We Have No Mouths, and We Must Confess

Act 2 Part 2

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Twilight took a deep breath and pushed open the door to Celestia’s private chambers.

She was momentarily disoriented as the spacious room appeared to be on fire. The last rays of the sun, about to be hidden beyond the horizon, flooded it with the reddish-pink, setting everything ablaze, including the lone tall figure at the balcony.

The minutes passed in silence and Twilight stood enchanted, watching the goddess move the celestial body across the firmament with a practised and measured care; the divine sight never failed to tug the strings of her heart.

The soothing shadows rushed into the room as soon as the golden aura around Celestia’s horn flickered out; the ivory alicorn turning to greet her guest with a smile still bearing the warmth of the now tucked away sun.

Twilight struggled to return in genuinely.

Seeing her initial greeting wasn’t enough, Celestia spoke, just as warmly, “Good evening, Twilight.”

It was answered in a way neither expected, nor necessary—with a reserved, yet firm reverent bow and in a matching tone, “Princess Celestia.”

The sun goddess took it stoically, politely refusing to acknowledge the gesture and motioned with her wing to the delicate table, where a tea set glistened in anticipation.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The two mares took seats opposite one another, following a long-established order of things. Excruciating moments of awkward silence followed, with Twilight fidgeting restlessly on her cushion, though it was as comfortable as they went. Her gaze kept jumping between various and numerous objects in the room until it ultimately stopped on the spot it had been avoiding in the first place—Celestia’s bottomless magenta eyes calmly observing her unease.

It was like a dam had broken, so fervently Twilight gushed, “Princess, I am so sorry–"

She was interrupted, stopped not as much by the volume—it didn’t change at all—nor by the content, but by the barely perceptible warning note when Celestia said, “Twilight.”

Knowing well that calling her former student by name wouldn't keep her calm forever, she continued, “While my visit didn’t go quite as planned, I enjoyed it nonetheless. The magic show your student helped to put up was nothing but splendid.”

The perfect mask of serenity didn’t crack as Twilight spoke with even more panic after the attempted reassurance, “But… But I didn’t see you there!” She clutched her ears in hooves, pulling at them in desperation. “I’m so sorry, if I knew, I would have made sure you got the best seat and–"

She wasn’t allowed to go on her tirade—the mare opposite her knew very well that it had no end. Seeing no amount of placating words would help—Twilight’s ability to turn them around was absolute—Celestia went with another tactic.

“Worry not, I wished not to disturb the flow of the performance, so I was present under a disguise.”

It proved effective, maybe even too much. Twilight froze, staring at her former mentor in shock, her jaw slowly unhinging by itself as she tried to comprehend the unimaginable.

Out of both the intent to cement her success and pure mischief, Celestia commented with a wink, “I can be quite discrete.”

Behind her a lamp, suspiciously out of style with everything else, quietly giggled; the supposedly impossible event was either purposely ignored or missed altogether, depending on the perspective—host or visitor.

The latter had gone completely silent, staring dejectedly at her hooves. The worst hadn’t come to be, yet the emotions behind the refused admission of guilt kept her mind captive. Each passing second without a single word spoken weighed heavily on her and made it even harder to break the spell.

Although one-sided, the awkwardness in the air was nearly palpable; Celestia hesitated to end it—a wrong word could undo her work, leaving her little chance to have a meaningful conversation with her guest.

So, her golden aura enveloped the teapot, the liquid inside simmering a little, before levitating it above the table to pour greenish tea into two cups. Though not lacking grace, her movements were deliberate and leisurely to give them both a rightful opportunity to think.

Only when the teapot returned from its flight onto polished wood with a soft clink and the exotic aroma began to rise from both ends of the table in wisps, she attempted to re-ignite the conversation.

“This tea is a gift from the minotaur ambassador.” Celestia took a sip of the steaming beverage, thus inviting Twilight to do the same. After savouring it for a while, a bitter comment left her mouth on its own volition, “I wish his manners matched its taste—refined and intricate.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Twilight said even before her lips touched the porcelain and added a mere moment later. “I like it a lot.”

Celestia suppressed a sigh—she wouldn’t have received a different answer no matter what. Yet she played along, “In that case, I will pack the rest of it with you.” Before any objection could be uttered, she added, “So you can share with your student. You do have tea together, don’t you?”

Twilight jolted a bit—the question took her by a surprise. An unpleasant one. Just yesterday she lamented about failing to recreate her wonderful studentship; having tea with Celestia was a very memorable and important part of it. A dark wave of shame washed over her in a suffocating tide.

“We often have meals together,” she squeezed out of herself a lame excuse, blushing.

With the eyes glued to the contents of her cup, Twilight failed to see the faint smile gracing the immaculate alabaster features. Sloshing the soggy leaves in her cup, Celestia pressed on:

“In the castle, I presume?”

