Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Suffocating
A My Little Pony fanfic by LysanderasD
“Princess Luna. It’s lovely to see you—though, I admit, I never expected to have a member of the royalty as part of my clientele! It’s something of an honor, if I may be so bold to say so.”
…
“If that’s what you want, then… yes, of course. Luna. Just Luna. Whatever we may be outside of this office, here we may speak freely. I’m at your service. If it’s alright, I’d like to start with a couple questions.”
…
“Thank you, Luna. It’s no secret that you spend your nights wandering the dreams of ponies, helping to combat their nightmares. I’ve had many clients before who’ve actually described receiving help from you, which has been a great boon in their emotional recovery. The sort of work you do—working on the unconscious mind—is of invaluable assistance to ponies like me, who can only ever work with the waking mind, and requires a deep understanding of pony psychology. If you don’t mind my asking, if it’s not too much to assume, then—why seek out the help of somepony like me?”
A memory: She is angry, and the edges of her vision are fading. The arcane circle around her flares darkly, a midnight blue edging into an eye-watering absence of color at the seams. It is cold. So very cold. She has called to the zero at the edge of the universe, and all of that which does not exist has listened to her. She can feel it creeping in. For one moment, one terrible moment that, in her memory, lasts for eons, she has clarity, and she pushes back against the encroaching force. But it is too late. Against her will, her own body laughs, and then she doubles over in pain as she begins to grow.
“I see…”
…?
“No, no—please, don’t fret. Remember, in here, you’re just Luna, and I’m just Gentle Essence. Associates. Friends, if you like. I can only imagine how difficult it is for you to want to discuss these events, but please, don’t feel like you need to hold back for my sake. Be honest. But take your time.”
…
“Oh, my second question, of course, yes, if you’ll indulge my curiosity. What are your thoughts on Nightmare Night?”
A memory: A unicorn, leaping between her and the tall white pony. She feels his magic slapping at her. It is annoying. So she bats his magic aside—effortlessly, really. The unicorn is so fragile, she realizes as she picks him up, surrounding his body with the opaque void of her newfound power. So weak. So easy to break. The tall white pony is screaming at her to stop, except that she keeps using the name “Luna.” That isn’t her name, so she doesn’t listen. Why has she never done this before? she wonders, as she grasps the little pony, holding him up to her eyes, smiling with sharp teeth. This power is all hers. Hers alone.
“Thank you for your honesty. I… admit, I did wonder whether it would be a difficult time for you. But I’m glad to hear you’ve made such friends in Ponyville. It seems like such a nice town—one of these days, I really ought to go.”
…?
“I’m sorry, could you explain what you mean?”
…
“Oh. Yes, yes, I’m familiar. A Romane phrase. ‘Who watches the watchponies?’ And as the princess of dreams who ensures the mental wellbeing of others, is it a weakness for you to seek out your own mental wellbeing?”
...?
“Hmm… No, I think that’s a fair question to ask. And of course somepony in your position wouldn’t want to appear weak or uncertain. Quite the opposite—I think your coming here is a sign of great bravery. Far be it from me to criticize—sun and stars alike know you aren’t the first to feel like they’re screaming into the darkness. That you came at all, to me or anypony in my position, can only be a sign of strength.”
…
“Again, in here, there are no walls, no expectations. There are certainly no stupid questions. And I’ve asked some, so it’s only fair that you ask me some in return.”
…?
“Hmm? Oh, I’ve spent my whole life in Canterlot. Yes—the alabaster city. Not that I have any claims to nobility or anything. My family has traditionally been part of the Guard. But I set my mind on protecting intangible things instead—so I have the utmost respect for the work you do. Mine is hard enough!”
…
“Oh, I couldn’t say. I know it must seem strange to you, but Canterlot feels like something that’s always been here. I’m sure my family must have come from somewhere. Maybe we were always part of the Guard, even back then?”
A memory: The castle used to be beautiful, but now it is ruined, sundered by the clash of gods. There is running and screaming, but she has eyes for the white pony alone, who is glaring at her, her pastel aurora mane a pale mockery of her own beauty. It is a lie; it is a lie, just another façade that she is using to steal the attention of the mortal ponies. She hates it when she is lied to. She will rub the lie out and it will never have existed. The sun will become a myth and in time it will pass out of knowledge entirely. And then before she has time to think, to act, there is light and color all around her, and the tall white pony is screaming again, using the name that isn’t hers, and she continues saying she is sorry. The white pony isn’t talking to her, so she ignores it. She is focused deeply, mind consumed by two intertwining desires: breaking free, and being as cruel as possible in the slow, torturous death of this usurper.
“Speaking of Ponyville… correct me if I’m wrong, but was there not a time where you gathered the whole of the town into a communal dream?”
