The Crying of the Sun

by InkStone

Chapters

Notes in the Case of S. Shimmer
Impression, Sunrise
Morning Glories
Blood on the Sun
The Red Vineyard
Night Effect

Notes in the Case of S. Shimmer

Author's Note

It took me too long to figure out how to add an image...

This is a brief interlude before next chapter. Optional read, but it will add a bit more context to the plot.
Enjoy!

Notes in the Case of S. Shimmer

Impression, Sunrise

The squawbush were losing their whitish-yellow bracts to the hot, humid air, dotting the immaculate green grass of the lawn with their petals like stars painted on an alien firmament. The sky above was a clear cerulean as pure as the limpid waters of the tropical locales, the ideal summer day that hordes of people were taking advantage of like desperate revelers following the procession of a beloved prophet. Young couples let their love blossom on picturesque hills while their elderly counterparts shuffled along paths traversed hundreds of times in bygone years, and exuberant children eagerly climbed hot plastic playground equipment as their over-tired parents watched with half-awake eyes. All of these acts were tinged with the sadness of the temporary; yes, it was almost time to return to the gloomy months, the months of work and school and cold and gray, because the tears of St. Lawrence had already spilled themselves upon the Earth and brought with them the end of August.

Not that any of that mattered to Celestia. For her, the end of the summer brought with it not last-minute revelry or a desperate clinging to the sun's warm rays, but a flood of work that preceded the return to normalcy. She would love to be sitting on a beach right now, feeling the white sand sifting through her toes and smelling the salty tang of the sea, but instead, she was stuck in a stuffy office with no air conditioning, sweating like a sinner at mass as she leafed through a disorganized pile of transfer paperwork, back and forths on the yearly budget, and dozens of other pertinent issues that only came across her desk the week before the start of the school year.

After eight straight hours of staring at tiny type until the letters were swimming before her eyes like Olympic swimmers, Celestia filed away the last piece of errant paperwork with a sigh. Placing her sweat-slicked forehead on the cool wood of her desk with a groan, she couldn't help but mutter to herself:

"I should have had Raven do this..."

The foolishness of this statement was evident the millisecond it left her lips. She couldn't have Raven do the paperwork for her, even though the secretary would be more than willing and more than capable. Celestia had only just been appointed Principal of Canterlot High School at the end of the last school year, and it was no secret that a faction of the Superintendent's office was unsure of her ability to do the job due to being rather young for the position - just south of thirty. To have Raven do the paperwork would be proving them right, admitting that she couldn't handle the work, that they never should have promoted her beyond her role as a Science Teacher. School politics were full of sharks, and Celestia couldn't afford to bleed.

Her face wrinkled in discomfort when a rogue sunbeam struck her eye. Sitting up straight and brushing her rose-pink hair out of her face, Celestia glanced out the window and felt a gentle smile forming. The sky was a beautiful mosaic of pinks, purples, and blues, a breathtaking vista that was the envy of all artists, originating from a blood-red sun slowly inching its way below the horizon. The last light of the day beat on the tall mountains to the north, their mighty shadows bathing the quiet suburban neighborhood in a half-hearted darkness. The Wondercolt statue in the school's front plaza shimmered in the sunlight, brilliant gold instead of white marble, and Celestia felt her mood lift as she thought back on halcyon days when she, Luna, and their mother used to sit on the rolling hills outside of Canterlot and watch the sun sink below the horizon, gradually being swallowed by the earth until its thousands of tiny siblings appeared and weaved a brilliant tapestry of ancient heroes, formidable monsters, and misplaced kitchen implements, all interwoven with the unshakeable skein of fate.

"If only I could go back to those days," She muttered, rubbing her weary eyes. Her exhaustion was so extreme that she could swear she saw the pedestal of the Wondercolt statue rippling. "No paperwork, no bills, no superintendent. Just school, hanging out with your closest friends, and chatting about boys, " Her nose scrunched as the more distasteful elements of adolescence came to mind, "...and petty drama, acne, and teenage angst. Maybe being young isn't all it's cracked up to be."

With a sigh, Celestia got herself ready to leave, straightening the few pieces of paperwork that had been disturbed by her rising, grabbing the beat-up leather messenger bag she had tossed into the corner earlier today, and smoothing out the wrinkles in her tan blazer. With nary a glance backward, she hurriedly walked from her office, eager to get home and put the stresses of the day behind her until she inevitably had to repeat the whole process again on Monday. Her footsteps echoed hollowly in the emptiness of the large school hallways, sounding like a specter following not far behind her, an intruder just a two-step away, but the only organism in the building was her, condemned to be there like a prisoner who had committed a heinous crime, but in this case her only crime was youth.

"Until we meet again." With a flick of her wrist, the front doors of the school were locked. A prisoner given temporary leave, she was free from her cell for a few days before she inevitably had to return to pay her penance. Celestia let out a heavy breath as she touched the glass of the door almost gingerly; it was sad how complex her feelings towards this old building had become. Just a few months ago she was eager to walk through these doors every day. Now, they only promised paperwork, endless administrative meetings, and limited interaction with her students beyond dealing with the most delinquent of the lot. This wasn't why she started teaching.

She was momentarily blinded when she turned around, the sun being at just the right angle to strike her directly in the eyes. Her only shield against the assault an outstretched hand, Celestia walked forward blindly as colorful spots danced the waltz before her eyes. Naturally, she had kept her sunglasses in the car because that was just her luck. She had made it halfway to the staff parking lot when she heard it, drifting across the lawn with the soft, barely audible tone of a bird flapping its wings, a sound ingrained deep into the mind of every human and animal, a sound that reached across thousands of years and triggered a primal instinct in Celestia, a slight quickening of her heart.

The quiet cries of a child.

