Princess Luna: Mall Celestia
War was coming to Equestria, and Luna could hardly contain her excitement.
She’d watched her sister over the past two weeks—secretly, of course, from around corners and behind tall marble columns—as she made the preparations. Marching purposefully throughout the castle, entrenching herself in her throne room to participate in deep discussions with her advisors, and growing more and more serious by the day. Oh, yes. Luna knew the beginnings of a war when she saw one.
Why, just last week, Luna had spotted a yak with battle scars all over his torso and arms, and all his fur shaved off save for his dark red mohawk, staring daggers at her sister in the throne room, shouting demands for her surrender. Luna had fled the scene, her giddiness overwhelming her, and jumped like an excited teenager on her bed, her head swirling with thoughts of swords and strategies and battles.
Battles!
How long had it been since she was in a battle? Not since before her banishment. The flashing steel, the booming shouts of soldiers, the mud, the rain—Gods! She hadn’t had a good war in forever.
On the morning Celestia came beckoning, Luna was already awake, limbering up inside her bedroom. She swept out her wings, leapt from one side of the room to the other, and swung her lamp around like it was a sword.
“Hah!” she shouted—quietly, breathily, in case anypony heard. “Drop thine blade, foul soldier! Or prepare thyself for mine wrath!”
She raised the lamp high above her head, but there was a knock at the door. She straightened, put down the lamp, and cleared her throat.
She opened the door. Her sister’s face was there—solid, stern, and half-covered with green war paint.
“Sister,” she began, but Luna threw up a hoof.
“There’s no need to explain,” said Luna. “I understand the situation, and I accept my mission.”
Celestia blinked, then smiled warmly. “Oh, good. I was worried you wouldn’t be eager.”
Luna grinned. “Nonsense, sister. Equestria needs me, and I will answer her call.”
“Great. Come along, then. We should head to the fitting room.”
“A-ha!” Luna said. “Good thinking. I should need some equipment!”
Silence settled between them for a moment.
“Yeah, sure,” said Celestia. “Equipment. You could call it that.” Then she turned and walked away.
Luna stayed inside her room a moment, and danced away some of her excitement. Then she grew serious and marched down the hall. It took all her restraint not to bounce on all four hooves.
She followed her sister, but not too closely, stopping at the windows to look pensively out on the kingdom. There wasn’t much to see, what with all the snow, but some colourful lights did peek out in the distance, and Luna had to take a moment to remember what they were for. Hearth's Warming Eve, that new holiday that had been committed to Equestrian culture while Luna was on the moon. She had been ritually avoiding it every year, and this year, she would have to miss it again. Such a shame.
The fitting room—which, as Luna suspected, was a euphemism for the armoury—was busy with ponies. Standing in the doorway, Luna watched with glee as her sister stepped into the middle of the room and stood tall, while several of her attachés began wrapping her with a translucent purple cloth. Another few ponies waited alongside her, holding various plates of shiny metal armor—chest plate, tail plate and bracelets—looking cold and stoic.
Luna strode up beside her sister and affected the same stony expression. She held it there until a muscle-wrought stallion lugged forward a wooden rack from the side of the room. The rack was busy with battle axes. Luna broke into an excited gasp, then grew serious again. Staring sideways at the axes, she picked out her favourite, and hoped Celestia wouldn’t take it first.
A bundle of bright red cloth floated across the room in midair and plopped itself on the floor by Luna’s hooves. She frowned. It was mostly red, but with a black belt and a golden buckle, and some fraying bunches of white cotton. It looked like an overengineered cape, or a white straightjacket that had been accidentally washed with the colours. Raven, Celestia’s assistant, who had appeared behind the cloth when it fell, huffed and began sorting through it. She pulled out a hat and raised it above Luna's head.
Luna swatted it out of the air. It hit the floor with a sad jingle, along with her silver shoe, which bounced once, twice, three times against the stone floor and then spun to a stop.
Everything was quiet. Luna realized she was breathing fast, and she was suddenly aware that everypony was staring at her.
“Sister?” said Celestia. “Is something the matter?”