…!
“Luna, I’m sorry that my saying so feels like a violation of trust. I can imagine that, to you, dreams really are sacrosanct. But there were reports published on the events. I had assumed they had been written with your blessing or permission, and I seem to have assumed incorrectly. I apologize.”
...
“Of course. Take your time.”
…
“Oh, well… I suppose, if you’d like to know. I’ve always loved Nightmare Night. Every foal does, of course—nopony is going to turn down free candy, especially not at that age! But even beyond that, there’s a certain… I don’t know… freedom to it.”
…?
“What do I mean? Um, hmm… How to put it into words… Well, of course, Equestria has, let’s say, prospered over the last millennium, thanks in large part to the help of your sister and, in more recent years, yourself. I don’t mean to offer false flattery, but please understand that I really do think Equestria has become… may I call it brighter?... since your return. A splash of color and liveliness! A warmer, safer collective unconscious, in a very real sense.”
…
“And it goes without saying—pardon me for saying so—that your memories of that first night would be different. And what you suffered—that isolation, that long dream—I can’t even begin to imagine it.”
A memory: The first thing she does is scream into the dark, which wastes her one lungful of air. She doesn’t need to breathe, not really. Oxygen is a luxury she is capable of living without. But she still feels short of breath. It is cold, here, and her entire body is throbbing. There is a crater in the moon around her, although she doesn’t remember making it. Whether the scream was in anger, pain, or fear, she does not know. Probably, it is all three. She wastes her one lungful of air, and spends the next one-thousand years suffocating, betrayed.
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Luna. All that is to say that… Nightmare Night, to me, represents a place to experience controlled fear, to take the terrible and make it—not harmless, but shackled. It allows us to gain perspective that we might otherwise lack. A little fear is a good thing, in the right contexts. Ponykind has… what, defanged a lot of the world, especially lately, between the political efforts of you and your sister and the, well, more adventurous escapades of the Elements of Harmony.”
A memory: The small purple pony is charging her. She asks if it is mocking her, and she receives no reply. It is better to humor the foal, she supposes, as she charges forward. If the pony wishes to die a foolish death in the hopes of being remembered as noble, let it. She will be the one writing the history books, and this little pony will not even be a footnote. It is just as well, she decides. She does not even know the pony’s name. Nor does she care. But the smallest of small voices in the back of her mind declares that it is a lie.
“Well. I know we haven’t gone too far, and I know we’ve meandered a bit, but I think this may be a prudent place to stop for now.”
…
“What? No, no. Of course not, Luna. Hee hee… Oh, no, I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just that it’s unusual to see you looking so frightened, given your reputation. No, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just that I’m sure I’ve helped stir up some memories that you may need time to work through. That, and, well—you’ll be expected in Ponyville before long, won’t you? You’ve become a regular part of their celebrations, as I understand it?”
A memory: She is smaller than she has been. She is not sure why this is the first thing she notices. The pieces of the armor that she has so recently been wearing are scattered around her, cracked and smoldering. They stink. Her entire body hurts, and she wants to curl up into a ball and go to sleep, because she feels so very tired. How long has it been since she’s slept? she wonders, but then she hears her sister call her name. Her mind locks up. Her sister. Her own sister. And the only thing she can think about is that she is lonely.
“Of course we can meet again soon, Luna. I can move some ponies around in my scheduling if you’d like to talk again tomorrow—though I think perhaps a regular schedule might help the process along. Should we plan for an hour or two every Monday?”
…
“I’m not sure I can get paid for time spent counseling in dreams, Luna. But I am certainly willing to make arrangements for late night or early morning sessions.”
…
A memory: The little ponies carefully nestle a wreath on her neck and fly away. It is bright and the sunlight and blue sky hurt her eyes and she’s still tired, but she feels her sister rest a wing on her back and everything hurts a little less. She leans against the tall form of Celestia—so tall, so frighteningly tall, and yet comforting and warm and gentle—how long had it been? But even so, even though everything is different and scary and she is tired and confused, she feels something new. Something welcoming. Like she’s come home. Like something had answered her scream. A gentle hello like candlelight.
And Luna feels like she’ll be okay.
“I’m glad that you feel that way, Luna. And you’re very welcome. Have a fun evening, alright? And if it’s not improper to say… Happy Nightmare Night.”
Author's Note
I first drafted the memories portion of this work ages ago, way back in 2012. But I had no framework to use them in and no real desire to flesh out a Nightmare Moon story, so the writing spent a decade unused in my Google Drive. The prompt seemed to be a good chance to pull these back out and fill in a good story around them.
I am, of course, aware that Luna did not spend a millennium on the moon, rather sealed inside it; but the initial flashbacks were all centered around Luna losing that singular lungful of air and suffocating, hence the name.
