print on 2/17-2/28/2023]

~~haha dysphoria go brr~~

I'll add character tags if they become relevant. But because I'm Ice Star Sombra/Luna is going to be the focus. The rest of the story will be 1st Person POV after this, so don't feel disappointed if you wanted that. It'll happen.

Yes, this was named for the Nightwish song.

Chapter 1: There's a Ghost in My Mouth

I stared at Sound Mind tiredly, awaiting his answer. Doctor Sound Mind quietly adjusted his glasses and patted his salt and pepper mane. To the average mortal, his gesture might be mistaken for one befitting their conception of a pretentious scholar. With his fondness for somber hues and sulking overcoats in equally austere colors, he fit easily into such a foalish presumption. If ponies only knew that he dedicated his talents to the most experimental of deeds: being the first and only mortal to truly attempt to therapize the divine.

My appointments were draining for both of us. The chance to talk about anything I endured was not novel, but the idea that anypony truly listened to me was. My words were not heeded except by my dear husband, those I ruled, and the friends I had in Shining Armor, Cadance, and Sound Mind himself.

“Your Majesty, when you tell me things like this, what makes you continue to think that my suggestion is incorrect?”

I looked to his wall, wishing the landscape paintings hanging there held more vividness to them. He always called me by my title or my name, though I preferred the latter, even if it had always been slightly off. Never pronouns, thank my stars. Tia told me that she always had the curators of her health address her with the same professionalism she required of all other subjects. Such stiff formality never sat well with me, nor was I a ‘Just Twilight Sparkle, Please’ type like a certain demigod I shan’t name.

“I’m unsure if I understand the full meaning behind what the condition is. Just how certain can you be?”

“Luna, since I have begun to know you, I have been able to match you to every diagnostic criterion for gender dysphoria. Despite your asexuality, you have still admitted that all aspects of female anatomy have repulsed you deeply, creating a fractured perception of yourself.”

“Aye…” I mumbled, and the softness in my voice wounded me. “That is so. Yet, what possibility is there that I might be troubled by another ailment? How can this be my true disorder when I have spent my eternity being told that all else under the heavens is what plagues me?”

When every mortal has tried to name the beast in my head, and how she gnaws at me, who is it that speaks truly?

There was another sigh from Sound Mind, though not one of annoyance. I heard no trace of it in his breath. “You have been told for ages that you are nothing more than a defective mare?”

“Aye,” I murmured, “and everything else that comes from this nation so drenched an uppity fixation over the mere idea of a creature being female. How it mourned the mere thought of a tomcolt, or any perceived loss of femininity! No matter the manner in which they appear, mares are held as precious, and any sliding away from that is to invite unwelcome mysteries. I shan’t cease to let everypony know what a busybody Equestrian culture is about gynocentrism until my sister’s sun burns out and we have found other stars to call home. ”

I am watched as I wave my hooves for dramatic effect. How else is the maddening impact of this all to be made known? Even at the dawn of Equestria, society breathed down one’s neck if their femininity was as decidedly ‘broken’ as mine was; it had always slipped farther away from the acceptable selective androgyny of being a tomcolt. A stallion in touch with the supposedly fairer sex was both brave and normal. Any semblance of picky masculinizing a mare might do is nowhere near as condemned as it used to be, though its disapproval is still as strong as a corset’s obvious awfulness.

“In every instance of you giving wickedness a ponification, I have noticed you describe them as female.” His eyes found my throat, so lacking and slender. “And you never had a female friend, Princess Cadance excepted. Do you realize how many of our sessions have been devoted to me having to coach you on how to understand female social differences?”

“Are you suggesting that there is anything in nature quite as incomprehensible and fickle as the female?” I made sure he followed my eyes to his desk, where sat a framed photograph. In it, Sound Mind stood by his little daughter. The half where his ex-wife stood was calmly trimmed away.

Sound Mind coughed. “Point taken, Your Highness. But I think the time for foal steps has passed, don’t you?”

“I… I do not know…” My breathing had grown thinner and shallower, and more than ever I wished my voice would fade. At least the Divine Voice of the high gods gave me the power to sound truer to the ghost of myself in my head. “What does this ‘gender dysphoria’ even mean?”

Sound Mind watched my hooves fly about again, soaring about his office where diplomas shone with quiet proudness upon the walls. I loved my regalia and how it sparkled, not because there was any shred of femininity to it, but because I chose it myself. There is a decisiveness to the clear form and darker colors that warms my heart, for I find that elegance has no gender.

“What do you think it means?”

“‘Tis clearly a modern ailment,” I offer, guessing with a shrug. My ears flicked and I drew back into the wideness of the comfortable chair I perched in. “For I never heard of it in the days before.”

“That is true. Nopony knew what gender dysphoria was before your absence.”

“Is dysphoria not merely another word for discomfort?” I ask, my wings itching for flight, though not out of any impatience. “Surely the discomfort with gender is normal? Who would want to be drowned in the world of mares when the surface lies above?”

I spied a twinkle in Sound Mind’s eyes, just behind his glasses. How curious.

“In a game of ‘hot and cold’ that answer would be a very ‘warm’ one, Luna. Gender dysphoria is a condition with a strong neurological origin. Any sapient creatures can be impacted by it. We call ponies with this condition ‘transgender’ because their gender and sex are misaligned, leading to a stressful mental disconnect.”

As soon as those words leave his mouth, I feel something trying to crawl up my tightening throat. My mind is the haze of somepony nearing the earliest stages of crying, and I cannot place exactly why. Falling to the chair’s edge, I let my gaze find where I have folded my forehooves. There is such weight upon my withers, and I cannot tell if it has been here since I walked in, or if it just settled over me.

“Trans… gender…” The word comes out low and my tone is confused. “Why are they called such? Do their genders change?”

“Not at all, Your Highness. Altering a sapient creature’s brain over such a peculiarity would be a heinous crime and bring them no peace. Instead, the creatures with this condition modify their sex and presentation. Changing these things creates a match between the two and corrects the error made in divergent physical development.”

I said nothing for some time, letting my mind turn itself in and out of my storm of thoughts. I was not blind that Sound Mind does appear to be framing a conclusion he wants only for me to name. He had told me on previous appointments that was what made me both easier than any mortal client and equally impossible to handle. As I let my tail wind around my hooves I was left with the thoughts of all that has been as good as make-believe to me.

There have always been non-mammalian creatures in this world who have parallel behavior to this puzzling condition. Not once have I heard of any experiencing distress for their biodiversity, and this gender dysphoria still manages to sound so alien from what Sound Mind describes.

“Does this gender dysphoria mean I really am a defective mare?”

“Yes,” he began, “if you are willing to see stallions as that.”

I furrowed my brow. “I beg your pardon? What is the explanation for your confusing answer? Is it not I who am supposed to be both clever and mysterious?”

Laughter is a rare response from Sound Mind, but I am able to elicit the truest depths of mirth from ponies in ways Tia never has. Not all are giggle-snorting and ever-beaming Pinkie Pies as my sister would think. Sound Mind is very much like that; I get little scoffs from him and another glimpse of shining behind those glasses of his.

“I have long had a hunch that you are a transgender stallion, Your Highness. Thousands of years to let something like that fester… I can only imagine you’re incredibly confused or completely certain that you would desire to begin your transition.” He coughs briefly into his forehoof. “That is something I would like to discuss with you for future appointments.”

“...How does this ‘transition’ you speak of even work?”

The chestnut aura of Sound Mind toys with his cufflinks. “For those who are certain they are transgender, the first steps are always to get confirmation from somepony like myself, and then a referral for medical treatment. The vast majority of transgender ponies—”

I clear my throat briefly, and firmly. Instantly after I do so, Sound Mind looks over all my Alicorn-ness, my visible divinity. His eyes widen with the understanding of his error.

“—transgender creatures seek adjustment counseling alongside hormone replacement therapy. There are some spells and sexual reassignment arcane procedures that are also sought out…”

“So am I to understand that this ‘transgender’ would mean I am a stallion who risks being entombed in the body of a mare? And just what is this arcane reassignment you speak of?”