“If this is one of your pranks,” and Luna whipped a deadly stare at her sister, “then you need to work on your delivery.”
Celestia and Raven looked at each other, and they both shook their heads.
“I don’t understand,” said Celestia. “What’s wrong?”
Luna scoffed. “Where do I begin?”
“Anywhere.” Genuine confusion.
Luna scoffed again—louder, with feeling. “Alright. Fine.” She pointed to the offending cloth on the floor. “To start with: I’m not going to go to war wearing a big red suit.”
“War?” Celestia balked. “Where did you get the impression we were going to war?”
The pony who had hauled in the battle-axes cleared his throat.
“In a minute, Freedom Fighter,” Celestia said politely. She turned back to her sister. “Luna, Equestria isn’t going to war. I mean—” she rolled her eyes “—some of the yaks up in Yakyakistan might think we’re going to war with them, but that’s all going to blow over.”
“But then... why do you look like you’re heading out to battle?”
Celestia laughed, covering her mouth with a hoof. “Oh, Luna. I’m not going to fight in a battle, silly.” She suddenly grew serious. “I’m going to fight in a battle to the death.”
Luna blinked. “And that’s… different?”
“Oh, sure. A battle is a lot of ponies fighting. A battle to the death is more like a duel. Just one versus one. Two ponies enter a ring, one pony leaves. That sort of thing. It's much more civilized.”
“…You’re in a duel?”
“Yes. Just me versus King Rutherford’s champion. Oh, that big blowhard wanted to go to war, but we agreed on a duel instead.” Celestia laughed as if she were relating the latest gossip. “His champion was here last week actually, a nice young yak named Lawson—lovely fellow. We were working on our choreography.”
Celestia stopped talking, as if she was done explaining. Then she seemed to decide that she’d better keep going.
“Our spies figured out Lawson was a pony sympathizer, see. So they got in touch with him and arranged for us to stage the fight. Oh, it’ll be great. He’s going to knock me off my feet, and shout, ‘Prepare to die, Pony Princess!’ and then woosh! I’ll sweep the leg, grab his sword out of the air, and point it at his throat. ‘Hah!’ Lawson will shout. ‘What will you do, pony? Stab me?’ And then I’ll raise his weapon and—!”
Luna leaned forward.
“Clang!”
Luna frowned, leaned back. “Clang?”
“Yes, clang. I’m going to drop the sword, step over him and deliver a speech to all yaks in attendance. Citizens of Yakyakistan… This violence will lead us nowhere. I plead with you all, let us cease this meaningless…! Well, you get the picture.”
“But you’re a terrible actress.”
Celestia grimaced. “Hey, I’m improving.”
Luna looked away from her sister. The rest of the room was staring at her sympathetically, as if she’d just been told that one plus one equalled two and was still coming to grips with such a bizarre equation. Her hindlegs gave way, and she sat down on her rump.
“Sister…” Celestia placed a hoof on Luna’s back. “I’ve just told you Equestria isn’t going to war.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But you look devastated.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Luna stared back at the pile of red cloth on the floor.
“Because you haven’t explained what this is for yet,” she said.
Celestia winced and sucked in a breath. “Um… Why don’t you take five, everypony? This may take a bit of explaining.”
Luna held her head in her hooves to stop it from spinning. It didn’t work. She suspected it was because her entire worldview had been turned upside down and shaken violently, but she couldn't be sure. She shut her eyes. She was vaguely aware that she was in Celestia’s bedroom, drinking tea by a frosted window.
“I still don’t understand,” she said.
Celestia set down her teacup. “Which part?”
“I mean…” Luna shut her eyes. “You delivered gifts to every child in Equestria?”
“That’s right.”
“On the same night.”
“Quite so.”
Luna opened her eyes again. Nope. Still spinning. She shut them. “You’d better start from the beginning again.”
Celestia sighed. Luna heard her reposition herself in her cushion. “Many moons ago—”
“You know how I hate that phrase.”
“Many months ago—”
“The root word of ‘month’ is still ‘moon’.”