With hurried steps, Celestia made her way to the source of the sound, just around the base of the Wondercolt statue, coming around to find a sight that made the ostensibly stoic woman gasp.

A little girl was splayed out on the grass with all the grace of a corpse, and if it were not for her sharp but quiet cries, Celestia would have wondered if she was even alive. The girl's face was covered in a mix of tears, snot, and mud, nearly blotting out the yellow of her skin completely. Her hair, the vibrant colors of a roaring flame, was caked with dirt and torn in some places. Denim overalls were covered in disturbing red stains that did nothing to settle Celestia's rapidly beating heart. Without thinking, she reached out to the child.

The girl's eyes, pure aquamarine gemstones set into a human face, stared at her in absolute terror. With a quickness that seemed unnatural for her tiny body, the child scrambled back, clumsily tripping over her legs like they were lead weights and resorting to dragging herself with her hands.

"S-s-shtay awwray." The words spilled out of her mouth, garbled, almost unintelligible, not like a lisp or the frustrating struggle with an unfamiliar language, but like she had not the slightest inkling how to use her mouth.

"Hey, hey, don't worry, little one. I'm staying right here." Celestia dropped to her knees to make herself seem as unintimidating as possible. Both she and Luna were unusually tall, over six feet, enough to make even grown adults feel like teenagers in their presence. The last thing this frightened little girl needed was a living giant looming over her. "I'm going to stay right here, little one."

There was something odd in her eyes, something that was more than simple fright, something much deeper. There was a flicker of... recognition.

"Yyyouush look jus' lie errrrhhh," the girl spoke breathlessly. "Soun jus lie erhh."

She tried to keep the confusion off her face, but the girl's words were gnawing at her. "Look like who, little one?"

Now it was the child's turn to be confused. "Lie Pwinchess Cewestria."

So the child knew her name, but thought she was a princess? Well, the girl did look young, likely somewhere in the four to six range if Celestia were to guess, and so it was possible that she had heard about a Principal Celestia and had conflated it with a vision of royalty. In a weird way, Celestia was flattered.

"Yes, my name is Celestia, little one." The child's confusion only grew, and her eyes gave Celestia the impression that she was drinking in every detail about her, from the most obvious to the seemingly insignificant. Finally, she shook her head.

"Can' be. Yer hair ish awl wron'. 'N y'don 'af the eyeshh." The girl devolved into a storm of muttering, staring at a fixed point on the ground.

Needless to say, Celestia was concerned. The child's behavior was... exceptionally odd, to say the least. Combine that with her slurred speech, blood all over her clothes, and a possible problem with her legs - Celestia didn't miss how they wobbled when she briefly stood up - and the alarm bells started ringing in Celestia's head - no, they were full on klaxons at this point. Never taking her eyes off the young girl, Celestia grabbed her cell phone and began to dial emergency services, but not before grabbing a piece of vital information.

"Little one, do you mind telling me your name?"

The girl paused in her muttering and stared suspiciously at the older woman. Finally, after a moment that stretched into what felt like minutes, she whispered.

"Sunshet Shimmew."

Author's Note

If you find Sunset's speech grating, don't worry; it won't be present for long. It's just as much of a nightmare to write.

There's some references hidden in this piece. If you catch them, you have my eternal respect and admiration.

Hopefully you enjoyed it. Shoot me a comment down below if you're feeling up to it. I'll try to get chapter 2 out soon, hopefully a bit more refined and polished.

Morning Glories

The sun rose over the forests to the east of the city, the soft morning rays spilling over the sprawling green sea of Whitebark pine and Douglas fir, Sierra Juniper and Nootka Cypress, like a spotlight directed by some cosmic stagehand highlighting the beauty of the Everfree Forest and reminding the inhabitants of the fertile world that lie just beyond their doorstep. Downtown Canterlot, a jungle of metal and concrete, shined a dappled silver and glass as the morning dew caught the light of the sun like a thousand tiny diamonds. Cars hummed to life as their bleary-eyed owners grumbled about work, the arteries of the city becoming gradually more congested as people left their anchorite suburban existences for the hustle and bustle of the workday. Canterlot was reborn after the quiet of the night, revived as though by some holy miracle, ready to face another turn of the wheel. There were few things that Celestia found more beautiful.

It was 6:33 a.m. and Celestia Sol was gingerly nursing a steaming cup of coffee in the chiaroscuro light of the living room, spread across her favorite couch like some ethereal, delicate beauty in a Baroque painting, an effect only enhanced by the diaphanous white robe she wore over her pajamas that brought to mind a fairy queen, some fabled princess of a faraway land. This mythical princess, a goddess out of legend, stared out the window at the interstitial lands beyond with unseeing eyes that betrayed a mind that was far, far away, staring at a different sun whose waning light had captured in time a moment that would be ingrained in her mind now and forevermore.

Sleep had not come easily last night. She laid awake in her bed for hours, her mind buzzing incessantly like mosquitos surrounding a blood-swelled arm, following one thread of thought before losing it and gripping wildly for another, all the while never finding the clue that would lead her to the heart of this maze. When she had finally dozed off into a fitful sleep, her dreams were haunted by two eyes of apatite rimmed with crystal tears staring down at her in confused recognition.