Sound Mind made a subtle, odd wince right after nodding. “I cannot speak much there, but this is not easy magic like changing mane colors. This is very intensive, piece-by-piece, and not wholly perfect realms of the arcane. Think of the minotaur Theseus, and the problem of his ship. But we can talk about the, ahem, lower surgeries. Though I can only provide very basic information about them. If you ever wish for them, I would have to refer you to somepony much more informed than myself.”

“Lower?” I echo, cocking my head to the side, utterly confused. My dark mane hangs like a waterfall, flowing just right to match my inquisitiveness.

Sound Mind stares at me, unblinking. His expression is hard to puzzle out.

“Are all that genders a pony not lower, underneath the tail?” I ask.

“Luna,” Sound Mind says, using the same tone Sombra used when I could not pick up on something. “That may be true, but I speak of a specific lower region I know that you would not find much use in, so to speak.”

“...Tail extensions?” I guess. “I’m quite fond of having longer hair, though I suppose I could always seek to re-style to something more appropriately masculine and less androgynous…”

“Genital-altering surgery, Your Highness. You don’t strike me as somepony who would find much use in phalloplasty based on our conversations.”

“Oh!” I gasp, bringing a forehoof close to my muzzle. “My apologies, I merely forget that is something ponies think about. Such association is… uncommon in mind, and without the desires wired in me to fuel such thought processes… I cannot help but feel my own native language is made foreign when voicing such concepts.”

“That is fine, I should know to be more on the muzzle with that by now. A few other asexual clients have similar benefits with speaking more clinically. Unfortunately, the ability to construct something like phalloplasty with even the best arcane-infused operations is still very primitive…”

“I…” My words start as a faltering whisper. “Sound Mind, how am I to take all this?”

That damned twinkle has returned to his gray eyes, and the mischief there is now so clear to me. “You seemed to take to it very well just now, wouldn’t you say?”

“My stars, it does appear that is so. How pleased you must feel, Doctor, having duped a high Alicorn.” I twiddle my forehooves, letting them twirl and fidget around one another as I give a small chuckle.

“Oh, maybe just a bit.” Sound Mind’s tiny smile showed sparkling white teeth. “Though… don’t you think it is worth discussing? How well you did right there? The last time you took so easily to something was talking through pre-proposal jitters and preparations for your Ponyville Nightmare Night visit.”

My reply was to duck behind my forelock and pull my mane in front of my face, hugging it tightly.

“Phppthmpppff,” I protested, my half-raspberry, half-meaningless sound being unleashed into my mane.

Past the thick world of blue and sparkling hair I had plunged myself into, I could hear Sound Mind chuckling.

“Hppphpppfttplp!” I insisted, all the more loudly.

“Is there anything you wanted to close this session with, Your Highness?”

Using my turquoise aura, I pulled my mane away just enough to expose my eyes. “...Just how shall I tell Sombra… that I… I might be transgender?”

Author's Note

[Revised for print on 2/17-2/28/2023]

The chapter title is a line from the song I'm Not Calling You a Liar because of course, I would listen to Nightwish and Florence when writing Luna.

Does anyone think that this is enough for there to be a sex tag? The talk of magic SRS and the like?

Chapter 2: Don't Wake Me Up

Having all of dream magic under my hoof alone has gifted me with a second life. My dreams have always been completely lucid and utterly wondrous, for who else but the god in charge of dreams would have the best ones? In them, I am able to preview the various worlds lushly crafted by my own mind. Those I return to have a multitude of stories to share, and the new worlds within that I find myself entering always have endless possibilities in the new stories I could make.

Tonight, I found myself free from investigating the dreams of others. All around me was a familiar scene made fantastical, for my mind could stand none of the notions of ordinary life. Not when there was magic to be found in everything. Thus, the pillars of Canterlot Castle’s ballroom were trimmed with vines and floral garlands of vibrant hues too ethereal to be any plants found in the waking world. Punch was served from a crystalline fountain, with troughs of sparkling cider that truly lived up to its name as it flowed like a river, winding under small, picturesque bridges.

Even the clothes were transformed by the will of my mind. The faux wing trend I remembered being in style at the time of this particular Grand Galloping Gala was done away with. Instead, the sweeping gowns of mares were replaced with finely tailored suits, all in gay hues and with true, iridescent wings at their sides. The sound of all the flittering wove in wonderfully with the orchestra – which was playing something much more lively and intriguing than the plain ensembles Tia would hire.

I took in the gorgeous fantasy my mind had crafted for me. In every corner of my dream was a sight to get lost in, unlike actual Grand Galloping Galas, where I truly wanted to be lost and unnoticed. I remember the Gala of this day being a horrible cacophony of chatter and the prison of a new gown that Tia had ordered for me.

Knowing that the best part of my dream was yet to come, I wandered through the crowd of ponies. Here, their chatter was kept to bearable background noise, blending in with the babble of the cider-brook. A giddy, freeing feeling was building in my chest. Not once have I ever had a joyous experience at the Grand Galloping Gala, and I know that Tia was always disappointed to never have me around at these beloved parties of hers.

Could anypony blame me? They truly were the same old song and dance. At least back before my banishment, the carriages of the brave noble-ponies would have to travel with armed escort along the only road through the treacherous Everfree Forest. In that age, I was able to don my armor and travel alongside our subjects, aiding in their defense. Now, I have been so used to hiding the truth that I could no longer imagine actually putting my hoof down to Tia and her gifts of a million-billion gowns and other frilly garments. I know it would break her heart, and she has never stopped reminding me that my refusal of her tokens of sisterhood would crush her.

It is not that I do not wish to be her sibling, for she is gracious and good. I just wish she were not a mare with such busybody tendencies and that I was not her… sister. Oh, how I want for that word to change.

I took a deep breath, momentarily letting the lightheartedness of my dream’s atmosphere relax me again.

I suppose I know now why that feeling has weighed upon me.

The thought was not as unwelcome as I felt it would be. After a few heartbeats, I knew it had passed, and I pushed out a calming exhale.

Here, I was not burdened by any unseemly female garb. Instead, I could hold my head high in the sleek military tailcoat, its silver buttons twinkling like stars. Atop my head was a somewhat bolder crown, made all the more masculine by the angular shape.

I trotted up to a nearby ice sculpture, a calm smile on my face as ponies parted when I neared them. The pleasantly wide berth they gave me allowed me to be the only one to approach the dragon. My dream decided to ensure the sculpture was made all the more fun by animating the dragon; flakes of snow fell from its mouth with each foggy breath.

The sound that came from the icy creak of its joints was oddly inviting, and I approached it with delight. Peering into the polished scales, I caught sight of myself. In dreams, my features were always smoke and mirrors. Not once did I have to be bothered by the soft curve of my jaw or my eyelashes cursed to be so naturally long. I had been told how desirable my features were endlessly and had numerous reasons to detest such treatment. Now, I find myself content to see the blur of blues and know that it is me.

Any sight more detailed and I would feel that creeping wrongness snaring me again. Instead, I take pride in knowing that I blow the silliest raspberries the enchanting frosty hue of the ice will ever behold. Unlike the actual Grand Galloping Gala this dream is distilled from, I do not have any cursed lace cape draped over my withers – another gift from Tia – and the absence of it was so freeing.

When I was done, I whirled around, only to see that all the ponies who had been dancing and celebrating before had vanished without a trace. I grinned, relishing in being able to do so in comfort at last! Could this dream get any better?

I flared my wings without a care in the world and let my mane take up as much space as I wished for it to flow. Tonight, I had no need to be made small and forgotten. Just as I saw myself in the ice dragon, the rest of my form was… hazy and uncertain. I would look down at myself and just see what I knew to be me. My body didn’t have to hurt me tonight, not when all was so splendid now that I was the only one in sight and the light of my stars fell throughout the ballroom. Without ponies, it was as free as I was.

I took to the air, following to where my heart and my memory of the waking dance beckoned me. When I spotted a topiary cut to look like Princess Cadance, I landed. There was such fun in letting my tailcoat flare out and fly with me. I wonder, if Tia would ever not insist on us matching in public, would they be just as fun in the waking realm? Sombra had a few, and he looks absolutely splendid in them – would he ever let me try one on if I asked? Or would he insist on knowing why I wished to borrow one?

Would that be worse than having to return it?