An image of an alternative visited Twilight’s mind—her and Starlight at a restaurant, their faces lit by a single candle… It was so vivid she couldn’t imagine anything else implied by the harmless curiosity.

Her blush deepened and the response leaving her lips was no longer a forced whisper, but an exclamation of fake nonchalance accompanied by a peal of nervous laughter, “Where else?”

Twilight tried to hide her embarrassment by taking a generous swig from her cup, which backfired spectacularly when her non-answer was followed by a non-question.

“You must be spending a lot of time together.”

By the skin of her teeth, Twilight avoided spraying the contents of her mouth at the goddess’s face—it cost her getting some inside her lungs. After a fit of violent coughing, when she was finally able to speak without choking, she nearly screamed, “No!” To be hastily rectified, “Um, only as much as necessary. Necessary for studying friendship, that is.”

Celestia patiently waited until Twilight wiped her muzzle—whatever tea didn’t go the wrong way had tried to escape via the nose.

“Any…” she smirked, “further plans?”

“What!?”

It was an actual scream this time, echoing the terror of a chilling realisation—none of it was Twilight’s imagination, Celestia knew it the entire time, every question straight to the point. It could be written off as Rarity’s excessive romanticism the first time, but if even a pony who was as pure as she can be and quite remote from the entire endeavour started to get such ideas… it was the exact scenario she dreaded more than anything else.

It called for definitive measures.

Twilight’s mind already began to conjure the plan as she tried to amend the situation right here and now.

“Ah… I… I want her to spend more time away from me.” Hearing the way her words came out, she corrected herself, “I mean, more time in Ponyville, outside the castle, making friends. As you can see, she already made one!”

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Celestia commenced somewhat dryly, her apparent disappointment lost on her slightly unhinged guest.

Twilight beamed. “I’m glad you approve, Princess.”

Suppressing another very deep sigh, the sun goddess lifted the teapot in the air.

“More tea?” she lifelessly asked.

“Yes, please.”

The same wind gently caressing the wilting meadow around Starlight forcefully tugged at the kite. She readjusted the thread digging into her fetlocks and carefully rotated the spool, letting the foreign to the sky object soar higher into the endless blue.

The tall grasses around her rustled ceaselessly, murmuring their farewell, adding to the sorrowfully beautiful chorus of autumn. Were she to pay it any attention, she would realize it wasn’t the only soft breeze sending ripples across the sea of tarnished gold.

So it came to Starlight as a complete surprise when the midgrass parted to reveal a yellow pegasus so close, they almost bumped into each other. The spool fell out of her hooves, rolling across the damp earth, unwinding and binding Starlight’s hooves in taut coils, the kite bobbling in displeasure.

While she tried to untangle herself, Fluttershy regained her senses.

“My goodness, I am so sorry!”

When the battle with the thread was finally over in Starlight favour, she started to hastily reel it on. “No, Fluttershy, it is my fault, I should have known you work with animals here.”

“It is no worry, we were just passing by. The little critters at the veterinary clinic needed to get a breath of fresh air, so I took them out for a stroll.” As in proof to her words, a variety of cautious animals showed themselves, appearing from behind the demure mare. For a moment they retreated when a shadow of the descending kite passed over them. Fluttershy seemed to follow them, as she muttered, “If I knew you occupied this meadow already, we wouldn’t have disturbed you. Actually, we should be leaving.”

“No, no, there is no need, you don’t bother me in the slightest,” Starlight hurried to reassure her. Ignoring them both, Fluttershy’s motley company spread across the little clearing Starlight had trampled down, studying it and its creator with heartwarming curiosity. She couldn’t help but smile. “If anything, I enjoy the company of your animals.” After a pause lasting too long, she added, “And yours.”

The critters exploring the meadow together with a chilly breeze were the only sounds to be heard as two mares stared at one another as they suddenly found themselves in each other’s company.

As the last of the animals left Starlight’s presence, she shifted uncomfortably.

“That is very kind of you helping the clinic.”

“Thank you.”

Silence took the reign again, heavily weighing on Starlight’s mind. She tried to come up with another topic to no avail—each sounded lamer in her head than the previous. To her, it felt like many minutes passed before Fluttershy of all ponies saved the situation.

“I didn’t know you like kites, Starlight.” The pegasus motioned with her head at the object in question.

She stared at her kite like she saw it for the first time.

“Ah, well, it’s a hobby I picked up a long time ago.” The answer came as a stammer and was followed by a nearly deafening silence. Realizing if she didn’t continue, the conversation would die for good this time, Starlight said the first thing coming to her mind, “Truth be told, I often dreamed of being a pegasus and I still do from time to time. The open skies always felt like they were calling to me.”