Celestia idly stirred her coffee, swirling forth recent memories. The girl - Sunset Shimmer - hadn't interacted with her after the call had been put into emergency services, too focused on flexing the digits of her hands and feet as though she had never seen herself before. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the polished surface of the Wondercolt statue, she had turned white as a ghost, bringing balled hands to her face and feeling it as though she had to assure herself that everything was where it was supposed to be. Celestia caught some muttering about 'ponies', 'princesses', 'Equestria', and much more, each nonsense word deepening the pit of worry in Celestia's stomach. She was no child psychologist, but she did have to take classes on child development in college, and she vividly remembered a lecture in which the professor - an old, gray-bearded sentinel of the psychology department - had gone on about young children's tendency to create elaborate fantasy worlds. Healthy in moderation, but it could also be used as a form of escapism for children who had endured terrible, traumatic things. As Celestia's eardrums rung from the sonic assault of the girl screaming at a pitch that would put Aguiari to shame, she couldn't help but wonder what horrific, unimaginable terrors Sunset Shimmer had been put through.

She tried to comfort her, she so desperately wanted to, but every time she got close, whispering gentle words of comfort and tentatively reaching out a soft hand, Sunset would throw herself backward, crying wildly about imposters and tricksters, evil spirits and demons. After a few tries, Celestia gave her a wide berth and waited for emergency services to arrive.

It was a storm after that, a maelstrom of paramedics and police officers asking questions she couldn't hope to answer: who is this girl? How did she get here? Why is she injured? How the hell would she know any of that? She was just as much in the dark as all of them were, but no one seemed satisfied with that. After a tense few minutes that felt like a miniature eternity, the officers huffed in annoyance and clicked their pens shut, handing her two basic-looking business cards with their extensions on them and parting with a request to call the station if she remembered any relevant information. She refrained from rolling her eyes as they walked away, choosing instead to look over at Sunset and the paramedics. The child had been settled onto a stretcher, curled in on herself like a frightened animal but otherwise calm.

"Is she alright?" Celestia had the vague realization that she was picking the cuticles of her thumb with her index finger, a nervous tic she had kicked years ago. There was a nervous energy crackling under her skin, an electric current that caused goose pimples to pop up all over her arms and the back of her neck to crawl like an insect scuttering for cover.

The paramedics glanced at each other in silent conversation. It occurred to Celestia that they likely couldn't tell her if there was anything wrong with Sunset due to patient privacy laws. After a few seconds of ocular debate, one of the medics faced her.

"Did you notice anything odd about her earlier?" The medic asked in a tense voice. It was an odd way to respond to her, a question for a question, but there was a look in his eyes, a pleading expression like he wanted her to understand something. Ah, that was it!

"I noticed she was having trouble walking earlier." It was a sneaky way to get around regulations; he wouldn't answer her question, but gently guide her to the conclusion—plausible deniability at its finest.

"Unfortunately, we can't confirm nor deny that, ma'am," the other paramedic butt in. With a click, everything was locked into place, and they started to wheel Sunset towards the ambulance. "Have a nice day, Miss Sol. If the police need anything else, they'll call you."

She watched them go, and that was the end. She had said her lines, she had done her part, and now she could exit stage left and go on with her life. That was the natural way of the world: you came across people, you brushed the canvas of their existence, sometimes adding more, sometimes less, and then, satisfied with your work, you left it ready for the next artist. That's what she had done with Sunset, and now the girl would move on and find other people, people who would paint more significant vistas on her life until she blossomed into the portrait of a fine young woman.

Then she saw those eyes, eyes that struck her to the very core of her being, that made something radiate in every cell and atom of her body, and she knew this wouldn't be the end. Those eyes were with her still, hours later in the soft morning glow of the living room.

"There she sees a damsel bright/ Drest in a silken robe of white." Celestia need not turn around to recognize the dulcet tones of her younger sister. She was more surprised that Luna, the infamous night owl, was up this early in the morning. Dawn light and Luna were completely and utterly anathema to each other like a heretic is to the church.

"Hello, Dr. Sol. What has you up on this fine morning?" Celestia quirked a quizzical eyebrow that curved like the head of a question mark.

"Sister, I can practically hear you thinking from my bedroom," Luna scoffed, meandering tiredly over to the counter to pour her own cup of coffee. "And you need not call me Doctor."

"Ah, but you worked so hard for that PhD, Lulu. After all that time and money, I would be screaming it from the rooftops."

"And that is the difference between you and I, Tia." Luna punctuated her statement with a loud slurp.

Luna, despite her boisterous personality, was actually rather humble. She preferred not to talk about her accomplishments and would become agitated if Celestia brought them up. It was hard not to though; both sisters were intelligent, but Luna was a bonafide genius with so many incredible achievements under her belt that it was hard to talk about her without mentioning something. She had won so many literature and poetry contests in high school that she could have made a dress out of all the ribbons; she graduated top of their class with a perfect grade point average; she applied to Harvard early decision and got in to the surprise of no one; she left Harvard with summa cum laude and a Rhodes Scholarship that quickly extended from a Masters to a PhD; she obtained her PhD from Oxford with a dissertation on Romantic Era poetry that was the ultimate culmination of numerous other well-received papers, all signs of a promising academic career that had her fielding employment offers from her old alma mater and every other prestigious school in the country. Despite all of that, despite getting letters promising salaries and research budgets that others would drool over, Luna rejected all of them. She returned to her hometown of Canterlot and applied for a job at the local public high school her sister worked at, filling the rest of her time as an adjunct at the local branch of the state university system, because at the end of the day Luna did not care about the prestige or the money, the anodyne complexities of academia or the petty administration, but only about two things: learning and spreading knowledge. For some reason, she found those two goals more achievable in a high school than in a college.

"Something on your mind, Tia?" Luna queried after a few moments of peaceful quiet.

"Just... thinking." She continued staring out the window, letting the gentle sound of birdsong fill her ears.

"Mmhmm," Luna hummed, coming to sit in an armchair across from her sister. "And do those thoughts happen to involve flame-haired children?"

An amused huff left Celestia's nose. "I suppose it's not that hard to figure it out."

"One certainly wouldn't need to be a Rhodes Scholar to do so."

