Letters to a Nowhere Mare
Princess Celestia was having one of her accursed migraines again, and unfortunately for her, it was fierce today. But the princess knew her duty and kept her expression from wilting to mask even the slightest hint of her displeasure. She kept all the tiredness out of her blinking, glad that a bit of beautifying magic could make any hint of unrest be erased without thought. And really, until she had her third cup of coffee each morning, the sun goddess had little thought at all. She may not need sleep, just as every other god didn’t, but when slumber was irregular and disturbed, both the mortal and immortal were alike in their suffering.
Fits of sleeplessness and its bothersome spells in her life were unavoidable. Chess with Raven was something that Princess Celestia hated to miss, and she would never waste a silly little afternoon break on herself instead of one of her subjects. Most importantly, running a country was also unavoidable, and perhaps as destined as bouts of ill slumber. She would slip as much milk, sugar, and exotic creamers into her coffee to make it tolerable to do all she had to. When it came to duty, Princess Celestia never believed in choices.
She smiled, burying every bit of tiredness for good as Raven moved the chess piece. Raven’s knight was right in the path of Princess Celestia’s mage. There was no way that Princess Celestia would permit herself such a move, not when she was throwing this game. Raven was well on her way to beating most ponies who passed through Canterlot’s many parks. But an everlasting Alicorn goddess? Such was still out of her reach, and there was still anxiety all coiled up in her moves. That did not bode well against somepony who shielded no pawn, who let no lesser piece be saved if it meant her king could stand but a move longer, as Princess Celestia played.
Their game would have continued without interruption if a bell’s chime had not interrupted them. Next to Princess Celestia was a simple artifact: a small servant’s bell without a clapper. Whenever Celestia needed to summon Raven, there would be a glow that would produce the sound not just from Princess Celestia’s bell but pour out from a pin hidden under Raven’s tie. The only other reason it glowed was when Raven and Princess Celestia were out and messages had been delivered to Raven’s office, where she would decide what is important enough for the princess to see the personal mail that was sent to Celestia.
Every time they heard that sound, the two of them would tense up like a dog upon hearing a clicker. Raven’s eyes would widen behind her thick glasses and she would let out a little gasp. Celestia’s posture would stiffen to something even more perfect than pin-straight. Her mind would immediately be filled with an outpouring of chastising thoughts at whatever she was neglecting.
Then Princess Celestia remembered exactly what tomorrow would be.
She let her face retain its porcelain coldness and exhaled pleasantly. Not a single fracture was made.
“Isn’t the weather just lovely today?” asked Princess Celestia. She was absolutely beaming at Raven.
Raven blinked. Gulped. When realization dawned, she breathed out too, her own exhale coming out in anxiety-clogged puffs and skips.
“O-of c-course,” Raven stammered, trying to smile too.
Then they resumed their game.
...
The next day, Princess Celestia trotted down to Raven’s office like she hadn’t a care in the world. That ‘like’ being the keystone to her front, the one she always desperately needed on this day. It was always the day when she struggled to balance numbness and a distant pulse of hurting. Raven’s office was tucked away in the servant’s section of the castle, where maids trotted through the halls in chattering flocks and castle guards stopped by to tell them what chefs were preparing in the kitchen.
Princess Celestia would not even use today as an excuse to refrain from chatting with others. To present worry made other ponies worry too, and to display anything that lurked below what other ponies needed to see was the ultimate form of selfishness. There would be none of that, so she took the greatest care in her meandering, because if she were to be truthful for just a moment, she wanted to delay things. She always did on this day.
So Celesia said all her hellos, have fine days, and how-do-yous and let her pleasantries drip with sweetness and flow like a waterfall. Only then did she push open the door to Raven’s office.
…
Raven kept everything neat and as spotless as if a plague would physically manifest and knock right on her door. The surface of her secretary’s desk held a framed miniature of Celestia in a common style that devotional stores and temples usually stocked. There was a Princess Celestia-shaped paperweight on her desk, immaculately polished file cabinets, shelves for inkwells, and enough paper trays in stacks to think that Raven never spent bits outside of an office store. Various cups held a fine array of sturdy quills and the occasional fountain pen.