All the time Starlight spoke, her eyes were still glued to the kite, recalling childhood fantasies. When she finished and dared to look at Fluttershy, she was met with an expression hard to decipher. Not a moment later her gaze fell back to the ground as shame overtook her like a fire. “Sorry, that probably was very insensitive of me.”

“Not at all.” There was nothing but warmth in Fluttershy’s voice; as Starlight peeked at her she saw a smile matching that tone. “I don’t spend all the time close to the ground—it’s more my instincts than my whim when I feel an urge to fly amongst the clouds with birds.” She peered over the grass, longingly looking at the rolling field set aflame by the soft glow of the setting sun. “If it was up to me, I would be an earth pony.”

“Why not a unicorn? You could use your magic to help animals.”

Fluttershy didn’t answer outright, though she acknowledged the question with a flick of her ear. It seemed like tearing eyes from the melancholic weald was taking her more effort than she could muster.

However, she finally managed to do it, only for as long as it took her to say, “I’m not sure, but it somehow feels right.” Then she returned to soaking up the last warm rays of the sun along with golden blades.

Starlight tried to follow her gaze, yet, on their own, her eyes wandered upwards, to the azure sky peppered with pink clouds and she couldn’t help but imagine herself soaring through them.

They unknowingly shared the same daydream for a while, and Starlight almost missed when Fluttershy asked, “I heard Princess Celestia visited Twilight yesterday. How did that go?”

The serenity faded away, replaced by the worries Starlight tried to leave behind.

“I wasn’t there, so I’m not sure.” A sigh escaped her lips. “Not sure it went well—it was about me, after all. I know how it must sound, but I have no regrets—I made a great friend.” She almost added, “and powerful”—she had to admit, it had a nice ring.

“Trixie, isn’t it?”

The question was purely symbolic, so Starlight simply nodded with the pegasus mirroring her motion.

Then she commented in a slightly concerned tone, “There must have been some resistance from Twilight, I imagine.”

Starlight gave her a long look.

The details of Trixie’s previous visits to Ponyville still evaded her. One thing was clear—it left a lasting negative impression on Twilight and she wasn’t a mare to hold a grudge for long. With how close she was with her friends it wasn’t hard to guess they must have a shared opinion on the wandering magician.

“Wouldn’t you agree with her?”

For a very brief moment, an expression alien to Fluttershy’s face appeared there—a frown. It was gone without a trace when she spoke, “Trixie is not a bad mare at heart. She is trying and it would be horribly wrong to refuse her the second chance.”

Starlight’s mouth moved on its own with a bitter comment.

“Twilight nearly did that.”

“The way I see it, she just got a bit carried away by the desire to protect you.” Her kind expression was joined by a bashful smile. “She reminds me of Discord so much at the moments like this—he would do the same for me.”

Discord was another prominent figure from Twilight’s past—and present—Starlight knew about by word of mouth. There was no vagueness about him.

“Not a very flattering comparison.” A sudden realization caught up with her. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright, Discord is trying as well—it will take time for ponies to accept him.” At first, Fluttershy appeared unfazed; her smile faltered when she finished, “Some never will. If only they could see how sweet and caring he can be.”

To Starlight’s dismay, there wasn’t anything she could contribute to the conversation, not unless she would go by assumptions about Discord—and she didn’t want to try Fluttershy’s patience, however limitless it might appear.

Thankfully, the usually shy pegasus was inclined to continue herself:

“Our situations are so alike, don’t you think?” Seeing Starlight tilting her head in confusion, she tried to clarify. “In a good way, of course.”

“How do you mean?”

“Twilight cares about you as much as Discord is crazy about me.” Fluttershy’s face was again graced by the sheepish smile from before. “And both you and he have something beautiful in yourselves ponies should see instead of the past mistakes.”

Her eyes moved over the fields once more, unfocused, seeing something not quite there. She was oblivious to Starlight staring at her intently, trying to find an explanation in the dreamy expression.

Until she realized the expression itself was the answer.

It instantly made sense and made things nonsensical—why else would Discord act around Fluttershy as he did? Before Starlight could comprehend the entire concept the second wave of understanding hit her.

Fluttershy compared Twilight to Discord, even if she seemed to be heedless to the full reality of her situation.

Again, it made everything fit together and it also made things so complicated. The final sum of the first conclusions still seemed positive—Starlight wasn’t a trophy, nor unofficially a prisoner under probation. It was like a weight lifted from her shoulders, only for another to take its place there.

As much to herself as to Fluttershy, she finally replied, “I never thought of it that way... It does sound good.”

At first, it seemed her words fell on deaf ears, then the pegasus reacted with a sudden panic. The setting sun, painting the pastoral landscape in soft pink hues was the source of her distress.

“I’m terribly sorry, Starlight, but I’m afraid I have to return the animals to the clinic and then head home. Discord wanted to have a tea party after the errand he is running and I still haven’t prepared.”