She was back to looking out the window, searching, sifting, trying to find some sort of answer, some sort of sign from a higher power, something that she knew wasn't out there because it was lying somewhere else, somewhere interior to herself. "I just... something about her stuck with me. I've dealt with so many students over the years, and yet this little girl has wormed her way into my head. It's ridiculous."

"Not really," Luna countered. "You encountered a hurt, scared child outside your place of work who knew your name. It's not surprising that you'd find such a mystery captivating."

"I know what you're saying," she turned her gaze to her sister, an odd look in her eye, "but... it's not like that, Lulu. I'm not really concerned with how she knew my name. Well, okay, I am, but I find myself more concerned about... her."

"Aren't we all concerned for our fellow man?"

"Yes, but," she pursed her lips, her eyes rolling up like she was attempting to look into her own mind, to better understand the thoughts rolling around within, "this feels... deeper, and I'm not sure why."

Ring Ring Ring

Celestia lifted herself from the sofa, grabbing the landline on the wall of the kitchen and answering with a practiced greeting that was the pinnacle of professionalism. Luna watched as her sister communicated with someone on the other end - a voice that she could only vaguely make out as a feminine murmur - going from confused, to surprised, back to confused once again as she answered with one-word phrases or simple statements such as 'I see' or 'I understand' that, naturally, mean the exact opposite of what they state. She couldn't quite glean what was going on from Celestia's end of the conversation, but she could make a guess after her sister gave an unsure 'I'll be there soon' and hung up the phone, her fingers lingering on it for a moment like it was a beloved old relative.

"Speak of the devil," Celestia's tone was filled with confusion and questioning."That was the hospital. Apparently, Sunset has been asking for me all night. Her social worker thinks it would be beneficial for her to see me."

"Interesting. The plot thickens," Luna waggled her eyebrows. "Will you go, sister?"

It took a moment, but Celestia nodded, slowly but surely. "Yes. I don't think I'll be able to sleep well if I don't."

"Guilt truly is stronger than caffeine."

"Quite," Celestia marched off to her room to get ready. "Will you be able to hold down the fort while I'm gone?"

"I'm not a teenager anymore!" Luna shouted back indignantly, though considering the distinct sound of a closing door, she wasn't sure how much Celestia heard. Settling herself into the armchair, Luna thought over the whole situation and could not help but chuckle. She remembered a passage she had read many years ago, in the olden days of high school. It was one of those lines that had stuck with her for her entire life so far.

"I couldn’t bring myself to admit that life might end up resembling bad literature so much."

Author's Note

I like it, but I feel like it's missing something. A certain 'oomph!' that will push it in the right direction. But we don't necessarily need perfection, do we? It's a useless endeavor. But I'll promise you all something: every chapter, I'll try to improve. I want each chapter to be better than the last, each one striving closer and closer to that limit of perfection even if it can never truly achieve it. Only then will my love affair with this story be consummated to its fullest degree.

Blood on the Sun

Evening Star thought she had seen it all. When you've been in CPS as long as her, you eventually reach a point where nothing surprises you anymore. She had dealt with cases of horrific abuse that left veteran officers scrambling for the nearest toilet, held tense sessions with anti-government kooks who spent most of the year hiding from lizard people in the brush of the Inland Empire, and more than once found herself in terse conversations with members of a prominent UFO cult. Put bluntly, you would need to get up pretty early in the morning to shock Evening Star.

Apparently, someone got up extremely early that morning.

Child psychiatric cases were not unheard of. Like everyone, children possess complex mental landscapes that could be unbalanced by trauma or distressing events, almost like a building with structural damage. If you don't address the issues at the source, the structure continues to rot and sag until it collapses into a mess of ruined hopes and dreams. You obviously didn't want that to happen to a living, breathing person - no more than you would a house - and so it was important to get someone the proper help as soon as possible.

However, cases like this didn't typically involve children so young. Most children didn't develop diagnosable mental disorders until early adolescence, but Sunset could be no older than seven. And yet, she was suffering from vivid delusions about some magical land named 'Equestria' that was populated by 'ponies' capable of performing magic. Some may chalk this up to the simple imagination of a child, so prone to fantasies about faraway lands and strange creatures, but Sunset was so consistent and detailed with her descriptions that it was clear something deeper was at play. Children created fantasy worlds, but they rarely stuck so strongly to them.

"Thinking about her?" Nurse Redheart was leaning on the doorframe of the borrowed office, fixing Evening Star with the knowing look of a medical professional who read people as easily as a first-grade chapter book. Star sighed and closed the manila folder she was idly reading from, reaching up to massage her tired eyes.

"It's just... strange." It was incredible how much could be conveyed by so little, but both women worked in professions where staff were often pressed for time and needed to pass along information efficiently. Redheart nodded.

"She's not the first kid to come in thinking she's a superhero or a fairy princess, but she's definitely the first to try and lecture me on the theory of thaumaturgy." Redheart's brow furrowed. "At least, I think that's what she said."

"She tried to explain that to me as well. She might have a future as a writer," Evening Star joked, though there was little mirth in it. With a sigh, she turned back to the dull glow of the ancient desktop. "Anyway, I've already put in the order for an assessment with Daylily. Hopefully, she'll be able to shed more light on this situation."

"Hopefully," Redheart echoed, absent-mindedly picking tiny balls of lint from her scrubs. It seemed like she wanted to ask something else, and right as Evening Star was about to inquire what she needed, Readheart found her voice. "What do you think is going to happen to her?"

The weight of the question made Evening Star lean back in her chair, sending her rolling back a few inches. Staring up at the ceiling tiles, subconsciously counting all the little divots in the board, Star tried to formulate an answer despite the fact that she had no idea. "Whatever happens, it will be what's best for her."