The most personal thing on Raven’s desk was a glass jar of hoof sanitizer and a rather large one too. Celestia found the frilly, checkered edge to the lid to be to her liking, even if it was no different than the look of any other hoof sanitizer jar.
“Good afternoon, Rae,” murmured Celestia. She kept her gaze away from the surface of the desk and what lay there.
Raven smiled awkwardly. “Good afternoon to you too, princess.”
Celestia took a seat across from Raven, on the opposite side of the desk. The princess folded her forehooves politely and sat with her perfectly poised posture.
“Oh, princess,” Raven whispered. “I’m so sorry I don’t have a better chair for you. That one is hardly befitting of your rank!”
Admittedly, Celestia could feel a small groan from under her. The chair was somewhat strained under her size. “Oh nonsense, Rae. This will do just fine.”
Celestia ignored when the chair groaned again. She swallowed, not because of the noise, but because she saw it on the desk.
“Now,” began Princess Celestia, trying to keep a wary rasp of fear from her tone, “let’s see what she wrote this time.”
Princess Celestia still had a smile stuck on her face, though it was crooked and falling now. She said nothing as Raven bowed her head meekly and passed the single envelope sitting squarely in the center of the desk to the princess.
Wordlessly, Celestia lit her horn and opened it with all the somberness of a mare preparing to read a eulogy. The old parchment unfurled with the impersonal touch of Princess Celestia’s magic, and she was greeted by a long letter ringed with balloons and birthday presents in joyous colors along the sides. It was all pre-drawn of course; greeting scrolls could be picked up at almost any location across Equestria, all with little prints perfect for any occasion.
A lump threatened to strangle Princess Celestia’s words, teasing her with all the emotions she forced down and refused to show. Once the weight of them crashed back into her chest, Princess Celestia began to read:
“My Dearest Sunnybun…”
…
My Dearest Sunnybun,
All my birthday wishes go only to you. What a special filly you are, to study under our goddess! You have not written in some time, but I understand. When I was your age, I wanted to gallop wherever the wind took me. Equestria had so many places to go and there was always so much adventure to be had that I never wanted to write home to my folks. Being a teenager is easy-breezy and I’m certain that Princess Celestia has made your life wonderful in Canterlot. You wrote so many wonderful letters to me about how big the castle was and all the ponies there. I miss those letters, Sunnybun.
When all your birthday fun is done, won’t you write to your dear grandma again? I’ve grown rather lonely without your letters. There is a lovely young mare who helps me pick out each scroll for you. Her name is Gentleheart, and she insists that she is a nurse despite not wearing the little hat. Gentleheart listens to all my stories about you. She never lets me make my own meals anymore and keeps saying that we have met before. But I know that isn’t so. I met her this Monday.
I keep writing to Princess Celestia asking when you will be able to visit again. She has not sent a reply. I do hope that she has ensured all your holiday and birthday letters have been finding you in the best of health. You are an amazing, talented, and incredibly special young mare, Sunnybun. I’m so glad that Princess Celestia herself was able to know this and that she has taken such good care of you. I tell all the doctors here and everypony’s visiting grandfoals that my grandfoal is the greatest young lady in all of Equestria.
Do you know how they react? Why, if they wore socks, all of them would be knocked right off! None of them can speak once they hear that my granddaughter is the amazing Sunset Shine, the Special Student of Princess Celestia herself. Most of the visitors are so funny when they hear this, always playing along and pretending that they have no idea who you are. Others give me a good run for my bits and ask if I meant to say that I’m the grandmother of some Twilight Twinkle. Of course not! Twilight Twinkle is such a silly name, I’m the proudest grandmother of good old Sunset Shine!
Sunnybun, I know that you’ll change the world one day. It may not be today, and it may be a few birthdays from now, but your grandma will always be waiting for your next one – and for your next letter.
Love,
Grandma
...
When she finished reading, Princess Celestia sighed and gave her head a small shake – the kind used when a mother was disappointed in her foal. Raven held a hoofkerchief in her forehooves and was wringing it and tugging at it incessantly with her magic.
“When will these stop?” whispered Raven.
“There will be no stopping these letters,” said Princess Celestia calmly. “Once Merry Hearth has departed Midgard for Paradise, we shall receive no more.”
Raven sniffled, blinking up at her princess.