“A while back,” said Celestia. She huffed and continued, “Equestria’s economy was in the toilet. Unemployment was way up and, worst of all, nopony was celebrating Hearth’s Warming anymore.”
“How terrible.”
“Exactly. So, I came up with the idea of delivering gifts to every child while they were asleep on Hearth’s Warming Eve. That way, when they woke up on the morning of… ta-daaa! Best holiday ever. See, it’s genius, because when you get the kids excited about it, you get the adults excited about it.” She paused, teacup almost to her mouth. “Or at least, you get them obligated about it.” She sipped her tea. Savored. Swallowed. “Plus, with all the ponies we had to hire to make the toys, it was like a festive little stimulus package.”
“Equestria made the toys?”
Celestia laughed. “Oh, yes. We had workshops all over Canterlot churning out dolls, and toy trains, and… and those little ball-and-cup games! Are you familiar with the ball-and-cup, Luna? It’s this little stick you hold with your magic with a cup at the end, and attached to it is a ball and string, and you need to try to—”
“Celestia.”
“Hm?”
“I’m familiar with the ball-and-cup.”
“Right.” Celestia blushed. “Well, there were those, and many other things. We had about a hundred and fifty different toys we were churning out by the thousands, night and day. The overtime nearly bankrupted us all over again. But what could we do? Every child needed a gift.”
“Except the naughty ones.”
“Correct! They got coal. Another win for the economy. We purchased it all from the mines in the west, which helped settle all their union disputes.” Celestia made a satisfied little shimmy in her cushion. “You’re welcome, economy.”
I don’t think that’s how the economy works, thought Luna, but instead she asked: “What about the surveillance?”
“Oh!” Celestia straightened in her chair, excited to explain, but took a sip from her cup first. “Just a little holiday subterfuge. We told the children I could see them when they were sleeping and when they were awake, but of course, that’s ridiculous. The parents would never consent.” Celestia rolled her eyes. “No, we held a pretend referendum in November. Everypony with a child received a ballot for each one, and checked either ‘Naughty’ or ‘Nice’. Then we just… made a list.” She shrugged. “And every child who didn’t have a ballot submitted, we just defaulted to nice.” She scratched her chin. “Or did we default to naughty? I remember delivering a lot of coal…”
“And your sled—”
“Sleigh.”
“Your sleigh was carried through the sky by… did you say timberwolves?”
“Lumberwolves,” Celestia corrected. “Much friendlier disposition. Also they can fly. We had eight in all. Or… Wait, no, it was nine. I forgot about the one with the nose mutation.”
Luna gave her sister a look.
Celestia waved her away. “Long story.”
“But you still can’t visit every single house in one night.”
“You’re absolutely correct.”
Luna arched an eyebrow. “So…”
Celestia took another drink and smacked her lips. “Time dilation spell.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious. Starswirl had discovered a spell that would slow time down enough for me to get it all done. An incredibly dangerous spell, I might add. The pony who invented it only cast it one time, instantly died of old age, and turned to dust within the hour. Apparently the spell, while effective at slowing down the caster’s experience of time, also makes them age exponentially when they turn it off, and you can’t stop it from happening. But, well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?” Celestia sighed wistfully. “Gosh, I must be trillions of years old by now.”
“Uh-huh. And you only did this one year?”
Celestia laughed. “Uh—yeah. I’m never doing that again. But the first time was such a huge success, and the parents didn’t want to let their kids down, so they just started buying the gifts themselves and saying they were from me. And to keep up the story, every year ponies volunteer to pretend to be me at the local mall, and children come to tell me their wish-lists. It’s just one of those quaint ways traditions get started in Equestria.”
Celestia placed her teacup down with an empty clink—a not-so-subtle hint that she was running out of time and really needed to wrap this up.
Luna sighed. “So, to recap.”
“Go ahead.”
“While you are busy saving Equestria from war, I am to… wear that dreadful costume.”
“Yes.”
“And pretend to be yourself.”
“That’s right.”
“For nine hours.”
“Plus a 30 minute break.”
“Whilst the children of Canterlot inform me of their wish-lists.”
“You got it.” Celestia rose to her hooves. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Now, come along. Time’s wasting, and you need to be at the mall at nine a.m.”
