Afterword

by Decaf

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Drama, Princess Celestia, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 2858

Twilight writes an afterword to a book by Princess Celestia.

Twilight finds a book written by Celestia hidden in her castle, and plans to publish it. But as she tries to unravel its mysteries, she wonders who it was written for, and why.

Published 2020-11-06 04:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2020-11-06 04:00:00 UTC

Afterword

Princess Celestia once told me that books could be divided into three categories.

The first type is for specialists. These are the books that hold information needed to do a specific job. A manifest detailing shipments of lumber, a ledger listing inmates in prison, a book of laws. These are books that mean everything to those who need them, and nothing to everyone else.

The second kind is a book for readers. The words Celestia said to me were, “You can be whoever or whatever you want in a book. You can say truth, lies, or any combination of the two. The only requirement is that it’s written to be read by someone other than yourself.”

That last part is an important distinction, as the third type is a book for yourself. These are diaries, journals, words written without any audience at all. Those who keep this kind of book tend to have strong feelings about who should read it, if ever.

Personally, if someone found my diary, I wouldn’t mind them reading it. It’s not a coherent book, as it wasn’t written with a reader in mind, but if someone were to put in considerable effort they could decipher something about me. Strangers knowing intimate details about my life is probably inevitable, considering my station, and I wouldn’t hold it against anyone who harbored curiosity about the most powerful pony in Equestria.

Celestia, in contrast, once told me that if I ever found her diary, I should burn it without opening it, and never think of it again. She did this to Luna’s diary after her banishment, and considered it the only truly ethical course of action when you find this type of book.

“Words written for no reader are born to die,” she told me. “It isn’t murder to kill them without reading them. It’s mercy.”

I bring this up because I don’t know what kind of book you’ve just read. It’s either for readers or for herself. I have read this book dozens of times, and still can’t tell you.

To my knowledge, this is the only work of fiction (yes, I believe it’s fiction) Celestia ever wrote. The story resonated with me, but if it was meant to be read, then it’s definitely incomplete. Scenes sometimes end mid-sentence with no resolution, there are several contradictions within the internal logic of the world, and the ending is either missing or nonexistent.

Yet, I cannot deny that it moved me.

I know you’ve just read it, so I won’t waste your time summarizing, but I would like to direct your attention to a passage in the middle that you may not remember.

The sun hung in the sky like a sack of peanuts. It had risen, yet again, without ceremony. Once, there would have been a celebration for every new day, but as time passed, the extraordinary became ordinary. The sun, with its life giving rays, was taken for granted.

She hung her head, lost in thought. Perhaps that is how things should be. For so long, the rising of the sun had been a fact of life. The fact that The Princess was responsible for it was no more interesting than the color of the grass. But it only happened because she put in the effort. If The Princess slacked one day, the entire planet would be thrown into disarray. No one could stay in their comfortable rut.

Of course, that should never happen. The Princess, above everything else, exists to serve her subjects. But she had never lost the marvel of her powers. Not once had she seen them as mundane. The fact that others did suggested that someone was wrong. It could be them, but she suspected it was her.

If this book were written in first person, I never would have published it. I would have let it languish in the vault along with all of Celestia’s other unfinished writings. It’s clearly personal to her, and if she were still around, I would have asked her permission first. But not even I know where she disappeared to.

The manuscript was hidden under the floorboards of the vault, a place I’d never thought to look for three hundred years. But time had rotted the wood, and my hoof went straight through the plank. Underneath was a pile of yellow mold.

If not for my expertise in restoration, it would have already been lost. The words would have died. But with magic, I saved them, reconstructed the entire book out of nothing but mush. I read all two hundred pages in one sitting. While it failed at making logical sense, it succeeded in eliciting a mood. I believe that you now understand Celestia a little better, having read this. It’s obvious this book is about her, but everything that happens to “The Princess” is rooted in mundanity. I can’t prove if it really happened the same way I can’t remember what I had for breakfast last month. To me, this focus on the small moments is the point.

Luna’s banishment is hardly mentioned at all, but about half of this book is spent with The Princess walking alone in the garden and thinking to herself.

Some of these passages are beautiful.