Redheart took the answer for what it was and gave a non-committal hum before uttering a quick farewell and returning to her duties, leaving Evening Star to sit and ponder the plight of a girl who, according to the report she had ordered, did not show up on any national database.

Interesting.

The sharp smell of antiseptic burned her nostrils as Celestia stepped through the sliding doors of Canterlot Memorial Hospital. A tension snaked through her muscles as she took in the sterile white walls, the blue scrubs of the harried nurses, and the sounds of coughing, groaning, and other signs of illness. Never in her life did she want to come back here, but naturally that meant that she was always destined to return.

With a sense of haste only accomplished by someone distinctly uncomfortable, Celestia stepped her way over to the reception area, finding herself in front of a young woman who looked like she wanted to be anywhere else. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes," Celestia said perhaps a bit too quickly, "I received a call this morning from Ms. Evening Star regarding a patient named Sunset Shimmer?"

"Let me page her." The receptionist spoke into a PA system that was as unintelligible as the ones on trains or buses, her voice coming out as little more than an electric crackle. Satisfied with her attempts at summoning, the receptionist motioned Celestia off to the side, assuring her that Evening Star would be right down.

Left alone with her thoughts - well, as much as one could be in a busy hospital - Celestia found herself turning back to a question that had been on her mind since she received Evening Star's phone call: why? Why was Sunset - a child she almost certainly never encountered - so fixated on her? First, she called her a princess, and now she was mentioning Celestia so often that the hospital staff took notice. Why? Did she remind Sunset of someone in her life, someone who made the girl feel safe and secure? Was she filling some sort of hole in Sunset's heart? There were so many questions and seemingly no answers.

"Ms. Celestia." A woman around her age stepped out of a side door and made her way over to Celestia, holding out her hand. Celestia gave it a firm shake, her expression halfway between polite and confused. "Thanks for coming in today. I apologize for contacting you so last minute."

"No problem at all, Ms. Star. I'm happy to help in any way that I can." It was left unsaid that she had no idea how she was supposed to help.

"I'm glad to hear that. If you could follow me to my office." She led Celestia through a maze of hallways that were so winding and esoteric that even the minotaur would get lost in this labyrinth. It was a mess of identical passageways, doctors and nurses rushing around, carts of medical supplies in seemingly random locations, and rolling islands of hospital dining that were nauseating to even look at. If Celestia didn't have her own Ariadne leading her through this mess, she was sure that she would have ended up in a supply closet somewhere.

Evening Star ushered Celestia into a small office off one of the many nurse's stations. It was clear from the generic furnishings that this was a temporary workspace for the social worker, a caravanserai among dozens of other assignments and locations.

"Now, Miss Celestia," Even Star said as they settled into their respective chairs on opposite ends of the desk, "I'm sure you're curious as to the state of Sunset Shimmer."

Somehow saying that she spent the entire night thinking about the girl didn't sound like the best course of action. "Yes. As I'm sure you can imagine, it was quite a distressing situation."

"I'm sure," Evening Star said in that faux-sympathetic tone perfected by those who have to work with the public. "While I unfortunately can't get into the specifics at this time, I can assure you that Sunset is physically healthy. Many of her wounds were determined to be superficial scrapes and bruises."

It did not escape Celestia's notice that Evening Star said at this time. She sat up straighter in her seat and asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue since this morning. "Miss Star, why am I here?"

Evening Star's face split in a wry smile. "Have you ever thought about fostering?"

Author's Note

Hmmmm.....

The Red Vineyard

"So tell me more about this 'Equestria'."

Dr. Daylily, Canterlot Memorial's resident child psychologist, did not expect to spend her morning being lectured about the intricacies of a fantasy world populated by a slew of creatures from Greek mythology. In the past hour, she had heard tales of chaos gods who could manipulate reality at will, spirits of hatred that fed off negative emotions, two pony princesses who ruled the land with prudence and benevolence until one fell to dark forces, and various other stories that seemed like they were ripped directly from a fantasy book for young children. Sunset's place in all this was equally as fantastical: she was the personal student of a nigh-immortal Sun Goddess who was training her in advanced magics - though nothing too advanced yet; Sunset was still a filly - because, naturally, Sunset was a unicorn, the only species in this world that could cast magic.

Convenient.

"Uhmmm," Sunset rubbed her chin with a balled-up fist. It didn't escape Daylily's notice that she hadn't once stretched out her fingers. "I dunno. Do you wanna hear about magic theory?"

"Hmmmm. I think that might be a bit beyond me," Daylily scrawled a few more notes onto her pad. "Let's talk a bit more about you, Sunset. Can I ask about your family?"

Sunset tensed immediately, curling into the chair like a kicked puppy. She worried her lip before answering in her strange drawl. "I dunno who my parents are. Princess Celestia got me from the orphanage last year."

Interesting. So Sunset was an orphan who was taken in by 'Princess Celestia'. However, assuming that 'Princess Celestia' was a proxy for Principal Celestia, then something wasn't adding up. As far as Daylily knew, Celestia had no children, adopted or otherwise - the gossip surely would have spread around town by now.

"Can you describe Princess Celestia for me? What does she look like?"

Sunset brightened up. "Well, she's tall, like really tall! And she has a white coat - she says that I'm lucky I don't have a coat like hers, or I would have to constantly take baths," she stuck her tongue out at that, "and she has a mane that's all sorts of colors, and it always looks like it's blowing in the wind." She pawed at her hair. "I wish I had a mane like that."

"Mmhmm, that does sound very nice." She had described Celestia almost to a tee, bar the rainbow mane being blown by an invisible wind. If Daylily remembered correctly, Celestia had pinkish hair that did not break the laws of physics. "And how is Princess Celestia? Is she a kind... pony?"