“But,” said Luna. “But—”
“Hm?”
“No!”
The world stopped spinning. Luna leaned back in her cushion and crossed her hooves indignantly. She felt rock solid.
“I’m not doing it,” she said.
“Aw,” said Celestia. “Please?”
“It would never work.” Luna shook her head. “We look nothing alike.”
Celestia looked from side to side, then she whispered, “You didn’t hear this from me, but children are really quite dense.”
Luna frowned, but she knew Celestia had her there.
“And besides,” added Celestia, “You’re Princess Luna! Anypony who recognizes you will treat you like a celebrity.”
“Be that as it may,” Luna said with a shake of her head. “I still can’t do it. I’m…”
She scoured her brain for an excuse.
“…busy.”
Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Luna, you don’t even own a calendar.”
Luna cowed slightly. “I do too own a… what did you call it?”
“A calendar. It’s like a big grid with all the days of the year. You put appointments in it.”
“Oh, that thing. I have no need for that. My subjects don’t make appointments with me; they simply have nightmares, and then I visit them. It’s all very efficient.”
“Uh-huh. And if anypony wants to speak to you when they’re awake?”
Luna frowned. “Why would they ever want to do that?”
“Oh, sister.”
Celestia smiled, leaned in, and tousled Luna’s mane.
“Let’s go make sure that suit fits you.”
The suit fit tremendously well, which is to say that it was two sizes too large, hung slack all over Luna’s body, heated up like an oven, chafed like Tartarus, and didn't conform to any part of her body, not even a little bit.
But apparently that was the point.
Luna arrived at the Canterlot mall and was instantly lost. It wasn’t her fault; Celestia hadn’t warned her the place would be so labyrinthine. The wide corridors all looked the same, with their dirty, scuffed-up tiles, their sticky-looking white walls, the hearth’s warming ribbons and lights hanging on every surface. Even the stores looked the same this early in the morning, closed off as they were with iron-bar gates. It reminded Luna of a demonic zoo. She wondered what awful beasts lurked inside those cages.
She eventually found the mall’s center square (at the center of the building, go figure), and spotted the giant clock in the center of it. To her dismay, she wasn’t late. It was a quarter to nine.
She made her way to the Celestia display. It was red-carpeted, had a white picket fence decorated with red and green ribbons, and even had a gold-trimmed throne. Behind it was a giant artist’s rendition of Celestia, waving from her sleigh of wolves—all of them with hearts drawn inside their pupils—with gifts tumbling carelessly out of the sack behind her.
A red-maned mare wearing a pair of twigs on either side of her head was sitting next to the throne, staring up at the snow-covered skylight overhead. She couldn’t be more than sixteen. She was chewing gum, or perhaps it was tar. Luna trudged across the carpet, her heavy boots making it feel like she was walking through three feet of snow. Up close, she saw the throne wasn’t much of a throne at all. She wondered if there was a dining room table set somewhere in the mall that was missing a chair.
“Greetings,” Luna greeted, eyeing the chair, but she was interrupted by a giant pink bubble inflating out of the mare’s mouth. “I’m supposed to check in with—”
The bubble popped. Luna sighed, and scraped the stray gum off her cheek.
“I’m supposed to check in with Cardinal,” she growled.
The mare lowered her gaze from the ceiling, but took her sweet time. “I’m Cardi,” she drawled while chewing. “Are you, like, today’s Celestia?”
“No,” said Luna. “I’m wearing this outfit for my amusement.” She shimmied her hips, and the belt swung beneath her stomach like a distended belly. “See? Thrilling.”
Cardi stopped chewing. Raised an eyebrow.
Luna groaned. “Yes, I am today’s Celestia.”
“Cool,” Cardi said, but the tone of her voice implied it was anything but. “Can you minotaur-sit?”
“Can I minotaur-what?”
“Minotaur-sit.” Cardi paused, then rolled her eyes at Luna’s blank stare. “Like this.”