“Oh!” gasped Princess Celestia. “I mean that I shall stop getting the letters. Though, I truly thought that after the first few instances of no reply, Miss Merry Hearth would cease her correspondence.”
I sometimes forget the feebleness that age brings to pony minds, and just what it can do, Celestia thought. But she couldn’t bring herself to say such a thing, not only because it would alienate Raven, but it unsettled even herself.
“These letters,” squeaked Raven, “how can y-you be s-so unaffected by them?”
“I…” Princess Celestia realized that she had no perfect word for what came after that. It wouldn’t have been better if she had not spoken at all if she had no platitude for Raven.
Two big brown eyes drank in every little bit of Celestia’s fumble. This, Celestia realized, was exactly what Raven wanted. She wanted to see that minor glitch, the shred of vulnerability that the princess knew she had to learn from, and never show again. Once a thread like that is exposed, her whole self could absolutely unravel into the emotional, passionate being she couldn’t be if that capability lurked in her at all.
“Sunset…” Raven began, caution dripping from her every word. “...losing her has affected you, hasn’t it?”
It was probably the first time that Princess Celestia actually heard Raven call Sunset by name in years. She couldn’t remember the last time she spoke Sunset’s name either. When young Twilight Sparkle had asked about one of the castle’s many locked doors, she had hoof-waved it with the non-answer about ‘previous students’ and distracted Twilight with some of the extra credit assignments that the filly loved so much.
Princess Celestia looked down at the scroll in her magic, setting it gently in Raven’s wastepaper basket. “What can I say that you haven’t already guessed, Rae?”
Raven dipped her head down so severely that at first Celestia thought she was going to purposely hit her head on the edge of the desk. When Raven was only doing a more severe version of her modest, typical head-bow, Celestia remained seated.
“Princess, please-oh-please, pardon any insolence on my part, but whatever could I say that would get you to move on?”
“Move on...” gasped Princess Celestia, a hoof smothering her gasp. “Goodness, Rae, you act like she’s-”
“Sunset Shimmer of Tall Tale is an unsolved cold case to your Royal Guard. Her photo isn’t even on soymilk cartons anymore. Princess, it has been years. Is your journal where she used to write her discipline sentences and lessons to you still untouched?”
“I… Yes, y-yes it certainly is.”
“I-I once again beg all the highest pardons possible for a mortal like me, O Princess,” Raven murmured, rubbing at her own hock with her other forehoof until it was red, “but wherever Sunset Shimmer has been, is she not gone?”
“Rae…”
“My princess, it isn’t healthy for you to be like this. To still think about her. You tell everypony about how change is inevitable and important. If somepony doesn’t change something like this, how is somepony doing anything but hurting themselves?”
Princess Celestia stared at the floral pattern on the office’s tile floor.
“Rae, what did you have in mind?”
…
Princess Celestia had not opened the door to Sunset Shimmer’s room in years. In fact, she had coaxed out the strongest magic she had to ward the room from entry, be it physical or magical. The staff knew not to even go near the room because it was locked, not because it belonged to another one of Princess Celestia’s unknown ghosts.
Sunset Shimmer hadn’t always been either of those things. She used to trot through the same halls as the maids. Now it was Celestia who felt like a maid. One of her expensive, ornate pairs of saddlebags was crammed full of feather dusters, cleaning sprays, trash sacks, and spare rags.
Raven stood next to her, clutching a mop and bucket of sudsy water in her magic. A large garbage can floated right next to her. She sheepishly smiled up at the princess.
“Just think of this as a little spring cleaning!”
“If you say so, Rae…” Princess Celestia’s words were unusually quiet, and she had to force her ears not to flop back against her skull. Her tail’s flow was molasses-slow and the pastel plume dragged along the floor.
The princess lit her horn with careful magic, her aura at a pale canary intensity. Gingerly, she withdrew a rag and spray bottle. She gave the cobwebbed handle a good spritz, staying out of spider range as she mopped it up. Once that was done, she took a step back and squeezed her eyes shut. Worming past her vicious, thumping migraine was a sudden flare of intense dandelion yellow. Celestia cracked open her eyes, tinted with the glow of her magic, and watched the sanctuary wards on the door and woven into the walls pulse before she felt them fall.
A loud, clicking noise echoed around the two mares as Celestia’s magic forced the door to unlock.