"Uh huh!" Sunset said, vigorously nodding her head. Her eyes were sparkling like tiny jewels as she spoke. "She's the nicest pony I've ever met! She got me a bunch of toys when I first became her student, and I got a biiiig room in the castle," her arms spread to emphasize how big this room was, "and she always has the chefs prepare my favorite deserts!" Sunset wilted a bit before muttering an addendum. "A lot better than the orphanage."

Hmmm, this could be telling. "Would you like to talk more about the orphanage?"

Sunset stared down at the floor for a few moments, idly kicking her feet back and forth. "It wasn't very nice."

"In what way?"

"The other fillies and colts picked on me cause I was smaller than them. None of the adults ever stopped them, even though they told us we could come to them if someone was bothering us." Sunset was absent-mindedly tugging a lock of her hair now, a tic that Daylily noted.

"Alright, Sunset, I think that's all the questions I have for now." The child was clearly becoming stressed, and there was no point in pressing her further right this moment. They would have plenty of time to unpack this. "Would you like a lollipop?"

Sunset's quick rebound made Daylily wonder why she even asked.

"So, what's the sitch?" Evening Star asked the second Daylily slipped into her office.

"You need to stop watching Kim Possible," Daylily deadpanned. She dropped into one of the hard plastic chairs in the room, wincing as she swore her tailbone cracked. "And maybe get better chairs."

Evening Star waved her hand dismissively. "I only use this office when I have business in the area. No use making it anything more than it needs to be."

"Sure," Daylily said, clearly unconvinced. She wasn't going to mention how maybe the social worker should make her office a bit more social. "Anyway, I've finished my evaluation of Sunset Shimmer."

"And?"

Daylily sighed and closed her eyes. How to say this in the most sensitive way possible? "She has the most sustained delusion I've ever seen from someone in her age group. It goes beyond just having an active imagination; she is fully and completely convinced that she is a magical pony from a fantasy world, the personal student of a Sun Goddess who bears a resemblance to the local high school principal." Daylily opened her eyes, noting that for the first time in their conversation, Evening Star was actually looking at her. "It screams of some form of dissociation, though I'm going to refrain from officially diagnosing her at this point. I'd prefer to talk with her a few more times and perhaps get a second opinion before I say anything definitive."

"Dissociation," Evening Star muttered. "Like Multiple Personality Disorder?"

Daylily successfully fought the urge to roll her eyes, though she couldn't stop her lips from forming a grim line. Dissociation was perhaps one of the most misunderstood principles in psychology, even among those who worked in adjacent fields. "Not exactly. Dissociation describes a wide range of psychological conditions that can vary from Dissociative Identity Disorder - what you might know as Multiple Personality Disorder - to Dissociative Absorption, which describes a state where an individual becomes obsessed with their fantasies. I would tentatively place Sunset in the realm of the latter."

"Okay," Evening Star stared at her computer for a second, seemingly absorbed with something on the screen. "Do we know why she has a preoccupation with Celestia?"

Daylily was wondering that herself. "At least in her fantasy, 'Princess Celestia' was a benevolent monarch who saved her from a possibly abusive orphanage."

"And yet, there's no record of Celestia adopting a child." Even Star's lips quirked into a strange expression. "Furthermore, there's no record of a Sunset Shimmer either."

"What? You're sure?"

Star shrugged. "I've checked every CPS database, state and national. All the ones for missing and exploited children too. Nothing. Not even a kid matching her description."

"The databases aren't perfect."

"No, of course not," Evening Star admitted, "but it's still a bit strange for a kid who's assumedly spent years in an orphanage to just not show up." She drummed her fingers against the desk. "You don't think there's anything... darker going on?"

Ach, that was definitely something Daylily didn't want to think about, but it was still a possibility. But, considering everything.... "I don't think so. Her description shows negligence, but nothing... like that. I think it's more likely that she was kept in a small orphanage that sucks at paperwork. Lord knows there are still plenty of rural areas where a lot of kids don't even have birth certificates."

"True," Even Star muttered. "Back to the Celestia thing..."

"Right," Daylily's eyes roamed the ceiling as she tried to formulate an answer. "Best I can figure, she might have encountered Sunset at some point and been kind to her. You know, just one of those daily interactions you have that you don't remember, but might have just made the other person's year? Sunset, coming from a crappy situation where she feels unhappy and neglected, imprints Celestia like a little duckling. Now, she has these fantasies about an immortal Princess Celestia who's basically a supermom. Make sense?"

"I can see the logic," Star nodded. She leveled Daylily with the type of impassive yet inquisitive expression that can only be mastered by a government bureaucrat. "So... do you think Celestia would be a good placement for her?"

Daylily was silent for a moment. It was an... interesting question. On the one hand, Sunset had wrapped this random woman into her delusions. On the other, it was likely that she would feel comfortable in Celestia's care and that living with her in a stable environment could be the key to unraveling these fantasies. "I think it would be okay. From what I know of Celestia, she's a very kind woman."

"Good, because I already put in the paperwork to have Celestia foster her."

"What?" Daylily was convinced she must have misheard Evening Star. "Isn't there a process? A list of foster parents? Background checks?"

"Normally, yes," Star said, a smirk tugging the corners of her mouth. "But we have a case where the child keeps asking for her. It seems like a clear placement, especially with you saying that it shouldn't damage her psyche or anything like that." Star tapped a sheaf of papers on her desk. "Besides, Celestia is a professional who works with children and adolescents. She's already had more state background checks and trainings than you can imagine. It's fairly easy to give her priority, all things considered."

"Is that... is that legal?"

"It would pass inspection," Evening Star deflected. "CPS won't make a big deal about it when the potential foster parent is a local school principal who's had extensive background checks within the past year. They've got much bigger fish to fry."