I averted my eyes as soon as I caught sight of the topiary’s face. Just like the one that had been on display that night, Cady’s jaw was too square in shape. I know now that if she had been visiting Canterlot with Sombra for that Grand Galloping Gala, she would have been mortified at the sight. As accidental as it may have been by the gardener Tia had hired, I was glad that Tia could not have seen that quiet envy bubbling up. She is poor at picking up on emotions – especially mine – but Cadance would have known right away the emotion I was suppressing if I had known about her what I know now. And over the physique carelessly displayed in ornamental shrubbery! The very physique that Cady did not need to be reminded she once had…

...but I, guiltily, would wonder if she had ever been handsome…

...and how I might have looked, had I been cut from the cloth she had been before she had looked into magic, hormones, and surgery before I had met her.

After my visit with Sound Mind, I knew I had to disclose my hunches about this modern discovery of gender dysphoria to somepony. Cadance keeps secrets that would fall too easily from the lips of other mares, and I thought she might have advice for me. What I had not expected was for her to confess the level of understanding she did on top of having the advice to share.

I hadn’t expected to be given such generous amounts of encouragement from somepony who understood me, though her experience was parallel to mine. Only Sombra had shown such an intimate understanding of what I relayed to him before. For Cadance to do so was shockingly anti-familial…

…At least with my experiences of ‘familial’.

‘Twas good to know that there is another princess who would understand me. Sombra’s words on this night made so much more sense now.

’The pink one knows what being an outsider is like.’

…

I tippy-hoofed eagerly to where the werelight shone on the illuminated side of a white-and-lavender pillar of marble. The warmth of the light was enticing, and in my clumsy original experience of this dance, I had stumbled here because it was the best place for a wallflower to sprout. Let the sunflower command all the attention for the evening, and may everypony never look away from her if it means that for once they might never see me.

I had no pink carnation friend waiting in a corner for me – and on the first Gala since my return, this was the corner where Cadance had uprooted me. Even she had sensed that I found no fun in parties, and I spent the whole night showing her how star-crafting worked from the castle balconies instead.

Now, there was somepony else waiting in my corner, much to my surprise. I halted my movements as soon as I saw him, one hoof still raised in mid-step.

Stars, he looked splendid. His suit was dark and plain, and designed with only timeless elegance in mind. He wore no tie and bore no dreadfully extravagant ruffles that fit the dull caricature of the most vile vampyre – thank all my stars he had some taste. He had long, silky fetlocks that instilled the temptation in me to scoop up his hoof and hold it. The stallion bore a tailcoat so much finer than mine but still stood at an angle that I could see his cutie mark: a hefty, closed grimoire engulfed in magic and shadow.

The stallion looked up from his book, crimson eyes narrowing coldly. “I don’t look this good for free, you know.”

Memory flooded my senses, and I went with the swirl of emotions growing in my chest. I let myself flow into my part just as easily as I had then. I remembered how I had focused on how his gray ears were oddly fluffy. Does banishing a stallion once and approving his chance for redemption later give me permission to at least pat them? They did not look nearly as good upon his initial resurrection, which was when I last saw him on the night this dance had taken place. Unlike Discord, Sombra had his eligibility for reform reviewed by Tia, Cady, and me. With the anxiousness tickling me from my stomach outward, surely such a harmless gesture would be allowed?

“I-I know you,” I stammered, only slightly less awkward than I had been that night.

He and I had never properly spoken; his initial defeat was a battle in which we had no time or place for trading personal details with one another, let alone the intent to. When he had stood before Cady, Tia, and meI to hear our verdict, it was Tia who had declared herself the one who would speak it, and Cady had agreed because she didn’t really know how not to. I said nothing, and went unnoticed that day. Now, I was reminded of how much I had wanted to speak to him on that day, to have any idea about who it was that I sought respite from social activities with. How exactly did he wish for me to greet him?

“Is that so?” He was barely keeping those crimson eyes from falling back to his book. I could tell. “Then let’s hear it. What do you have to say about me?”

Had somepony been cruel to him during the night? Was that why he was standing to the side of all festivities, or was he simply content to do so? I know that Cadance felt that assigning him to attend various social events was a way to boost his reputation. She was his reformer, and I trusted her. Yet if somepony were bothering Sombra, how was that to help him adjust?

“Your mane looks lovely,” I said at last, folding my wings at my side.

Sombra looked at his flowing black mane, which was barely pulled into a low ponytail. He frowned. “This? It takes less than five minutes to do. Is that really the best you have to offer?”

“No, no,” I murmured, impulsively reaching out a forehoof to pat his disheveled black bangs. “I meant this. I rather like it. Do you cut it yourself?”

Sombra recoils from me in the same way a cat does when something that brings displeasure is placed on their head. He frowns harder and lays his ears back, trying to growl and show off fangs he no longer has. All that came out was a pissy rumble and the red in his curved horn shone brighter, as though there was magic on his mind.

I was instantly saddened, withdrawing my hoof immediately. “You have my apologies, Sombra. I meant you no discomfort! You… well, regardless of what you may think of me, you do look rather sharp. All of this…” I said as I gestured to his whole form, “...is much better than your previous garish affair.”

Sombra tucked a ribbon marker between the pages of his book, all without tearing his irritated gaze from me. “Forgive me if I wasn’t exactly in my right mind when coordinating my previous regalia.”

I looked down at my hooves. Though Sombra may be scarred by dark magic permanently, he was far from an ugly stallion. He was terribly lucky his cutie mark was not severed after over a thousand years of its poison. Most would have lost it – and their lives – after a much shorter time. But Sombra? He got away with scars – mental, physical, and magical – and the immortality he craved; the immortality of the gods like me that old stories of fire-stealers and prideful sorcerers seeded in his mind. That was something that nopony else could claim to have accomplished.

I at least knew that much about him when we met at that Gala. Really met.

“Sombra, I do mean what I said. Perhaps I ought to recant my previous statement – for I really do know so little about you.”

Sombra’s eyes narrowed further. His magic’s grip intensified on the book. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I… I would like to get to know you. More than I want to know anypony else in this ballroom.”

Sombra’s expression slipped into something stony, save for how he raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you have ponies in this hall that would trample each other just to look at you?”

I looked around; my dream-self knew everypony was gone. Sombra was crafted from heart and memory. On this day, at this moment, the ballroom would still have been teeming with ponies.

“Of course; there are always such sycophants. They gab and prattle about everything I have no wish to do with. You, Sombra, want nothing to do with anypony. Is that not correct?”

“Very correct.” He glared at me the way a furnace would regard the most pathetic scraps of ore.

I had no smiles to offer him; all I could do was show him the sincerity and relief in my eyes and hope he understands. “Then you are my perfect company.”

Sombra rolled his eyes, every bit of him poised as the picture of cold pride. “Oh joy.”

“Sombra?” I asked quietly. With great care, I found a place to sit on the floor, on the side of the daemon that was not taken by the pillar he leaned so close to.

“What?” Sombra huffed. His upper hip curled haughtily. Bits of his thick winter coat poking out around his collar bristled with irritation in the most ridiculous fashion that even in my dream, I had to giggle at the sight.

“Could you at least tell me what your book is about?”

A curl of crimson magic tucked a stray strand of his long black mane behind his ear. Sombra regarded the cover boredly, tilting it toward me so that I could get a good look at it. As soon as I caught sight of the glittering foil helmet upon it, my eyes widened with delight.

“Oh! An Arcadian helmet! How splendid!” I peered closer at the title. Large, admirable letters were pressed into the hardcover, just above the lovely image. As I did so, I was very aware of Sombra wordlessly scrutinizing me. “With a title such as The Song of Roan Beauty and Charger I can only imagine that is a hero-tale. You had not struck me as the type to favor such a genre.”

“How presumptive of you,” Sombra droned, and I had to resist smiling when I caught him scoffing and rolling his eyes again.

“I think not – I simply adore surprises. Would you mind telling me what the book is about?”

For a moment, Sombra’s gaze strayed from his book – and certainly far away from me. I followed his movements, hoping to puzzle out why he was looking right at the marble pillar, as though it would vanish the longer he stared.

“Little Miss Sunshine and Pinkbows offered it as a recommendation. I figured that it was likely to be more bearable than having to feign tolerating anypony here. The two heroes are a lesser Alicorn and his companion who are heading to war.”