The Princess had ordered rain this day, for no other reason than to see the garden from a fresh perspective. Often, she had imagined rain to be the sky weeping, but over the centuries she grew tired of this metaphor. The sky had no feelings. Why pretend that it did?

Now it gave her comfort to know that it was merely water. It meant nothing. It simply was.

Others, not so much.

She tried to avoid flying when she could help it. Being off the ground wasn’t very fun. It was boring. The ground was reality. Reality. It sure does bite, sometimes, like little moths with teeth. Or maybe mosquitoes. That made more sense.

(I didn’t think it right to edit this book in any way, but this paragraph tested my patience. I must admit I seriously considered striking it from the published version.)

The discrepancy in the text can be explained one of two ways. Either the book was unfinished, or it was never meant to be read. Let me first make the case that this is an unfinished book for readers. Celestia took considerable time to explain concepts that she would already be familiar with. Take this passage, for example.

The Canterlot castle loomed over the city like a mountain. Its stained-glass windows were specially designed to illuminate the hall with a warm glow. Those going to see The Princess would feel welcome here, but the imposing size of the room would let them know she took her duties seriously.

If this story were a diary written in third person, then why would Celestia bother describing her own throne room? Studies done by psychologists on the writing style of diaries found that, “…a staggering 88% of diary entries that recounted a specific event did not mention the setting the event took place in, unless the setting was important to the described events.”

A counterargument to this point would be that the room did have a purpose to the story, as the passage continues.

The mood of the throne room had been immaculately constructed by The Princess and The Banished One, though her subjects were ignorant of this. Indeed, her sister had been banished so long ago few could tell if she ever really existed.

So perhaps this “specific event” did have something to do with the setting. Isn’t it significant that this is one of only three times that Luna is mentioned in this story?

In addition, it’s important to keep in mind the style of this piece as a whole. To be blunt, it’s all over the place, with jarring shifts in tone

If death never came for her, if the world as she knew it existed forever, did she have free will? Or had fate driven her every action?

Either way, she probably shouldn’t be eating strange mold off the walls, even if she was hungry.

When I want to be generous, I say that Celestia wrote in an abstract, experimental style. When I’m frustrated, I think this book is a first draft that had never been read over a second time. Maybe it’s both.

Readers looking for a story won’t find much to like in these pages. The work is single minded, focusing only on contrasting The Princess’ life with her thoughts. She goes through the motions of ruling the land automatically. Little of her brain is dedicated to her actions, with her internal voice instead focusing on a neverending ennui.

The only reason I know this is a work of fiction and not an accurate reflection of Celestia is because I knew her personally. Often, she would tell me that the mental real estate needed to do her job left her with no thoughts of her own. A thousand ponies needed her input constantly, and she never had a moment to herself. It makes me wonder when she found the time to write this.

There’s a romance to imagine living life forever listless, proud and lonely. I must admit I have a certain attraction to it.

Reading through Celestia’s bibliography, most of her works would be classified as books for specialists. She would occasionally do her own grunt work, especially early into her reign, and even I have trouble reading manifests of shipments made centuries ago. I can’t recommend it.

She published the occasional bit of nonfiction, usually philosophy. These books, while interesting, are not exactly accessible. (The twenty-thousand-word sentence from Rules for Rulers comes to mind.) Her bestselling work among the general public is A Brief History of Equestria, which deserves the honor. Firsthand accounts of history are invaluable, and Celestia’s straightforward approach to the subject matter makes it a book both historians and laymen can appreciate.

In other words, A Brief History of Equestria is proof that Celestia is a good writer. She can produce a wonderful book. Her philosophical works are harder to recommend. The pontificating feels self-centered in a way that’s unpleasant to read. Rules for Rulers is not a guide on how to run a country, but instead a list of small breaches in manners that Celestia has done over the course of her life, and whether she regrets them. I’ve never been able to understand how this ties in with what the book is ostensibly about.

Celestia’s philosophical works are confusing, and this is coming from someone who reads philosophy for fun in her spare time. I have a hard time imagining what kind of pony would find value in her books, aside from A Brief History of Equestria. If they say something smart, I’m too stupid to understand it.