Then, Raven grabbed the door handle and pushed it open.
...
The two mares stepped inside the dusty time capsule. Raven immediately began coughing. Princess Celestia made a faint clucking sound, summoning a werelight until she found the old switch on an unilluminated wall. Her telekinesis fumbled for it and gave it a good flick. The whole room was enveloped with shadows and flashes as the chandelier overhead came to life.
All the relics of Sunset Shimmer were spread out before them. Musty sheets lay tossed aside on an unmade canopy bed. They lay almost exactly as they had when Celestia first tore them away in search of the student that hadn’t been slumbering beneath them. Some of the posters from those dreadful heavy metal bands had fallen on the floor. Others were already peeling off the walls. Those would be easy to take down.
But as for the rest? No, it would not be all that easy to tear away the tray of cosmetics on Sunset’s vanity. Princess Celestia had bought most of those, and though they may all be old and dried out, she did not wish to violate the grave atmosphere of this place by tossing them all away. She was not usually a mare for sentiment, but the mere thought of having to go through Sunset’s desk was horrid.
“I want all her old books and clothes donated,” said Celestia quietly, not letting a shred of command leave her voice. Mourning or not, she was still the princess.
Raven nodded. “That is an excellent idea, princess.”
Celestia pulled out a trash sack and approached the vanity. Every bit of neon chapstick and dark eyeshadow was swept in with a strong motion of her large wing. When that was done, she turned to see Raven. Her secretary was humming something vaguely similar to a recent Bridleway tune Celestia had heard as she swung the wet mop up the dusty tiles of Sunset’s old room.
Heavens knew she could pretend it would be. Easy, that is. She had already made one step in the right direction. To make another, Celestia brought a feather duster to the vanity mirror. After enough dust had been cleaned off, there was an odd array of old pictures staring back at Celestia.
Some were photos of an extraordinarily young Sunset Shimmer with her grandmother. Others Celestia recognized as ones she used to slip in Sunset’s room once a birthday photo collection was made. Others were images of places clipped straight out of magazines, the paper yellow and shriveled. What significance they had to her Faithful Student, Celestia knew not. At least the clippings from fashion magazines and tween-zine zodiac prattle were easier to guess the purpose of.
After one forlorn glance and a few movements of Celestia’s magic, the photos joined the old beauty products. A cautious, empty lightness had started budding in Princess Celestia’s chest.
She moved on to Sunset Shimmer’s old bookshelf. Tomes of magic and fantastic beasts littered the shelves. Among them were collections about motivation, goal-setting, and historical wizards. Wedged in between some advanced magic books that Celestia certainly hadn’t gotten for Sunset was one of those dramatically titled self-help books for foals, this one boasting the rather alarming Why Don’t My Parents Love Me: A Foal’s Guide to Finding Value at Home.
Goodness gracious, wasn’t this one just an utter black sheep among Sunset’s other titles. Sunset never knew her parents, as Celestia had been told. Why she kept a book on – she scooped it up and checked the summary on the back cover – breaking the ice with emotionally cold parents during adolescence was downright bizarre.
While Celestia levitated the shelf’s other books into one of the donation sacks, Celestia checked on Raven again.
“Rae?” Princess Celestia asked, watching Raven pause her mopping to fold a few of Sunset’s dark jackets. “Are you doing alright?”
“Are you, my princess?” Raven offered the stack of folded garments to Celestia.
The princess accepted, placing them inside another sack. “I feel… okay, I do think. Would you be a dear and strip the bed for me? I’d like to see if I can salvage those sheets. If not… well, does your mother still quilt?”
“Ah, yes, princess!” Raven piped. “I’ll get to it right away!”
“Oh, no Rae. Please take your time… I’ll take the desk, though. I do believe that there are some formal gowns in Sunset’s closet that could be about your sister’s size if you would like them.”
Sunset hadn’t had any friends that Princess Celestia could offer all her keepsakes to. If she had, they would have been the first on Princess Celestia’s mind for recipients of the things Sunset had cared for…
...all the things that they were now going to give away.
“Thank you, princess,” Raven whispered, shifting her mopping pattern so that she would deliberately wander over to the closet near Sunset’s bed.