When Sombra looked out of the corner of his eyes, I caught a moment of genuine surprise show on his face and the slight widening of his pupil when he saw my pleased, expectant look.

“What else happens? Is war their only struggle?”

“Hardly,” Sombra replied tersely. Giving a sigh, he decided to sit down beside me. I watched as he inched closer to the cold marble of the pillar when he felt he had seated himself too close to me – and yet, when I scooted closer to him, Sombra offered no reaction or resistance to the gesture.

“Go on,” I urged him, offering a small smile. “Wouldn’t you rather spin something as magical as a story instead of immersing yourself in the tempest of chatter just over yonder?”

While my hoof was outstretched, I scooted closer to him.

Sombra stared daggers at me.

I grinned at him.

In return, Sombra crossed his forehooves without breaking the intensity of his glare – if anything, he increased it.

“Please?” I asked, quiet and giving Sombra a generous view of my best pout. “I am as bored as you are. Surely we can have a truce to last the night?”

Sombra exhaled sharply, finally relenting to my pout. “Fine. Roan has to struggle with his nature and whether he’ll fail his Alicorn teacher, who has a prophecy against him. Charger has to protect their relationship.”

“Oh stars!” I gasped and brought a forehoof up to contain it. My mane flicked with surprise. “Was their friendship attacked by those they thought they could trust?”

I was unable to decipher the flat stare that Sombra gives me.

“Friendship,” he echoed flatly, raising an eyebrow.

“I… yes?” I look away, biting at the inside of my cheek. Had I said something embarrassing? This emotion was dimmed and distant in my dream, but never drained away. “Are they… not friends?”

“Oh no,” Sombra scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’re the best of friends.”

I stared at my hooves, too frozen with embarrassment to even toy with my mane. Most of the time, I found that twirling and combing it could help me concentrate.

Silence passed between Sombra and me for some moments before he finally set the book off to the side. Feeling him prod at my wither pulled me from my small stupor, though I still recall just how scrawny I felt next to him. I always felt so scrawny next to stallions, though I was taller than any of them.

“Where is the master of magic who banished me? Tartarus, you don’t need to get so upset. Are you truly so naive that you couldn’t understand what I was saying?”

He calls me a master of magic, not by some prim and proper princess epithet? He does not even bother with speaking of me as goddess-this and goddess-that?

I certainly could not recall the last time somepony spoke of me so.

“Is it going to be too much to ask for clarification?”

Sombra offered an indifferent frown, brushing some of his bangs aside. “In the saga, the two stallions are lovers. One is fairly typical – he’s strictly attracted to other stallions. The other is… less inclined to stick with only one option.”

I blinked, both in understanding and to take in how Sombra shifted his focus to me and me alone as he hesitated with the last part. He did not make any move to stop me when I scooped up his book.

“I simply adore the sagas of legendary stallions, whether they find romance with the fair, noble gender or with mares. Or perhaps even none at all.” I shrug, passing it back to him. “Did you know that this modern age has such fun words for the deepest bond of male camaraderie? ‘Tis called the ‘bromance’ and it is such fun to say! Oh, were the world kinder to stallions I am sure such stories would be treasured all the more! Say, why did Cady suggest it?”

“She gives me various book recommendations to keep me from razing the Empire to nothing. As long as she continues to provide me with reading material that is within my range of interest, I will curb using her subjects for blood sacrifices.”

“How marvelous!”

“Junior Queen Candy Dance doesn’t have the worst grasp of literature either. The pink one knows what being an outsider is like. Now that I am more of one than ever, her suggestions have managed to incorporate that.” I spied a bitter streak in his words, one that ran too deep to ascertain the root of.

“Aye. Sister was very clear about how much Cady felt out of place when she first got her magic and moved to Canterlot.”

Hindsight was something that brought me much hope and amusement in my dreams. Such goodness staved off the dread that so often lurked in the waking world. While my dream-self is immersed in the flow of what had been, I wish I could chortle at all I know now. Sombra knew before I did what Cadance’s heart conceals.

Sombra’s neutral frown falters to something more earnest. “I wouldn’t mind starting the book all over again. At least, I wouldn’t mind too much.”

“Whyever would you do that?” I asked, tilting my head so far to the side that Sombra stared at me peculiarly.

“We should read it together,” he suggested.

The dream shifted, though not in a way that brought about tunnel vision. To use such a term is to cheapen the flow and emphasis that happens in such an art like the dreams I know. My dream weaves itself in a most spectacular end, shaping itself as a grand finale of how I would have felt when the memory first solidified. It all begins with the warmth and weight of my tremendous budding joy at his suggestion. I can feel the telltale mirth of the smile spreading across my face in the memory throughout my whole dreamscape.

All of it finished grandly, making the small, crooked smile that Sombra gave me the center of the world. That night was the first of many such smiles, and our truce has not just persisted – together, we have crafted a world worth more than this dream and many others.

I would hate to be the one to destroy it all. I couldn’t even bear to alter the words of our first conversation. Everything about us was too good to change, and always lovely to re-experience. There were so many ways I could spin this dream, and yet the authentic charm of Sombra and I never wore away.

Stars, if I had approached Sombra in the outfit of my dreams, would he have talked to me at all that night?

...Would he even have thought I was handsome?

Author's Note

[Revised for print on 3/4-3/5/2023]

Sombra's mane is meant to look like this but I know fuckall how to describe hair:

[Sauce for this Good Pure Boi]

Roan Beauty and Charger are the names of the horses of Achilles and Patroclus in the Iliad. The Song of Achilles is a real novel, which I based the title of Sombra's book on. Arcadia is a reference to this concept of a pastoral-Greek utopia, which felt like a fitting pony equivalent of Greece other than just a Minotaur pun. Crete wasn't even attached to the mainland, you fucks.

Chapter 3: Get a Load of this Monster

An affectionate prodding lured me from the lull of sleep, and that was how I knew that the world was ending. Sombra never woke up early. I was always the one up to enjoy the pre-dawn hours and stroking his mane. That was a sign of balance in the cosmos. To feel Sombra gently nudging me awake meant that it was he who was up and that every single one of us would be doomed. What reason did he have to wake?

I gave a few blinks, letting the first blurs of the world filter through. Lamplight greeted me, and all the dark shadows of the pre-dawn hours lurked around it. The haze quickly left my eyes and out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the long, silky gray feathers attached to his forehoof, the very one that was giving me a light shake into wakefulness.

My vision finally cleared, its colors easing into something constant. Sombra sensed how I tensed up right before I rolled over, and he shifted to accommodate me. My smile was immediate as I stared up into his crimson eyes peering tiredly down at me. I traced his warm, crooked smile with my eyes because I never wanted to wake up to anything else.

Seeing an opening, I lit my horn and my magic darted up to Sombra’s face. I combed through his jet-black mane, toying with his bangs and giggling when he leaned down to nuzzle me with his delightful fuzzy face.

“Good morning, Sombra,” I managed between my giggles, placing a kiss on his cheek.

Sombra nuzzled back and nickered. “It will only be morning when you make way for it.”

My sweet husband felt like the only creature in the world who knew that sunrise could not happen without the movement of the moon preceding it.

“Mmm, perhaps,” I said, wrapping my forehooves around his neck and squeezing him in a hug. “What if I wished to keep the dawn away for just a while longer? Students everywhere shall thank me, shall they not?”

Sombra’s response was to have his eyes widen and paw at my forehooves, making a sputtering and gagging protest noise.

“Ah, stars!” I gasped, releasing him and rubbing his crest, ruffling his mane as I did so. “Forgive me, Som. Sometimes the awareness of my own strength still escapes me.”

He only lessens his grouchy glare when I give him a kiss. Although Sombra being Sombra still decides to give my closest ear a soft nip afterward.

“Som!” I protest, and I catch the gleam of pride in his eyes and how he is just about to say something. I take this as the prime moment to pout and watch with budding mischief as any stubborn reply absolutely melts from him.

I watched as Sombra levitated my forehooves off of him, folding them over my chest and slipping his own over them. I couldn’t refrain from smiling at the gesture.

“What were you dreaming about?” Sombra asks, flicking one of his ears inquisitively.