It somehow didn't surprise Daylily that a state organization could be so... like this. Still, she couldn't see any issue with the placement other than ignoring typical procedure, so she simply nodded.

"Don't think we're just handing her over to Celestia. We've essentially just put her at the front of the foster parent line. There's still going to be home inspections, paperwork, and visits."

"I'm not doubting your expertise, Star. You're the social worker, not me. I think Celestia would be just fine."

"Great," Evening Star sighed and gestured to a stack of papers on top of a filing cabinet. It was so thick that Daylily was certain it could be used to stop a high-caliber bullet. "Now I just need to do all that paperwork."

Author's Note

The sun continues to cry. I apologize in advance because these few chapters are probably going to be a bit technical with appointments/conversations about rules and regulations/police and the like, but it sets up good groundwork for the rest of the plot.

Night Effect

The streets echoed with the steady bass of club music, an eclectic mix of moombahton, house, and a few nascent genres yet to find their foothold, still little more than a psychedelics-induced dream inside the mind of a wannabe-DJ. The narrow road was congested with garishly-colored sports cars, drunk and/or high partygoers, their sober friends anxiously swiveling their heads for trouble, and a few undercover cops who stuck out in the crowd like sore thumbs on account of their crew cuts amid a sea of punks, hippies, and other counter-culture rejects. This wave of bodies, old and young, rich and poor, a perfect representation of California and its past, present, and future, drifted along the road, drawn by glowing neon signs and the promise of alcohol, ecstasy, and every other substance that flowed through the city, uncaring of the future and only focused on the hedonism of here and now.

Luna cut through the crowd with ease, an expert in all the nuances of Maritime Street. She drew quite a bit of attention from men and women alike with her outfit: a pair of stunningly white Gurkha trousers with a silver wallet chain resting on her left hip; a polo shirt of alternating dark blue vertical stripes, highlighted by a silver-filigree moon pendant on the end of a chain; and a brown leather coat that went down to mid-calf, the tails billowing outward in a way that made her look like a secret agent in an old spy thriller. She already had to break a few wrists whose owners decided to get a bit too familiar with her in the noise of the crowd.

On a quiet stretch of Maritime Street, nestled between two far more popular clubs that drew in clubgoers with dazzling displays on their fronts, was a small, dark storefront. No neon signs, no long line of people waiting outside, just a dimly lit store - a bookstore, by the looks of it - with an old, wrought-iron sign hanging out front.

Under/World

Under/World seemed out of place in this new generation of nightclubs and bars, a remnant of an older time, a different economy, a demographic that had faded into the past and reappeared, older and grizzled, in the white picket fences of suburbia. The tinkle of a bell as Luna stepped inside alerted the store's single employee, an older man dressed like an ancient college professor, the old guard in departments such as classics and history. He stared at Luna over wire-rimmed glasses that looked older than her. "What can I do for you, Miss?"

Luna leaned on the old wooden counter, glancing around to make sure that no one else was within earshot. "I'm looking for a copy of Dante's Inferno. The 1961 Oxford edition, translated by Sinclair."

"Hmmm," the man hummed approvingly, "a very fine edition. Tell me, what's your favorite canto in the Inferno?"

Luna pretended to think it over. "Well, I do particularly enjoy the section where Dante and Virgil are crossing the Acheron."

"Password?"

"Chiron."

"Right this way, Luna." The man ushered her behind the counter and through a door leading to the stockroom.

"Must we go through that song and dance every time, Old Tome?"

"Our business model is secrecy. Our clients expect to get what they pay for," Tome responded, waving her down a staircase hidden behind shelves stocked full of books. Rolling her eyes playfully, she stepped into the stairwell and braved the dim light that could not be up to code. "Don't let the lost souls catch you on the way down." A soft bang came from behind her as he closed the door.

Carefully stepping her way down, Luna came to a door at the bottom of the staircase. The muffled sound of rock music could be heard from the other side, accompanied by the quiet mutter of chatter. With a smirk, Luna opened the door and entered the real Under/World.

It was a large, almost cavernous space, impossible to imagine that it sat under such a busy street. Despite being underground, the space was well-lit by sconces positioned along the walls, flickering with the flames of candles scented like sweet perfumes. The decor was a strange mix between the ancient and the modern, with high Ionic columns and classical statues sat alongside elegant vases and plush red carpets. Servers carrying trays rushed around, their togas swishing around their ankles as bussed drinks, food, and cigars to the floor.

Luna walked her way through the establishment, nodding as she met the eye of familiar faces. Professors, anarchists, government bureaucrats, hippies, communists, punk rockers, venture capitalists, and old revolutionaries all made their home in Under/World, bound by a mutual agreement to not let their differences get between them in this space, though still happy to debate them, making the venue an excellent place to listen to a mix between genuine dialectical conversation and childish shit-flinging. This eclectic band, so separated in daily life, was Luna's crowd: the strange, the powerful, and everything in between.

"I'll take a Bellerophon, please." The bartender nodded and went to prepare Luna's drink, which was really just a Paper Plane with an olive speared on top and some dye added in for a bit of dazzle. Leaning against the counter, Luna awaited both her drink and the person who was supposed to meet her there.

"Hello, moon maiden," A sultry voice spoke from behind her. Luna rolled her eyes and took a sip of her recently arrived drink.

"Hello... Chrysalis." A blush burned across Luna's cheeks as she took in the sight of her old friend/ on-and-off partner. Chrysalis had always been an ethereally beautiful woman, blessed with dark skin that nearly shined in the light like the chitin of an insect and teal hair that spilled off her head in a long waterfall. She always walked with the grace of a queen, sashaying her hips in a way that hypnotized Luna more than once. And god, did she know how to accentuate it. Chrysalis was currently decked out in a bralette/sarong combo that seemed to be made out of bright green scales that glittered in the light, hugging her curves in all the right ways - unless they were outside, where it probably would not be street-legal. Luna tapped the bar to get the bartender's attention. "Could I please get a glass of ice water?"

