The next day (night, rather)…

“Cutlass. You know you’re my slime, right? Like my day one? My G.O.A.T. and whatnot.” Cyrus announces, stepping over yet another helmet while avoiding the deathtrap of beer cans scattered haphazardly across the room. Cutlass doesn’t bother to look at Cyrus as she fiddles with her gramophone, she knew exactly what he was about to say.

“Yeahhhhh?” Cutlass flatly replies, playing along with Cyrus’ game as she does every time her parents visit. Cyrus lets out a 哇擦 [shit] as he steps on a manebrush, snapping it in half.

“You really need to clean. First time? Fine, benefit of the doubt. But this is next level, how do you live like this?” Cyrus chastises as he tries to avoid breaking any of the other household objects Cutlass had lying around on the floor. Cutlass turns to Cyrus, sticking her tongue toward the frog of her hoof, the Equestrian equivalent of ‘bite me’.

Bored of trying to navigate the multiple booby traps set up around Cutlass’ room, Cyrus decides to give the walls a once over. It was pretty standard stuff: posters of bands, hoofball stuff, and a few pictures of her friends and family. That is until he spots that poster, tucked away but not tucked away enough.

If he was drinking something he would have definitely spat it out.

The poster in question, flanked by a standard mareband poster and a poster of a famous hoofball player.

The contents of the poster?

An incredibly risqué looking stallion. A stallion that was wearing possibly the most useless underwear ever, striped tube socks, and a burgundy veil draped across his face. His legs and bat-wings were splayed in what Cyrus assumed was an attractive pose. Underneath the stallion were the words ‘Playpony’ garnished in gaudy cursive. Cyrus’ face cramps inward.

“Cutlass why the fuck- buck do you have softcore porn in your room?! You bucking pig.” Cyrus bemoans to his golden eyed bat-friend, pointing an accusatory finger toward the very promiscuous picture. She casts a lazy glance to whatever Cyrus was desperately gesturing toward before breaking out into a hearty snicker.

“Yeah my mom got that for me.” Cutlass jibes. Cyrus gives her perhaps the most bombastic side eye ever conceived in response. Only one question floated to the human’s mind.

“Okay but like why?”

“Cuz I asked. Duh. I like pretty stallions.”

Cyrus is once again reminded of how different things were in Equestria, especially around more private things. Ponies did kinda walk around naked and Cyrus had been subject to a LOT of male anatomy. Not like, dicks hanging out or whatever but like (very) brief flashes of ballsacks. Apparently as long as you kept it in the sheath you weren’t a complete sex freak for ‘letting it all hang out’.

Clothes were also a weird subject. Things like shirts, trousers, or other items were considered luxury goods. Things like undergarments, however, were a different story, a more amorous type of story. Cutlass had suggested Cyrus ditch his socks ASAP on their first few days together. Apparently, in Equestira, wearing socks in public was like showing the world that you wanted to fuck all the time.

Cyrus did not want to fuck all the time. More importantly, he did not want to end up on a registry, so he took her advice and got rid of the socks posthaste.

Underwear was weird too. Unless you needed to be upside down a lot, wearing underwear was considered freak behavior. Luckily nopony could actually see him wearing it so he kept them on. No commando, thank god.

And then there was the gender stuff. Cyrus could not fathom it in the slightest.

Confusion aside, Cutlass had done a fantastic job of making sure Cyrus knew how not to act like a sex-addicted monster.

Cyrus lets out a frustrated sigh, facepalming in an attempt to ‘accept and understand’ that Cutlass just has porn lying about her room and that it was ‘normal’. Cutlass gives the poor human a once over, practically smelling Cyrus’ head smoking as it chugged and churned.

“Ah, don’t worry. It’s a thestral thing. My mom bought me way more things than posters, we are way more relaxed about sex in Threstelia. I told you about heat, right? Our attitude is why we have next to no heat related crimes.” Cutlass casually explains, throwing the struggling human a bone.