While she did that, Celestia flipped through the odd family book, skipping around random pages and skimming the contents. There were chapters on stepping up to assist in chores, talk about feelings, seek independent hobbies, and spending time with one another. Considering Sunset Shimmer dedicated her time to nagging her for extra difficult assignments, throwing tantrums, antisocial behavior, and alternatively trying to take Celestia away from her duties it was almost… funny, that a book like this haunted Sunset’s shelves.
Into the donation sack, it went, and finally, Princess Celestia turned to Sunset Shimmer’s desk. Thoughts swirled from her mind, quarantine from her feelings most effectively. Fillies came home from hospitals and school lessons, but since she arrived from Canterlot Sunset Shimmer had never lived anywhere but a dorm and with Celestia. Faithful Students came back from visits home with stories to tell, but Sunset Shimmer had not visited home in a long time.
Fillies did not come back from portals they had snuck into during the darkest hours, and that kept Princess Celestia up at night more than she ever wanted to admit.
All the quills and pencils could be tossed, as could all the old dry ink. Numerous crumpled papers on Sunset Shimmer’s desk served no purpose and were all disposed of without care. She pulled open old drawers stuffed with assignments and school-things that there was no sense in preserving. Into the trash sack for those too. When she came across Sunset Shimmer’s old textbooks, Celestia reluctantly slid those into the donation sack. There was no point in giving them to anypony else, but she could likely erase Sunset’s name and repurpose them.
Only when she pulled open one last drawer did Princess Celestia stop and struggle to keep her breathing completely calm. Two books were jammed inside. The first bore Celestia’s own cutie mark; it was her side of the two-way journal she shared with Sunset Shimmer. She had misplaced it shortly before Sunset had vanished.
Left, chided her brutal inner critic.
That was the same little voice that whispered to her, wanting her to go against the call to donate. It nagged her with reminders about all the birthdays they had spent together, and how she had helped Sunset with sounding out the names of deep-sea creatures from her wildlife encyclopedias. Only the consolation that there were other foals who would enjoy Sunset’s former gifts kept her from peeking back into the book donation sack.
Yes. Left indeed. She hadn’t ever thought that Sunset might have managed to slip into her teacher’s own office and snag her copy of the elaborately enchanted journal. That, Celestia had to keep, and she carefully slipped the journal into her saddlebags. Let that be her memento.
Below it was a familiar, tattered old thing. When Sunset Shimmer had first arrived at the castle, there was only one thing she had clung to desperately when she had transferred from attending the School for Gifted Unicorns to being the Faithful Student. It was an old, worn-out diary that bulged at the bindings with all the pages Sunset had sewn into it for extra entries. There was a very tired and kitschy, thrift shop look to it. ‘Tacky’ would be quite a generous term for the old thing, with its aging binding and twine holding it together.
Not once had Sunset taken up her teacher’s offer to get a new diary, like the fancy ones that came with stickers or had adorable custom keys. She had seen Sunset Shimmer carrying the ratty old thing around far too often, and now she couldn’t help but imagine what kind of belittling things Sunset had probably written about the staff Celestia always treated with courtesy. She was sure that most of them had been about Cadance, whom Sunset had never liked.
And yet, the sight of this piteous little book brought back all the memories of the filly she had always tried to care for. No matter what Sunset did, Princess Celestia had never abandoned her duty to be there for the wayward filly. She never stopped caring, popping in to check on Sunny, and doing her best to provide her with everything a little filly could want. It just hurt so much, not just having her gone, but having to watch Sunset squander her allowance on things that alienated her from others. In all her years as a Faithful Student, Sunny had never burned harmlessly.
Unable to stare at the worn cover, Princess Celestia used her hoof to nudge Sunset Shimmer’s old diary into the recycling basket, never to think of it again. She was surprised by how easily falling out of sight made the bin’s contents leave her mind too. Without another glance, she passed the bin to Raven, who stood dutifully by and would take it to be emptied.
Change has to matter more, Celestia thought, if only to be more direct with her thinking. Change was positive, good, and always needed.
The princess kept insisting she believed those words.
Worst of all, she told herself that it hadn’t hurt to throw away the diary.
Author's Note
Stealing phrases from Cavetown songs as titles. As one does.
It’s not a very fitting song for Celestia except for that one phrase that made it into the title.