Cardi stood up and sat in the throne—only she didn’t really sit, per se. She had her rump on the chair, sure, but her hind hooves were flat on the floor, and her back was parallel with the back of the chair. She held her forelegs over the raised sides of the chair and turned them upside-down, questioningly.
“That looks excruciating,” said Luna.
Cardi got out of the way. Luna approached the chair slowly, like it might bite, then climbed in and imitated the sit. Her body revolted. Her spine stiffened, the bones in her hips screamed, and her shoulders felt like they would fall out of their sockets. It took her a minute to even open her eyes through the pain.
“You’re a natural,” said Cardi. “Any questions?”
“Yes, actually. Why—?”
“Oh, look, they’re here,” and Cardi stepped out of way to reveal it.
The line.
Luna hadn’t even seen it happen. Suddenly, ponies bustled everywhere in the mall, as if they had been released from the uncaged stores. Lights and music were playing throughout the center square, and a long line of parents and children had formed at the boundary of the white fence. The parents looked bored, while the children looked straight at her, their eyes as wide as dinner plates. Above them, staring down like the unblinking eye of a tyrannical god, was the clock. It was 9:01 a.m. At a bored wave from Cardi, the first child in line trotted across the carpet towards the chair.
Luna straightened her back. She took a long centering breath, and relaxed. She’d spent a millennium trapped in the moon. What were nine measly hours in a chair?
The child climbed onto her thigh.
“Hng—!”
The child—whose face was so large and round that there was no telling if it was a filly or a colt—shifted its hooves to get comfortable on Luna’s lap, each step a dagger in her thigh.
“Urgh…” Luna struggled to smile. She held her hooves out to embrace the child, but could only hover them in mid-air. “Aren’t you a… thing.”
The child stared up at Luna, and she had to admit it was adorable. Its cheeks were round and rosy, and its dark blue eyes sparkled like the night sky. It held its front hooves defensively under its chin.
“Well, uh…” Luna tried to remember her lines. “What would you like for Hearth’s Warming this year?”
The child screamed.
“Oh,” said Luna. “Well, don’t do that.”
The screaming continued.
Luna looked to Cardi for help, but she was once again entranced by the skylight. Luna spotted the parents of the child, chatting away in the parents area about what could be anything, seemingly immune to any primal instincts that their child was in distress.
As her ears began to ring, her head hit the back of the throne. The clock above her stared mockingly down. It was still only 9:01.
***
“I want a pony.”
The pegasus filly on Luna’s lap weighed as much as you might expect a spoiled little brat would weigh—that is to say, far too much—which was strange considering she wasn’t accompanied by a parent. Luckily, Luna’s thighs had gone numb, as had the rest of her body. It was as if her nervous system had shut down as a defense mechanism. It was 9:30 a.m.
“I don’t understand,” said Luna airily. “You want a friend?”
The filly shook her head. “No. I want a pony.”
“And what would be the, er, function of this pony?”
“I was thinking they could do my homework. And cook me food. Do my laundry.”
“Ah, I see.” Luna nodded. “You are requesting a slave.”
The filly brightened. “Yeah, that's it!” But then she considered. “Actually, slave is a really strong word.” She stretched the word ‘strong’ out as far as it would go, as if she was fascinated by the amount of abuse it could take without breaking. “I was thinking more like a little helper. You know, like your wolves.”
"Okay."
"But they can’t have any rights."
"I see."
Luna leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes. How to approach this subject…
“I don’t believe that’s legal,” she said. “Anymore.”
"But you’re Celestia,” said the filly. “You can change the laws.”
“I can. But I won't. And besides, wanting a pony to order around isn’t very nice, so I think that renders your request ungrantable.” She shrugged, then added, “Sorry.”
The filly scowled, eyes squeezing into a point. Then she grew happy again. “Actually, I’ve thought of that. I’ve been very nice all year.” Luna noticed that the filly didn’t offer any examples. “I’ve done more than enough to earn one naughty request.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Well, what do you know?!”
Luna gaped as the filly rose to her hooves and shoved her scrunched up nose in Luna’s face.
“Fine,” she said. “Go ahead and reject me, but mark my words, Princess. You will pay for this. One day, all of Equestria will bow before me, and when that happens, I will have all the ponies as my helpers, and you will live to regret the day you stood in my way.”
