Celestia carries you on her back. It’s been so long since you got tired this fast, that you forgot what it was like. Princess Twilight hadn’t even lowered the sun yet!
“I’m not t—yawn—that tired, mom! C’mon…” The rocking, swaying motion of her back loosens your eyelids. The descending darkness across your vision shocks you back to semi-awareness. You totally aren’t tired, not one bit. You can’t be tired when it’s New Year’s Eve! You always, always, stayed up until midnight to see the start of the new year. You aren’t one to break tradition, at least, not the ones you like.
She giggles, “I’m sure you aren’t, dear. We can watch the fireworks from your bedroom.”
The both of you exit the kitchen, you blink—you’re being held by the scruff of your neck. You jolt, eyes wide, looking around the room, your room. Oh, darn. Looking down at your bed, your comforters—Phthalo blue with golden embroidered stars—lie in wait below. Like a predatory tiger, ready to pounce at any moment and send you into that good night all too soon.
No! It’s getting closer! Squirming, you make one last plea to your willing executioner. “Seriously mom! I’m not that tired! Honest! We can wait for midnight outside!”
Celestia spits you onto the bed. Your tiny wings flare on instinct, slowing the few–inches fall to your 80/20 cotton/wool blend bed sheet of doom.
“Really, sweetie, you’d want to wait outside with all those mosquitos?” She asks, closing the distance between the two of you and nuzzling your cheek.
“Well… We don’t have to do it outside outside, we can watch from the kitchen or living room, can’t we?”
A white wing wraps itself around you, parting you from the top of the blanket while the other wing covers you in the interim.
“I suppose we could”—She exaggerates her tone, stroking her chin with a hoof—"but you have a better view of the moon from your room.”
There’s no winning here, you knew this the moment she picked you up onto her back. You’ve been through this song and dance with your human parents back on earth many times. But there’s no point in not trying when your adoptive pony mom is much more patient than they were. It’s almost as though she enjoys the silly back and forth. It wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest.
"Hmmm," you think to yourself, "now there’s an idea."
“You know... Back on Earth I was an adult. I think I should make an adult decision to stay up and watch the fireworks.” You say, forelegs crossed as Celestia tugs the bed sheets up to your neck.
She raises an eyebrow. "Booyah. Weren't expecting that now, were ya?" She stays silent for a moment before a smirk graces her face. Horseapples.
“I suppose you’ll have to move out then?”
“What?!”—your voice soars several octaves—“I don’t even have my cutie mark yet!”
“True, but you were 22 as a human and somehow that made you an adult, am I wrong?”
Maybe you should’ve thought that through a little more, she’s a juggernaut when it comes to wit.
You look to the side; your cheeks take on a rosy hue. “I mean… I don’t have to move out yet… But you know what I mean.”
Her hoof musses through your mane, the gentle touch causes your eyes to droop. Fighting to keep them up like a competitive dead lifter at the Olympics, you slowly turn your head to look back up at her.
She smiles sweetly, “Don’t worry, I do. You can live with me as long as you need, but until then, you let me be the parent and you can be the filly.” Her horn ignites, snuffing the light in the room. Her horn stays lit, now suffusing it with a soft incandescent glow. The gold stars on your bed sheet catch the light brilliantly. They dazzle your vision, luring you deeper into that cozy forbidden sleep before New Year’s morn.
“Auntie Cadence lets Flurry Heart stay up for New Year’s.”
“Flurry Heart is 10 years older than you.”
“Still!”
Celestia presses a hoof to your lips. “Quiet voices, dear.”
Huffing, you say quieter than before, “Still, it’s only one night. I’ve got a tradition to maintain!” The last part more of a whisper–shout than anything else.
“Believe me, lifetimes of keeping tradition get boring, fast.” She kisses your forehead. “But,” she says, “we can wait as long as you can stay awake.”
“You’re on.”
In the soft golden light, you can just barely read her face. She’s got that knowing smile, the one where she holds the upper hand and isn’t afraid to let you know it.
The light from her horn dies out, leaving only the pale silver moonlight streaming through your half-shuttered window. She takes a breath; all ambient noise of chirping crickets and distant fireworks are drowned in silence. Gentle music box music to the tune of Auld Lang Syne fill the void as she sings a lullaby. You’d be indignant if she didn’t make it work so darn well.
Maybe being in the body of a five-year-old foal is affecting you more than you realize. You could always start that tradition again when you’re older—your head droops back slowly—you didn’t start that tradition until you were 16 anyway. Your breathing slows, Celestia still sings, your eyes lead brick.
“Fool, you fell for it! That’s why she was smiling!” You mentally curse. The worst part being how this isn’t even close to the nuclear option. She’s done this trick before but never has it worked this well!
“Hmm. If singing is a form of magic here, do lullabies count as roofies?” Your last thought comes and goes as the finishing of the lullaby carries you into the land of dreams.
Celestia looks down upon your peaceful sleeping form. She fully closes the shutters, removing the last vestiges of light that could disturb your slumber.
She whispers, “Goodnight my princess, I love you.” and exits.
Happy New Year’s.