I bite my lip, knowing that even though I do not lie to anypony, I could not ever succeed in misleading him… or desire to. The feeling I could now name as dysphoria was already crawling up my spine and pouring outward from me. Never before had that happened when Sombra and I were just enjoying one another’s company or when I had corrected my figure by piling layers of blankets over myself.

The next look Sombra gives me is a careful, analytic one. I knew immediately that he was trying to puzzle out what motivated my reaction. Sombra was a stallion who sought such insight into things, in the best of ways and even some that were more sinister. He was drawn to higher magics like dark magic in the first place because they were a solitary study, one filled with that which could sate that sharpening insight and the hunger of ambition, producing results and forbidden knowledge no kind or gentle energies could ever provide. It was a confession he and I were quite alone in, and I think that the blend of solitary insight and scarring is something that dysphoria has inflicted on me as well.

Perhaps Sombra would understand that, if I could will myself to believe anything more than the rapid grip of fear crushing and clawing at my heart.

“I take it the dream was a good one, then?” Sombra never said that cursed word, finding the term derived from my mask to be just as hurtful as I did. “I saw you smiling and I thought…”

He looks at me, equally concerned and expectant of an answer. I breathe quietly, keeping my mouth closed tightly as if my jaw were wired shut, for I can feel my heart in my throat.

“Luna, do you want to tell me after dawn?”

“...Yes,” I whisper dryly, letting my eyes fall to the plain necklace hidden among the fluff of his neck.

Upon that silver chain was his wedding ring, shining brightly and beautifully. It hadn’t been able to fit upon the unusual curve of his horn, and the Equestrian custom of never wearing them past the honeymoon was one we had abandoned and Sombra scorned. We never stopped wanting to let the world know he and I were husband and…

...married. That we were married.

…

There was a parlor adjacent to our bed chamber and the room leading to our tower balcony where I raised and lowered the moon. It was there that Sombra and I settled into a ghost of our early routines. The palpable anxiousness brought by this particular brand of silence kept us from really doing anything, except to try and instill some ease in the other.

Sombra’s parlor desk (because he had to have the fragment of an office everywhere outside of his grand office sanctum) did not see his presence for long. He drifted over to where I was, slinging myself across one of our chairs with all the elegance of laundry thrown from the other side of the room. Cadance had always declared this to be the ‘gayest’ mode to seat oneself in, and I was never sure if she meant happy or queer by that usage until now. Perhaps she had been teasing me and I had never picked up on it, for Cadance teases and laughs like most ponies breathe.

I tried to give myself an air of distraction for my own sake, in order to make my thoughts that much easier to coalesce. I would only get one chance to tell him. Twilight Sparkle would be the one to turn to what I believe is called ‘overkill’ in times like this. I could easily imagine my sister’s former student dipping into time travel and redoing everything if she had to come out and something had not been absolutely perfect.

As cursed as my nervous mind can be, I think the mere thought that somepony would possibly do that is heartbreaking.

I spied an ever-welcome guest peer over the top of the chair to watch my distracted doodling. I toss aside my charcoal and sketch pad as soon as I see Sombra rest his chin curiously atop the back of the plush chair.

“Are you ready to talk yet?”

“Yes,” I offered, anxiety still lurking in my voice. “I think so.”

My hooves are shaky with nothing to occupy them, and I busy them by combing them through my thick cascading mane. There is a twitchy, hopeful flow to it right now.

“Were you having one of your foredreams?” Sombra asked immediately, his eyes shining with sparks of worry.

I hadn’t even thought about speaking, and here Sombra was, wanting to already be on top of whatever was wrong.

“Nay,” I mumbled, “what I had was a very pleasant dream… I was just reminded of…” I said as I brought one forehoof away from my mane, waving it around in a circle while I reached for the right words, “...a different situation.”

Sombra raised an eyebrow. “When did this come up? Should I still be concerned about the dream?”

He was the only one who took a genuine interest in my dreams. Some time ago, he had uncovered a product of my magic I was inflicting upon myself for a maelstrom of reasons. Sombra was the only one in my life who took any tact in approaching the matter. Celestia forever whispered about the Tantabus by name, even though that name made ill feelings seize my stomach instantly after it was spoken, and memories play at the edge of my mind. Originally, all Tantabus-related counseling sessions with Sound Mind had Sombra and Celestia there with me.

That arrangement couldn’t last. Thankfully, it hadn’t. The discretion that I got from Sombra was so different from the awkward writings of ‘You-Know-What’ or the stutters and sideways glances Cadance used to try and convey the subject whenever it came up.

“No, there is nothing to worry about in this dream… You needn’t look at me like that. I promise, Som. Recently, I have been discussing a… a new development has come up at therapy. One separate from all the talk of my Tantabus and banishment, and yet at the heart of everything that has truly gone wrong in my life.” I bit my lip, swallowing loudly as my throat tightens. The first hint of a damp feeling is already forming at the corner of my eye, and I look to Sombra pleadingly. “Som, you know I don’t exaggerate when I say things like this, do you not?”

I couldn’t bear for him to react like Celestia did when I told her of the intensity these feelings brought ages ago. Stars, may my own husband not show the same dismissal, downplaying, and disregard for the way I have always voiced my thoughts not fall upon me twice. I have accepted that my relationship with my sister will always be that of Sisyphus rolling his stone at its heart, even if it has softened some.

Having that horrible dynamic with my dear Sombra, who has always been able to understand me unlike anypony before him, would only rob me of the light of my life, one that exceeds the moon and stars. I have chosen him as my eternal companion and husband, and only wish that he will think of the same vows of fidelity, love, and loyalty we took.

“Sombra, could I have one of your suits?” My words leave me with the hesitance of a mouth trying to get on the good side of an ursa major. I sound more like a mare than ever, and the accursed femininity is now unmasked as nothing more than a sharp, grating evil in my mind. In a world that elevates mares beyond pedestals, how can I tell him that what damned, poisonous matriarchy falsely sees as g-good is naught but my prison?

In response, Sombra narrows his eyes, not out of anger. Instead, I see something much closer to a sharp, unimpressed suspicion in his gaze. The very sight of it has my heart trying to force its way up my throat.

Oh my stars…

“How many do you want?” Sombra asks, and my chest does not lose any of the panicky feelings that were overflowing from it. He knows that I can sense the critical edge to his voice, the one he had never shown directly to me before, but I was always familiar with it.

The dryness in my mouth will not permit me to breathe in any manner suggesting composure. I waste no second thought on forgoing whatever last bit of it I might have been clinging to. “Any of them. Whichever one you would be willing to part with.”

Sombra wouldn’t shift his gaze, but he no longer regarded me so critically. I watched him shrug, wishing the tension that has my head ready to explode and spill the torrent of secrets I’ve kept everywhere. I could feel the heat of sweat on the side of my face.

“Go pick out whichever one you want, then. Whatever makes you happy, Luna.”

In a second, I was utterly transformed by a wide grin stretching from ear to ear and brought my forehooves together in a great, joyous clap. “Splendid! I shall go grab—”

“On one condition,” Sombra added, a self-satisfied smirk settling snidely on his muzzle.

...And with that, I am left feeling gray and worried all over again. My smile has vanished as if it never were and my mane does not burst with sparkles of excitement any longer. The singing of my heart has ended more abruptly than the breaking of glass.

“Why?” I ask, immediately biting my tongue afterward when I knew I should have said ‘what’ in its place. Such a question would be less suspicious.

The smile that Sombra gave me was the kind that a snake might give a mouse, albeit he had it drained of all cruelty for me. “Tell me exactly why you want them.”

My expression crumpled, the dampness of my eyes finally breaking. A trickling start of what threatened to be a true trail of tears slid down my cheeks.

When Sombra saw that, all his pride vanished. “Luna, what’s wrong?”

“Som, do you think that there is anything wrong with me?”

I didn’t have to finish; Sombra was already shaking his head in a firm ‘no’ and keeping a careful eye on me. “Luna, what does any of this have to do with suits? If you want them so badly, you can have them. I don’t think any of them will fit you that well, but if spending the national budget on mare’s suits would solve this, then let’s sell the whole kingdom while we’re at it. I, for one, would enjoy having to do an ungodly amount of laundry instead of dealing with ponies who think that they know anything.”