Luna smiled. She patted the filly on the head. “I’d like to see you try.”
This was, it turned out, the wrong thing to say. The filly scowled and leapt off Luna’s thigh, making a point to push off as hard as she could, even flapping her little wings for an extra boost. If Luna’s body wasn’t numb, it might have hurt.
Before Luna could call after her, the ambitious little filly had already fluttered over the fence and disappeared. Somepony should be keeping an eye on that pony, thought Luna. What did she say her name was? Rosy Glow? It was something like that.
But then the next child was up on her lap, already carrying on about their good deeds this year, and she let herself get distracted. Oh, well.
Probably it was fine.
***
A thin mist settled against the left side of Luna’s face. It was cold, crisp, and slimy. Exactly ten seconds later, another layer of mist wafted over her. She was smiling. She wasn’t sure why.
The colt on her lap grinned sweetly, his eyes shimmering and wide. His cheeks were puffed out, dimples showing. Then his eyes crossed, he stuck out his tongue, placed his hooves on his cheeks, and made a loud farting sound.
Luna felt the cold press of saliva against her cheek.
“Alright, time’s up.” Cardi trotted over.
The colt climbed down and went to see his mother. She gave him a hoof bump, and asked, “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah!”
It was the first thing Luna had heard him say. She waved regally as they left.
“Thanks for coming,” she whispered.
Cardi chewed uncaringly on her gum. She sneered in Luna’s face. “Gross. Do you, like, need a towel?” she asked.
Luna turned towards her assistant, still smiling. “That depends,” she said. “Can I throw it in?”
***
“You’re not Celestia.”
The filly in Luna’s lap glared conspiratorially at her. She was a sweet looking girl, with five different colours in her mane—none of them natural. Luna wondered why this filly was even here. She was wearing a bright diamond necklace, a sure sign that her parents had already attained everything she could ever want in life, and ought to be donating her things instead of asking for more.
“Oh, I’m Celestia, alright,” said Luna. “See? I have the hat.”
But the filly shook her head. “You can’t be Celestia, because Celestia isn’t even real.”
Luna smiled. “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”
“Uh-huh!” The child crossed its forelegs. “My sister doesn’t think I’m smart, but I’m smarter than her. And I’m faster than her, and better than her, and I’m way prettier than her—”
Luna smiled. She had seen millions of ponies grow from fillies into mares over her long life. She knew a 5/10 when she saw one.
“—and I can jump higher than her—”
“You know,” Luna interrupted. “If you say all these mean things about your sister, you could hurt her feelings. And then she might do something to hurt you.” She resisted the urge to say, “Take it from me.”
The filly tilted her head up and sneered. She had the look of a child immune to valuable lessons.
“My sister can’t hurt me,” she said. “Nothing can hurt me.”
Luna laughed under her breath. She looked away and pretended she was thinking of something else.
“What’s so funny?” the child asked cautiously.
“Oh, you sweet little filly.” Luna pinched the girl’s cheek with a bit of magic, wiggled it back and forth. Then she leaned in close. “I know something that can hurt you.”
“Wh-what?”
“Nightmares.”
The child tensed, crossed her chest with her forelegs. Luna could practically see the chill go up her spine.
“I don’t get nightmares,” she said.
“Oh, but you will. It doesn’t matter how tough you are. Or how smart. Or how high your vertical. Nightmares will always know how to get you where it really hurts. Right inside your own cutesy-wootsy little head.”
The filly started shivering. “Wh-wh-what do I do?”
Luna leaned back. “Well, I happen to be an expert in nightmares. I can make them go away, actually.”
“Really?” The filly leaned against her chest. “Can you make mine go away? Please?”
Luna shrugged. She leaned further back, raised a hoof, and stared at it idly. “I guess that depends,” she said, then she brought her nose down to touch the filly between the eyes and smiled wide.
“Have you been good this year?”
The girl leapt off Luna’s lap, ran towards the fence and burst clean through it. Her mother chased after her, and Luna waved as they left.