Chrysalis laughed, settling on the bar next to Luna. "Like what you see?"

"Shut up and tell me what you've found."

"Oh, so demanding," Chrysalis crooned. "I thought our dynamic was the other way around."

Luna was never more grateful for the quick service of the bar. She downed her ice water in one quick gulp.

"Alright, alright, I get it," Chrysalis chuckled, producing a manila folder from... somewhere. She placed it on the bar, spreading out a sheaf of papers full of photos, screenshots of obscure internet forums, and a few documents with strange seals that didn't belong to any recognizable government. She tapped a photo of the Wondercolt Statue. "Your school is quite famous in the paranormal community!"

"No surprise there. Parts of Canterlot High were built in the 1800s. I remember the old tales of the Man in Shadow and the Everfree Devil."

"Yes, though it gets even more specific than that," Chrysalis pointed to various factoids spread across the sheets. "Reports of demons, sirens, spontaneous combustion, UFO's, fairy lights, all around Canterlot. The Valley is already a hotspot of paranormal activity, but Canterlot virtually exists in its own Bermuda Triangle with all the shit going down here. Plus," Chrysalis drew her attention to an old sepia-toned photo. "Look at this."

The photo depicted a woman around their age dressed in late-Victorian clothing. Though the most striking thing was that she was a dead ringer for Celestia. The exact same face, same hair, it was almost uncanny. Luna swallowed the knot in her throat and took another sip of her drink.

"Just a resemblance. It doesn't mean anything."

"If you say so," Chrysalis said, shuffling through more documents. "The point is, all of this activity centers around the high school. Specifically, that statue out front." She placed a graph in front of Luna. "Some paranormal investigators have gotten strange readings outside of it. Where was Celestia's mystery child found?"

"Chrysalis, I asked you to find out what you could about Sunset, not go down the rabbit hole of /x/. I could have done that myself," Luna groaned.

"I'm getting there!" Chrysalis huffed, lightly slapping Luna on the shoulder. "Okay, so Celestia says the kid came out of nowhere, almost like she appeared out of thin air. I mean, how does a kid covered in blood just suddenly appear on the lawn of a high school in front of a busy road without being seen?" She threw her arms out for emphasis. "Well, I decided to hack the police records -"

Luna nearly choked on her drink. "You what!"

"Relax," Chrysalis waved dismissively. "Canterlot PD doesn't have the IT prowess to even realize anything happened. Anyway, they've got nothing. They've checked every CCTV in a one-mile radius and they've got nothing. For all intents and purposes, she just flashed into existence behind the statue."

"That's impossible."

"Normally, yes. But," she took a sip of Luna's drink, earning a glare that she brushed off with nary a thought. "What if the statue is a portal to another dimension?"

Luna swirled her drink for a moment, staring into the tiny whirlpool. "I think you've finally gone off the deep end."

"Luna, her medical records-"

"The amount of felonies you're casually admitting to is not helping your case."

"Everyone in this room could go down for half a dozen felonies each," Chrysalis retorted. "Now let me finish. According to her medical records," she held up a hand before Luna could speak, "she has sustained delusions of an alternate world full of magic, mythical creatures, all sorts of fantasy stuff, and she's the student of an immortal Sun-goddess named Princess Celestia!" Her eyebrows raised imploringly. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I think you're taking the delusions of a traumatized child and combining it with local folklore and internet paranoia into a plot worthy of a Dan Brown novel," Luna deadpanned.

"How do you explain the mysterious Victorian woman who looks just like your sister? If Sunset's world has an immortal sun-goddess that's an alternate version of your sister..."

Luna rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Chrysalis, my family has been in this town since it was founded. You likely found a photo of an ancestor."

"Alright, doubter," Chrysalis huffed, pointing towards the documents with the strange seals. "Read 'em and weep."

"What exactly am I looking at?"

"Documents from the DPI, the Department of Paranormal Investigation. It was a joint operation between the U.S. and the UK after World War II, tasked with investigating all the occult stuff that the Nazis dipped their fingers into." She pushed one of the documents toward Luna. "And they have a file on your statue."

The two were silent for a moment as Luna read through the document. After a few minutes, she turned to Chrysalis with a raised eyebrow. "Chrys, this doesn't prove anything. The CIA has poured millions into projects involving telekinesis, hypnotism, and dozens of other pseudosciences. All this shows is that this 'DPI' investigated claims of paranormal activity in the area and found that the Wondercolt statue was a focal point. There's no actual evidence."

"Ughh, you're so boring sometimes, Dr. Sol," Chrysalis groaned, gathering up her papers and slipping them back into he folder. "That's unfortunately everything I have. As far as documents are concerned, your girl came into existence on Friday."

"Nothing? Strange..." Luna trailed off, staring blankly into the wall behind the bar.

"It almost makes you wonder..."

"Don't go there."

"No fun," Chrysalis pouted. God, Luna had to look away to hide the fierce blush on her cheeks. It was too late; Chrysalis was dancing her fingers along the side of her chin, turning Luna's face until their eyes met. "But maybe we can turn this night around. I think we're done talking business anyway."

"Is this going to be one of our 'on again' moments?" Luna asked, breathless.

"Oh yeah," Chrysalis said with a sultry smirk. "Why don't we head back to my place? I love your outfit, but I think I'd like it more if it was strewn around my bedroom."

Luna had never scrambled to pay a bill faster.

Author's Note

Dedicated to my dog, who was put down yesterday. Miss you already, old friend.