“No, no, no!” I buried my face in my forehooves. “I don’t want mare’s suits! I don’t want to be a princess or a sister! I don’t want a mare’s ANYTHING! I knew something was wrong when Tia and I were small and I felt like a toy soldier among dolls! Something has been wrong my whole eternity and all that has ever happened was this horrible mare-drunk culture telling me that I could be as pretty, sweet, and perfect as my sister if I just tried.”

Sombra laid his ears back, watching my half-effort to shield my face with my forehooves. My words are like a chain that I have to pull out further with each awful sob, and every time I free myself of one, I feel another twist of pain from deep in my chest. Is that not where all these words are coming from?

“Marehood is a prison, and all mares are merely the invasive needles that demand everypony defective be sewn this way or that. Having to walk among them as this stranger hurts. Every day at court or outing with Tia is a stage I don’t want to be forced to play encores on any longer! You were the only male ruler in history!” I bring a tear-drenched hoof to point at Sombra, watching how startled and confused he looks. “As awful as that time may have been for you, do you not remember how you were tormented just for being a male who wished to lead? To have ambition instead of masks of smothering amity and disguised avarice that mares clutch so tightly? Or how they shamed you for your capacity to love all as improper and nothing more than a false caricature of male brutishness?”

I saw Sombra’s jaw tighten and knife-sharp anger come to his eyes. Neither gesture was for me; they were only a reflex at the mentioning of the awful memories prior to his discoveries of dark magic. Those who desired power were shown little resistance, so long as they were female in some capacity.

If I am to go through with this ‘modern transitioning’ or disclose what I really am, I am not sure what the extent of the ridicule would be — only that it shall be inevitable. What Cadance did is considered empowering, brave, and beautiful. Mares like her are given special celebrations and rivers of praise and gossip alike. Wishing to be a mare or the slightest shred of femininity and frills in a male is acceptable — even if it was feigned in an attempt to deter the passive-aggressive malice that mares have.

Stallions like me were seen as slugs, and the world was salt.

“I feel like as much of an outsider as I am sure you did in those times.”

Sombra approached me, not hesitating in nuzzling my tear-dampened cheeks. My post-sob breathing was rough and ragged. Stars, I just wanted him to hold me. I wanted to wrap myself in twelve cloaks until I no longer had to behold my own frustratingly female slenderness. Seeing it made me feel like the monster I had been, not because of her dark coat, her fangs, or the gloom and misery she was born out of…

...but because Nightmare Moon was crafted as a female in order both encapsulate and worsen all my misery in the only way I knew how to convey it, and I could think of nothing more miserable than a mare, and the most wildly feminine one possible at that!

Were I to create my happiest self, the utter inverse of her, then a stallion I would be.

“You’re like Candy Dance, aren’t you?”

Unable to keep from sniggling and shuddering, I nod and pull Sombra into a hug by his neck. There, I close my eyes and squeeze him into a divine-strength embrace until I can feel him pawing at me for air.

All was constant between us, I suppose.

...

I watch Sombra’s horn light with crimson aura. When he passes me my mug of mead I accept with a small smile, mouthing the ‘thank you’ my sore throat cannot manage right now. He was the one pony in the world who never made me feel like a monster, even accidentally, and I do not put an iota of exaggeration in that statement. I focused on keeping my breathing steady and watch Sombra sip his coffee.

Everypony in the royal family favored a different beverage. Cadance loves smoothies and Shining Armor likes new-fangled sports drinks. My sister stuck to her predictable choice of tea, tea, and more tea. Sombra has grown accustomed to black coffee. Blueblood will not touch anything that wasn’t a cocktail. Though they are closer to extended royal family than any that are direct, authoritative kin, I have it on good word from Cadance and Shining Armor that Spike and Twilight Sparkle both like root beer floats.

Of them all, I was the only one who refused to be tethered down to one favorite. I smiled as I took a long sip. I could be having anything else right now: wine, hot chocolate, milkshakes, or even a magical concoction unknown to mortals. As constant as all else was about me, there were little aspects that made for excellent mischief.

Once I set aside my drink, I found that my dear Som has been watching me the whole time.

I blink and see him flick his ears in response. “Som? Is there something wrong?”

“Is there any reason you didn’t tell me sooner?”

“Oh…” I murmured, ducking my gaze slightly so that it fell to his throat. “I… I was at a loss of knowing whether or not you would still love me.”

Sombra’s brow furrows and his eyes are absolutely smoldering with confusion. I immediately recognized his baffled state as one Cadance told me was called ‘bisexual confusion’ and I knew just what it suggests he thinks I meant.

“You know stallions have always been an option for me,” Sombra said, letting his eyes travel to my jaw, face, and the span of my withers. He was looking at me the way I have long looked at myself in mirrors, thinking about where real, masculine features could be instead of this false female haze. “In fact, I think you would be an excellent one if those hormones work as well as you say they do.”

Goodness, I can’t recall the last time Som has made me blush so.

I was unable to hide my reddening face or bite back the tiny smile that breaks across my muzzle. “Oh Som, I just wasn’t sure if you would even see me as a real stallion. For if I am not really a stallion, and if I am a defective mare, who would love me?”

Sombra frowned, and there was no malice in the gesture. I do think I spot a splinter of hurt in it, and that wounds me as well. “I love you, Luna. That will never change.”

Stars, I feel myself sniffling again.

“And I shall always love you, Sombra. Perhaps my worries were mare-monsters made bigger by smoke and mirrors in my thoughts. ‘Twas not that I had no trust for you… I just…”

What is it that I can say that would make sense?

“Luna, I understand. I never told anypony about what I was before telling Cadance.” A faint scowl crossed his features. “You know how nosy many mares can be, and how they will stick their muzzles where they never belonged in order to find something that they could use as they pleased. She's the only one who hasn't done that. In any other circumstances, I could have counted you and her together... I expect now I'll have to correct myself.”

I tried not to think of any specific faces of the thousands of mares I have known across my lifetime who could fit that description. One always had to be rather on guard around those types, ever-vigilant of what they sought to pry. The mere thought of them brings the familiar mantle of anxiety over me.

“There are far, far too many mares with that venom in them,” I whispered, shuddering.

Sombra made a small scoff in the back of his throat. “Many more acted like they had no poison in them at all. Gods, I’ll take a stallion’s show of toxicity if I could avoid the humiliation that a mare’s share can weave.”

I nodded, looking quietly at Som. In the past, I was either neglected or made into a monster long before I had crafted my own. His ordeal at the hooves of the Crystal Empire was a much more public affair, and one I think I would have snapped sooner dealing with. What hurts me more about that was when he admitted that I was the only one who had never blamed him for shattering under those circumstances — all that came afterward was a very different matter.

“I take it that you’re going to want a new name?”

I… I had not thought of that…

My eyes met Sombra’s and take in the unbothered understanding he has for me. “I would eventually. Unfortunately, I cannot say I have even the inkling of what I would want it to be. Switching pronouns is all I can say that I am ready for…” I bit my lip, staring into the depths of my mug again. “Even that can only be within the right company.”

“Not Celestia,” Sombra answered, nodding.

“Hush, Sombra. You must not say it like that. She won’t hate me. Tia could never hate me… I just don’t think that she shall suddenly begin to understand me, and certainly not through something as complex as modern sex-changes.”

“I have a better relationship with the plague that is philequinistic attempts at philosophy than you have with your sister.”

My innocent whistle was unconvincing as a refutation of Sombra’s statement.

“When is your next appointment?”

“Hm? Oh, with Sound Mind? ‘Tis this Thursday.”

“Would you let me come with you?”

“...To walk me there?” I asked, readjusting how I had folded my wings. We really ought to get better chairs for our parlor table; they’re positively awful if I lean back in them with my wings folded.

“I would like to be present at some of your appointments — I can’t pretend to understand this transsexuality instantly, and if there is anything that would help me help you, I want to do it.”

And he wants to do it best, or he is not Sombra, who is the uncrowned king of pride itself more than he’ll ever be the dethroned king of the Crystal Empire.

“I am told the term is ‘transgender’ only,” I correct gently.