Now, we come full circle, back to the book you’ve just read. Normally, this is the kind of narrative I would dismiss as “Just not for me.” I like my fiction to tell a story. When it doesn’t, I’m disappointed. But, despite the lack of narrative on display here, I didn’t feel that disappointment reading this.

I have two fears about publishing this for others to read. My first is that no one aside from myself will find this interesting. As I’ve said, the aspect of this story that fascinated me is how it contrasts with the Celestia I knew. Those who didn’t know her, (which nowadays is exactly everyone who is not me or Luna,) won’t have that lens. So, how do they approach it?

The second fear is that I’m wrong about who this book is for. This could be a diary of sorts. If that’s the case, I’ve violated Celestia’s trust by reading it in the first place. In putting it out into the world, I am either fulfilling her lost desire for these words to be read, or directly disobeying her orders.

Is that a risk I’m willing to take?

There’s one more passage I want to copy for you.

The Princess stared out the stained-glass window. She couldn’t see the outside world through its artistry, but she knew the garden lay beyond. So many years ago, it had been a plain window, and she had stared out it all day. The garden beckoned her, distracted her from her duty to her subjects. Her work became sloppy. So she blocked the view for them, to keep herself focused on what was important.

Another small joy she stripped away for the benefit of others. She wondered how much of herself was left.

I miss her. I don’t know where she went. Luna doesn’t know either. She just disappeared. If she’s still alive, she’s in another plane of existence. I’m not powerful enough to find her, and I don’t think I ever will be.

Since writing that last paragraph, I have read the book again. Now, I’m asking myself a question I should have considered earlier. If I wrote this, would I want it published?

For me, the answer is no. As a story, it’s a shoddy piece of work, and I’d be ashamed at having something so incomplete out there for all to see. But if I somehow disappeared, and my student found it in this state three hundred years later, should they publish it then?

I won’t tell you what to do. I’ll only tell you what I’m about to do.

I made three copies of this manuscript, having planned to send them to publishers. I burned them. Only the original remains. After I finish writing this afterword, I’ll put it at the end of the book, lock it in a chest, and hide it under the floorboards of the vault. Someday, maybe, you’ll find it. Preserved, this time, with the aid of magic.

I hope you will read it and see yourself reflected in these pages. For I think Celestia wrote this for me, and for you, and for whoever succeeds you in the future, all the way down the line.

Last week, I had to do something awful. Maybe you will know what it is by the time you read this, but I don’t have the strength to talk about it yet. Just know it’s worse than sending your only sister to the moon.

I have never felt more alone in my entire life. Who out there in the world can understand me? Luna has turned her back on me, and I don’t blame her. There is no one else who knows my pain.

Except for Celestia.

It’s as if she knew I would need to read this someday. As if she wrote this for me. I have spent the week reading it over and over, convinced it’s the pinnacle of literature. It’s not, as you can tell for yourself. But it’s still valuable. This book is exactly how I feel. A message from thousands of years ago to let me know that I am not alone.

If I were more spiritually inclined, I’d say that finding this book at this point in my life was destiny. It’s a nice notion, though in my heart I can’t believe it to be anything other than coincidence.

I suppose there is a chance you will never find this, or someone else will. The future isn’t guaranteed, after all. Even if you don’t, it has helped me a great deal. It reminded me of a simple truth I had forgotten.

There is no such thing as a unique emotion. No matter what you are feeling right now, someone has felt that way before. I hope that when you read this, you will understand. I thought this was a book for all readers, but it’s a book for a specific reader. It’s a book for you.

When I first sat down to write this afterword, I thought I was writing for everyone. I could go back and change it to only speak to you, but in the spirit of things I think I’ll leave it as is. After all, there’s a realm that needs my attention. I’ve neglected my duty for a week, locked in my chambers, reading this book over and over again. I’ve been absent long enough.

I won’t patronize you by telling you the moral of this story. I know you’re capable of coming to your own conclusion. Instead, I'll leave you with two thoughts.

First, I'd like to point out that at the moment, these words I write are dead. No one else has read them. If you’ve gotten this far, you have breathed life into them, transformed what kind of book this is. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Second, you should know that whatever has happened, my faithful student, I understand the burden you bear. I know what you are going through. And I’m not the only one. Celestia has been there before and moved forward. I am there now and will move forward.

I have no doubt you can do it too.