“Sleep well!” she cried.
Cardi stepped in front of her.
“I don’t wanna, like, tell you how to live your life,” she said. “But that’s the third kid in a row whose run away screaming.”
“I know.”
“The line is, like, thinning.”
“I know.”
“You’re, like, totally ruining Hearth’s Warming.”
Luna smiled innocently.
Cardi sighed. “It’s still, like, super early, but would a break help you get your crap together?”
A wash of relief came over Luna, and she prepared to speak the most emphatic ‘Yes’ she would ever speak in her life.
But just then, from the other side of the fence, there was a noise. Shopping bags crashing to the floor. Luna looked over. A teenage filly, no more than thirteen, was staring right at her, her mouth slack.
Luna blinked.
Suddenly, the girl moved. She looked at her wrist—but she wasn’t wearing a watch—then looked up at the clock, groaned, grabbed her head, sat down, looked at the clock whilst grabbing her head, and paused. Then she picked up her scattered bags with her wings, sprinted towards the line and disappeared behind it.
“Oh-my-Celestia, you’re ignoring me.”
Luna blinked at Cardi. “Pardon?”
“Is it break time or nah?”
“What? Oh, uh…”
Luna leaned in her chair to peer around Cardi. The teenager in line was doing the same. Luna moved back quickly, out of sight.
“No,” she said. “I’ll keep going.”
Cardi glared at her.
“I’ll try harder. Alright?”
Cardi looked unsure, but Luna meant it. There was something about the newcomer at the back of the line that gave her a shimmer of hope. Perhaps she had noticed how hard Luna was working, and was coming to tell her she was doing a great job. Or maybe she was an assassin, here to end her life. Luna would have taken either at this point.
The next few colts and fillies came and went. They were easier to please, or maybe their attempts at breaking her spirit weren’t working anymore. Luna hurried each of them through the motions for the sake of the frantic teenager.
In less than thirty minutes, she arrived at the front of the line, dancing on the spot. When Cardi waved her on, she sprinted up and dropped her bags all over the floor again. Luna spotted toy trains, plastic dolls with posable legs, and even a ball-and-cup.
“It’s really you,” she said. Her eyes searched all over Luna’s face, and for the first time that day, she felt like a celebrity.
The teenager bowed.
Luna stammered. “Er… please, don’t worry about that,” she laughed. “Nopony else has bothered today. What’s your name, young mare?”
“Daisydip,” she said. “And I have a huge favour to ask you.”
“Me? Or…” Luna glanced at the image of her sister behind her.
“No, you. Princess Luna.” Daisydip swallowed. “But I have to give you the background first. Do you have time?”
Luna glanced over at Cardi, who was staring at the skylight.
“Take as long as you need.”
Daisydip sat down, seemed to notice her scattered things for the first time, then shook her head clear. She raised her hooves like a conductor, and they started to move as she spoke:
“So, it’s about my mom. For her whole life, she always had trouble sleeping. I think her doctors called it insomnia, but she hated the word. She always just called it ‘sleep troubles’. She was always tired, always snapping at every little thing my brothers and I did. She would wander around the house for hours with her mouth hanging open like a zombie.”
Luna blinked. Watching the teenager’s hooves help her explain the story was mesmerizing. “Go on,” she said.
“But there were good days, too. Usually at night, she would get really hopeful before she went to bed, and she would tuck us in and read us these silly bedtime stories. Kid stories, you know? Stories about dragons, griffons, portals to other worlds, make-believe stuff like that. But her favourite book was the one about you.”
Luna’s throat closed.
“The brave Princess Luna, who visited all the little kids in Equestria when they had bad dreams, and made them feel better. She loved that one like nothing else. Me and my brothers teased her for it. But she kept telling us that you were real, and that one day you’d be back. She just knew it, you know? Like only a mom can. And then one day, she opens up the paper, and there you are! Back from the moon. We didn’t even know you were up there! She was so excited.”
“As was I,” Luna said lamely.
“And right then and there, my mom was like, ‘I have to meet her.’ But, well… you don’t take any appointments, right?”
Luna’s shoulders fell.