Starlight didn’t want to part ways with the demure pegasus. Or maybe that was just anxious reluctance to face her teacher. Sadly, she couldn’t stay in the meadow forever, figuring how to approach this novel experience.

Steps echoed through crystal-paned halls as Starlight headed back to her room, the kite slung across her back like a folded sail. For once the glistening brilliance of the labyrinthian passages didn’t press from all sides with its unavoidable reflections; the mirror-like surfaces this time around cast back the light in her heart rather than bottomless despair.

Her canter slowed and her upbeat mood soured instantly as soon as she noticed a very particular door ajar—to the throne room. Though somehow she knew it wasn’t an emergency, the same feeling was telling her there wouldn’t be anything to be happy about; that part of the castle never brought good memories.

Her fears proved correct when she hesitantly pushed open the heavy door and discovered Twilight sitting at the table, looking despondently at the transparent landscape atop the polished crystal.

Not tearing her eyes from the ghostly image, the princess greeted her visitor in a hollow voice, “Starlight.”

Her ears drooped.

“Was it that bad?”

Twilight spoke, her tone the same emotionless drone, “Last night I told you about giving you the freedom to make your own decisions.” She paused, making Starlight’s heart skip a beat. “I’m not rescinding my decision, quite the contrary. I want you to spend more time outside the castle.”

Then came another pause, long and ominous.

“You can still stay here for the night and have meals, though I am not going to share them with you.”

Starlight’s head spun—she couldn’t understand what she was hearing at first; it made no sense.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked in a weak voice, taking a step forward, staring at Twilight’s mask of a face.

“No.” The indigo bangs shook slowly, following the motion of Twilight’s head; her eyes continued to flicker across the spectral map, studying it with too great an interest. “It would help you study friendship.”

One more step towards the table, demanding attention—to be refused again. The confusing denial of her teacher was reflected as profound frustration in Starlight’s demand for an answer, “What does refusing to eat with me have to do with friendship?”

“It would motivate you to seek company and thus meet other ponies.” Twilight tried to sound enthusiastic, only for it to come out as a mechanical recital of some kind of a pamphlet.

The response was nearly spat out; she cringed at both the tone and the meaning.

“Maybe I should also seek company for the night?”

For the first time throughout the conversation, there was emotion in Twilight’s voice—she just couldn’t help it.

“That is unnecessary.”

Starlight continued the glacial advance, but her teacher stubbornly refused to acknowledge it as a serious confrontation, choosing to stare at the ethereal map like her life depended on it. However, Starlight could swear at some point Twilight tried to slide her throne back, to be reminded of it being part of the floor; she shrank into the cold crystal instead.

“You’re kicking me out of the castle.” Starlight had to pause and rein in her emotions, so her next words wouldn’t be a yell. “How am I supposed to survive?”

“No, I’m not,” it came as an accusation. “You’re always welcome here.”

“What went wrong? I thought we were doing great.”

Unlike before, Twilight didn’t reply instantly and when she did, it was in a very quiet voice, almost reluctant, “Ponies are getting the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea of what?” Starlight demanded, mere steps away from the table separating them like a bottomless chasm.

The long and heavy silence was her answer.

She glowered at Twilight, wanting nothing more than to circle—or even climb over—the damned slab of crystal, grasp her in her hooves and look into those elusive deep violet eyes; to scream at her—anything—so the things would return to normal how they were less than a day ago. What could have changed over that time?

Starlight’s head snapped up.

“What did Celestia say to you?”

Twilight flinched and her gaze shifted to glance at Starlight in annoyance, yet never reached her.

“Princess Celestia.”

“She doesn’t approve,” Starlight hissed through gritted teeth.

With a sudden emotion, Twilight retorted indignantly, “Approve of what?” She visibly tensed, clenching her jaws so hard that Starlight thought she would hear teeth crack. Although her eyes were hidden behind her hanging down mane, it wasn’t hard to imagine her glaring at the map.

Starlight’s anger abated and she let out a sigh—with the respect Twilight had for her former mentor, it was futile to force her to defy whatever opinion Celestia had. She refused to give up, however.

“You are a Princess yourself, you have as much freedom to make your decisions as you give me.”

The spell from before gone, Twilight deadpanned, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Starlight was so close to the table now, the lucent image was reflecting in her eyes and the moisture framing them. Yet the mare opposite to her seemed to withdraw further into the shadow of the throne.

She still couldn’t understand what was happening and no amount of questions would help it.

There was an answer to it all, here, in plain sight.

“Twilight, can you look me in the eyes?”

She raised her head… and turned it to the side.

“Spike is cooking supper, you should have it if you’re hungry. I will wait.”

“You can have it. I’m eating somewhere else.”

Twilight bit her lip and spoke, her voice finally her own.

“Starlight…”

The room was already empty and silent, safe for the sound of tears falling on the crystal panes.