Sombra blinks. “Who got the idea in their head to make it sound like a creature who is modifying their sex is changing their gender? For Tartarus’ sake, I’m no expert on this, but I don’t think it takes one to realize that the thing that isn’t changing shouldn’t be in the name meant to describe the thing being changed.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea why the name is so puzzling either — and yes, Som. I would love to have you with me.”

Sombra shot me a crooked smile that brought a comforting warmth to my chest. “Frankly, I should have probably suspected that you were my husband at some point.”

I cocked my head to the side, blinking curiously at him and ruffling my wings with the same owlish air. “What might have helped you know my condition before all this?”

“As soon as I realized Tartarus would freeze over before you could cook.”

Author's Note

[Revised for print in March 2023]

Chapter 4: I Want to Know What's in Your Head

I breathed in the crisp air of the Royal Archives. The whole tower was inlaid with layer after layer of preservation enchantments and climate-controlling spells, courtesy of Sombra and me. This way, the precious tomes and artifacts could all be stored with ease in perfect conditions. There was always a chill hanging over these halls as a result, one that I found most welcoming, but drove most others away, save for the archive division of the Royal Guard. However, that was only a reason to breathe easier — there was no great loss.

Even though I could not flex my wingspan in any of the corridors of the numerous archive rooms, there was a wonderful, vast feeling to see the spines of books and cases of scrolls stacked so. All there was utterly unnatural to the public libraries who strove for easy appeal and safe atmospheres. I wouldn’t trade that rich, timeless Otherness for anything.

Next to me, Sombra was trying to find the best spot to hang our firefly lantern. His little frustrated grumbles were always an absolute delight, and not merely because I liked hearing the masculine cadence to his voice.

“Here, love. Let me have that,” I told him.

Sombra sighed, brushing at his bangs a bit before his magic surrendered the lantern. I took it with a quiet smile, slipping the handle over an old torch sconce. Once it was there, Sombra stepped forward and let the aura on his horn grow more pronounced. The fireflies’ lights soon glowed with the same crimson hue. Eventually, his amplification spell settled, and the area illuminated by the fireflies multiplied tenfold. This way, we would not need to constantly swap between hornlight and the lantern only to partially see one scroll or part of a shelf.

Some would see the reddish glow as ominous, yet I could see little else but an alien warmth to it. I let my wings rustle contentedly and folded them again at my sides. Sombra had already selected an old book from the shelves, carefully brushed off the dust, and flipped open the deckled edged pages. From in between a couple, I spied what fell from among the pages. An intricate star-chart had unfolded, one boasting rich designs and the horrid inaccuracies that happened during my banishment.

Sombra spotted a rendering of Orion on the fold-out that gave the monster-hunting stallion a crooked belt of five stars. His eye twitched, and I could only giggle at his disgust. Such things that the so-called ‘scholars’ did, and the fact that even I could not tell whether this was done for style or born of ignorance.

“What specifically are we supposed to look for in all of this?” Sombra asked, casting an uncertain look to the shadowed tops of the shelves.

“A name!” I beamed, kicking up my forelegs in a small prance. “Here are all the most useless of texts on my domain. When Tia moved castles, she saw fit not to bring the alley scrawl of the peasants who thought themselves ‘astronomers’ in the day, but all that is make-believe in dealing with what I control.”

My husband’s ears swiveled sideways and there was nicker of confusion buried in his throat. “Ponies made up stories about the moon?”

“Nay, Sombra, not just ponies. Creatures who lived in lands that did not have the luxury of bordering Equestria had to resort to legends. Can you recall a time when the Crystal Empire possessed no knowledge of the gods?”

“Not at all,” he replied, shaking his head. “All of that would be prehistory. I do remember reading about the Crystalline race imposing idols on others under their control. Yet those were discarded around the time Equestrian interactions began.”

“And was that not around the time the history of your ponies began to be recorded?”

“Those ponies,” Sombra corrected sourly, “and yes. There is little that preceded the Northmares first contact with your, err, Southmares?”

My giggle at his guess was enough for him to keep going. The united tribal ponies truly had no name before Celestia and I ruled them once their tribe leaders died. The non-crystal kin that the tribal diaspora left back in the northern wastes — the Northmares from whom Sombra was descended — had little polite words for my subjects.

“Are you saying that these creatures tried to create gods? Do they have any idea how ridiculous it is to try and construct an idea of something one has never encountered? Worse than that, did they expect this to be a good idea?”

“I know not why those mortals did what they did, just that they created idols based on what they could fathom of the eternal, as well as a world of stories for them to inhabit. We shall scour these shelves for a proper name!”

Sombra laid back his ears and paused, only looking back at me once he had given the whole room a worried, sweeping look. “Isn’t naming an immortal dangerous and important?”

“Aye, that it is. I do not doubt that there is a name I might be able to claim lying around here, though.”

Sombra’s magic snatched up a scroll and clutched it tight as it floated about him. “You told me that no immortal before me ever had to bend to language for their name.”

“While that is true, I cannot be forced to bear a name that is ill-suited for a stallion.”

He lowered the scroll to shoot me a flat look. “You were also the one who told me there were consequences to trying to claim a name wrongly.”

“Yes, Som,” I replied, my tone shrinking to something much quieter. “Your words hold truth. I am still sure we shall be safe in looking for a name here. There are always other archive rooms we can search if this one yields nothing. I truly do understand your worry, and if that is so, I can delay the claiming ritual until we are certain. Shall that bring you peace?”

He was right, though. Language bent to immortals, not the other way around. No such word was derived from anything resembling my sister’s name before she was Celestia. Nor did my name have any meaning like ‘moon’ or its many variations

“Some,” Sombra admitted, exhaling. “I just couldn’t stand if anything happened to you…”

“I know, Som.” I stepped closer to nuzzle him when I wasn’t sure if my assuring tone was enough to comfort him. “I promise you we shall be well.”

“I just don’t want to lose you. Not when all you want is to be is yourself.” He bit at his lip. “Not when I’ve lost everything else before you.”

“We shall be fine.” I wrapped a foreleg around him, pulling Som close enough to place a kiss on his temple.

Som’s eyes met mine. Though he is never one for unwarranted optimism, I no longer see the fire of anxiety threatening to burn through him within them. I let him lean forward to give one of my ears a delightful nibble.

“Very well, Prince Charming,” Sombra said, sauntering away with unyielding pride in his posture. He thinks that his horn’s glow does not illuminate the way he smiles so slyly as he retreats among the shelves.

…

“What about this one?” Sombra asked, thrusting an open book under my muzzle.

My chest is light with excitement as I peer at the pages. On one page was a richly detailed illustration bearing a large-horned yak bull. His coat was colored pure white and he was wearing gleaming golden ornaments and horn caps. The chariot he rode in was pulled by two grand comets with magnificent tails. The colors may have lost some vibrancy with time, but this albino yak’s majesty was still apparent.

I peered at the name of the idol listed below and read them aloud to Sombra.

“Máni was among my favorite of mortal-wrought stories. I cannot say that his name feels fitting for me…” I scratched under my jaw thoughtfully. “‘Tis a character of Yakyakistani breezie tales and would be just as inappropriate if my sister decided to name herself for a solar icon, be it one ponies or other creatures had.”

Sombra glanced down at the illustration, a careful frown tugging at his mouth. “Is there anything else you don’t like about it? I would have a better idea of what to look for.”

“Aside from that… hm, I just feel that this one is ill-suited for me. I cannot see anything of myself in it. I feel that the sound is off, though the gender is certainly right.”

Sombra had a delightedly smug smile in the frown’s place. “I’ll have you know that I accept tips for all my hard work.”

“Oh Som,” I murmured, lighting my horn to scratch him behind one of his ears properly. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Nothing interesting, I’m sure.”

Grabbing the book from him and wielding it with feigned anger only made Sombra’s smirk bigger and its insolence increase exponentially.

…

The stack of scrolls next to me was only growing, both in rows and in size. I had unrolled one and carefully smoothed it out for ideal reading. The feeling of poring over ancient scripts was one of finding home. My eyes could not grow tired from viewing such delights. Fauns bearing lyres and robed war-like minotaurs, each wielding a fierce sarissa in their hands decorated the margins. Olive branches decorated amphorae.