“You only visit ponies in their dreams, but my mom, she hadn’t had a dream in years because her sleep wasn’t deep enough to have any. So she said, ‘I’m gonna hafta kick these daggum sleep troubles right in their keisters’. She bought all these self-help books, new pillows, fixed her sleeping position, practiced breathing techniques, went to therapy even… Everything she could think of. It took her, like, forever, but one day, she burst into our room, and just started hugging us, and crying, and hugging, and opening all the windows and crying and she was trying to say something but she couldn’t because she was just so excited.”
Daisydip laughed, and casually wiped a tear from her eye.
“She was trying to tell us about this amazing dream she’d just had.”
Luna realized her mouth was hanging open. She didn’t close it.
Daisydip’s hooves came back up.
“But there’s just one problem, right? She fixed the insomnia, which is awesome, but she did it so well that all her dreams are all really nice. Pleasant. Happy. Or even just… boring. She doesn’t have any nightmares.”
Luna gasped softly. “So I’ve never visited her.”
Daisydip nodded. She bit her lip. “I know this is a really big ask, but… it would mean the world to her if you could maybe, I don’t know, pay her a quick visit to one of her drea—?”
“Yes,” Luna blurted. The emphatic ‘yes’ she had prepared earlier had really turned up for her.
Daisydip got to her hooves and made a happy squee. “You’re the best! Her name’s Lazyhip.”
“Lazyhip. Got it. When?”
“Is Hearth’s Warming Eve okay? I’ll make sure she’s asleep before midnight.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Awesome!” Daisydip shouted, then she looked happily at the skylight and pumped her hooves. “Best. GIFT. EVER!”
The mall fell silent. Hundreds of ponies stared at the hoof-pumping mare at the Celestia display. She even got Cardi’s attention.
Daisydip giggled and blushed. “I’m gonna get out of your hair. See ya!” She bowed again, gathered up her things, then leapt over the fence. “Oh!” she called as she trotted backwards into the crowd. “By the way, I love the hat!”
Daisydip disappeared.
Luna sat back on her haunches and stared dumbly around. She suddenly realized that she was completely surrounded by ponies on all sides. Not just the hundreds in the center square, but the thousands in the mall, the tens of thousands in Canterlot, and the millions in Equestria. She wondered—if this pony had been looking for her all this time, how many more like her were out there? She twisted in her chair and looked up at her sister’s overlarge display.
Celestia winked back at her.
“Ahem?”
It was Cardi. Luna twisted around and came back to reality. A stallion was standing in the parents area, staring at her and tapping his hoof. In front of the throne, pushing his hoof in the carpet and pretending he wasn’t sneaking glances at her, was a little four-year-old colt wearing a red Celestia hat.
Luna assumed her best minotaur-sit and opened her hooves.
“Come on up, little one.”
Celestia slung her axe on the floor of her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed. What a rotten day. All that rehearsing, all that preparation and choreography, and she’d somehow managed to hurl her axe into a crowd of yaks with her first swing. Thank goodness they had quick reflexes. That would have been a diplomatic incident and a half.
And thank goodness Lawson was great at improv, too. The decision to sweep Celestia’s legs and make the speech himself, while disappointing, was probably for the best. The yaks were a lot more likely to listen to him, and he was a superb orator, all things considered. Goes to show. You can’t judge a yak by his mohawk.
With a tired groan, Celestia inched across her bed towards her pillows. She craned her head to blow out the candle Raven had left burning on her nightstand—the only remaining light in the room—and hesitated.
There was a letter on the table. Celestia loved letters.
Sitting up in bed, she picked it up, read it, and smiled.
Dear Princess Celestia,
The children of Canterlot have informed me that you accept written gift requests, as long as I get them to you on time. I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but here goes:
I have been very good this year, and, indeed, I have been very good today, if I do say so myself. In light of this, for Hearth’s Warming this year, I wish to request a calendar. I hope this isn’t too much to ask. I have no idea how much they cost, or what the country’s finances are like. But I think it’s important that I have one.
Your Sister,
Princess Luna
P.S. I’m keeping the hat