The boldest feature of the Arcadian artifacts was a white faun, her torso clad in a short athletic chitoniskos and an elegant bow was gripped within her paws. The idol’s silvery mane was pulled from her face and into a bun.

Sombra read over my withers. “I take it Artemis won’t work as a name?”

“Nay, ‘tis a largely female one. To call myself such a thing would be foolish indeed.”

I felt Sombra’s muzzle move past my wither to get a better look. Smiling, I let him continue reading from his cozy new spot.

“Siproites could work, couldn’t it?”

I let out a strained little sound somewhere between a hiss and a gasp. “I would think not.”

“Why not?” I felt Sombra’s flicking ear brush against my own. “He’s the colt in the story, isn’t he? That’s not the same as being the idol.”

“Aye, as true as that may be, you ought to read further before saying such a thing.” With a careful gesture of telekinesis, I gave his ears a good, playful flick with my magic.

Shifting himself, Sombra squinted more closely at the story. “He was a colt… who was turned into a filly in order to avoid being struck down by the wary idol.”

“Oh Som,” I said, patting him on the top of his head kindly, “I would rather not have my name be such a curse. The sound is rather fine; the fable attached to it would only burden me with a taunt of all I want to escape.”

In return, I felt Sombra nuzzle my cheek warmly before slipping away, all in order to continue helping me. “We’ll have to keep searching, won’t we?”

I nodded quietly. In my heart, I can feel the thrill of all this searching being pared away by the minute, and falling shred by shred. That was the seventh name we had looked at.

...

I felt my breath come quickly, a knot rapidly forming in my chest as I inhaled. The book resting atop my folded forelegs was an old one, with its spine weathered to sinew threads and scraps. The remains of its leather cover were authentic — a chilling relic of a time when the practice of skin covers was a staple, be they imported from griffons or from other animals, such as moles and shrews. The half-faded calligraphy is still readable to my careful eyes, and there is a single word that jumps out at me, demanding focus.

Why, I felt it lodged in my throat too. ‘Tis like a butterfly, all fuzzy and awkward as it crawls up, threatening to escape me too soon.

“Sombra!” I called instead, trying to keep that feeling from abandoning me. “Come here, and quickly! You must see what I have found!”

One flash of red later and Sombra was standing at my side. His ears were pricked forward and his eyes were bright with alertness. As soon as he caught sight of the book, Sombra bounded over to my side with a few swift, cantering strides.

“Let me see!” Sombra exclaimed, nudging his way over to the table I was seated at.

I levitated the book over to where the pages could be viewed in the luminous glow bathing the archive room. He needn’t even ask for me to do so. I had made the glow of my magic more pronounced over the term of interest, giving it a sparkling highlight.

One thing that I would never stop finding adorable about Sombra — however much he denied the quality — was the precise manner in which he narrowed his eyes to read. There was something delightful in following not just the motion of his eyes, but the subtle movements in his expression. I knew just what part he was at by the slightest shift of his jaw, a twitch of his ear, or tilt of his head.

That was how I knew he was approaching the section I had emphasized — because only Sombra would read the whole page first. Thus, I was fully aware I could surprise him right before he found it.

“Lune,” I said, letting the name take flight. A whole firecracker of joy was unleashing in my chest, warmth, and joyful dizziness washing away all my worry. “‘Tis an old Prancian word for ‘light’, particularly the light of my foremost domain. Not a shred of femininity can ruin that name. Is it not wonderful?”

A dreamy sigh escapes me as soon as I am finished, and my smile is too stubborn to abandon me. I simply can not help myself! The lovely ring to it still buzzes in my ears.

Sombra frowns, and I hone in on the sight immediately. What could provoke such a reaction from him? Even I must admit that this particular frown of his is one he would wear at his most reticent, and I cannot place the emotion.

Oh stars…

“I can’t say that this name has no downside, Lu.”

My muzzle crinkles and I immediately feel a pout threatening to burst.

Lu? Som has never called me such a silly thing before.

“What… downside?” I disliked the way the word tastes upon my tongue, especially when speaking of my own name!

“It’s Prancian,” Sombra said, letting his aura tap upon the weathered pages for emphasis. “Other than that… I see no problem.”

When he saw my harrumph, his unique gloating serpent-smirk returned in full force.

“Did somepony think that I was going to refuse my darling prince a name?”

He kept grinning like he still had the fangs to bare so brilliantly; as a result, I absolutely must pout.

“Sombra, were you not my heart, I would have cast you back to shadows.”

A single dark gray forehoof rested upon his chest with a dazzlingly adorable pompous gesture. Curse him!

“Great gods, what am I to do with the great Prince Lune threatening my splendid existence?”

As I was about to stick my tongue out at him, Sombra decides to surprise me by scooping me up into a kiss. My reciprocation is enough to tell him that he has more than made up for his oh-so-heinous crimes against me.

I could think of no better way to end the long chapter of Luna in my life than usher in a better one: that of Sombra and Lune.

Author's Note

[Revised for print in March 2023]

Credit for the name of "Lune" for a male Luna goes to SPark. It comes from their story Clair de Lune and is by far my favorite pick for a male Luna name.

TClair de Lune

Princess Luna knows that things are what they are. Fish do not fly, birds do not swim, and she cannot be other than who and what she is. Or can she?

SPark · 20k words · 309 22 · 4.1k views

Another excellently written trans-stallion Luna story is here:

TThe Bright Side of the Moon

Princess Luna has been going through a bad patch in the last thousand years or so, to put it mildly. Now, at this time in her life, she is finally ready to answer the difficult questions. But there's one thing she's never thought to question ...

Crescent Minor · 29k words · 88 8 · 2.4k views

If you enjoyed mine, then I would really recommend these too.

Epilogue: Restored Pride

Dear Cadance,

My apologies to not writing to you in some time. Though this city knows it not, much has been uncovered and admitted within the castle walls. I have told Sombra of my condition, and we are going to work together every day to banish the false female aspects of my form in all their foulness. Every day I still bask in his love and acceptance.

Together, we are making the first steps toward planning for hormones, spells, and surgeries. He attends my appointments with Sound Mind when dysphoria is the matter at hoof. Why, Sombra even brings a notebook! He is doing what he can to look into the science of dysphoria and has been reading many medical publishings that were stored in the castle’s archives. I know that helps him contextualize why I am this way and the knowledge contained within their pages aids him in being able to listen to me from a place of understanding. Personally, I like looking at all the diagrams of the before and after of masculinization.

The warmth it gives my heart is worth dozens of letters of its own. To see those kinds of results on myself would make me feel completely alive instead of this sleepy half-state. I will begin taking the medicine that will make me whole in the coming year. To be able to tell you just how much hope this brings me is going to have to fit in my next few letters. Oh, I swear it to you on all my stars that before Sombra and this modern diagnosis, I could only hear how much I was told that happy eternity was something only for my sister. Now, I am taking the steps towards a breezie tale of a life and dear Som is already calling me his Prince Charming.

Before the thoughts escape me, there was a matter I wished to discuss with you. Sombra and I learned that going through with these spells and procedures would render me infertile. We never had the foal talk before, and now we are looking into preservations for any necessary material on my part so that I may never carry one. In your previous letters, you have told me that your only regret in your transition was how the age you began at left you barren. I recall you alluded to other complications too, and I shan’t pry about them.

Though, I do ask, would an offer to a share of materials I will not have use for be of any interest you? You have fawned over motherhood as all mares are wont too, and you and your prince would make darling parents. I would desire nothing in return, and the ghastly procedure for harvesting eggs has a step where a spell can increase the yield. I would never need so many as either part of the procedure could produce! ‘Tis too many, and neither Sombra nor I see any issue with offering you, should you two also find a willing surrogate mare.

Give my regards to Shining Armor, and may your health be fair.

Sincerely,

Lune

P.S. Do you have any idea how I could ever tell Celestia this? I have kept the knowledge of this quiet as a grave, letting none but you or Sombra know.

Author's Note

[Revised for print in March 2023]

Only a fool would think that I don't have a sequel idea and plan for someday. Just remember that if you liked the characters in here and the LGBT themes, I do have the main 'verse which features even more of the same elements (and most importantly, the Lun*/Sombra). It gets updates more frequently due to its nature, and you can find the group for it here.

I'll have more of this world when I can, though.