“Riiiiiight. I remember you telling me about heat. Fuckin’ ‘ell, you lot are strange.” Cyrus grouses as he makes his way over to Cutlass once more, stepping over all the random shit she had scattered about. Unfortunately, the already flustered Cyrus, who had already spent most of his brain energy processing the cultural differences of Equestria, is not looking where he is going. He makes his final few steps toward Cutlass and his foot makes awkward contact with something very… cylindrical.

He trips.

“哎呀我的妈呀 [Ay what the hell]!”

He notices exactly what he just tripped on.

“CUTLASS, YOU HAVE A FUCKING ILLNESS! Why the fuck is that on the floor?! IT GOES INSIDE YOU, YOU NASTY FUCK!” Cyrus screams from his position amongst the absolute mess of Cutlass’ room. Cutlass, having finally noticed what Cyrus had tripped over, bursts into raucous mirth, only able to choke out a few syllables of explanation as to why that was there. Cyrus, unable to process the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, soon follows suit. Such was their dynamic: The Gangly Garat and Cutlass ‘The Hammer’ Stellabright. And what a pair they were becoming, almost inseparable in the eyes of night guard gossip.

After the initial shock and worry of meeting a completely new alien species, Cutlass had finally managed to relax into her true self. Which was… interesting. Apparently, Cutlass had a bit of a reputation for being… crass? Leaping before looking. Fearless. She’s called ‘The Hammer’ for a reason.

On the other hand/hoof, Cyrus had been feeling a lot better about his situation. He actually didn’t completely dread waking up in the morning anymore, which was a far step for the poor guy. Cutlass had been nothing but nice to him and he, in turn, had started to open up.

Only a little bit though, you-know-what is always there in the back of his mind, waiting to pounce on Cyrus if he got too comfortable.

“So what album do you wanna go through this time?” Cutlass asks through recurring chuckles, bringing the situation back to the task they had set out to do. Cyrus picks himself up from the filth, scattering a rainbow hue of liquor bottles in the process. He reaches into his half saddleback-rucksack thing and pulls out some blank sheet music and a clipboard.

“We’ve gone over a lot of hits… Let’s try her experimental stuff?” Cyrus answers, plomping down on the edge of Cutlass’ bed and almost sending the batmare airborne. Cutlass starts to fish for an appropriate vinyl in the incredibly organized shelf that is definitely organized, so organized that Cutlass had no idea where any of the albums were at all!

Cyrus patiently waits for his next taste of the music of the wonderful music of Songbird Serenade, watching Cutlass wallow in the pits of her own disorganized folly. To the delight of Cutlass, Cyrus was not one of those fart sniffing classical musicians who loved bragging about how their music was ‘superior’ to all others.

After a long search, Cutlass finally yanks the vinyl she was looking for out of the shelf and onto the bed:

《Midnights》

Songbird Serenade

She deftly flicks the vinyl out of the sleeve, setting it on the gramophone. Cyrus pulls out the tuning fork and metronome he asked Cutlass to buy for him. Cyrus dings the tuning fork, establishing his musical grounding. He waves his hand like a conductor, signaling Cutlass to begin the lesson. Without skipping a beat, she launches into a brief prelude.

“So this album was done after that fatherbucker Golden Chord,” Cutlass confidently lectures before scrunching her face in confusion, “or was it Major Fifth? Too many bastards. Anyway whoever it was cheated on Songbird and she wrote this.”

“Okay, heartbreak album. Expecting a lot of D minor.” Cyrus predicts as Cutlass blows the dust off the vinyl. Cutlass sets the needle on and hits play.

No opening chords. No percussion. A single haunting melody flows from a guitar. Atypical but nothing crazy. That is until the same melody is transcribed in the subdominant and layered on top, creating the answer. The key is given: C sharp minor. Countersubject now obvious, the melody turns sad, dissonant notes ringing out like funeral bells.

Cyrus’ mouth flies open in shock. Songbird Serenade, the immortal popstar of Equestria, had composed a fugue, with every single baroque bell and whistle. All for a breakup song.

And that shit banged. Gently, the lyrics kick in as the guitar moves to a supporting role, having introduced the subject already.

I’m just a mare, I cant be sad or cry.

I’m just a mare, shut up, perform, and smile.

I’m just a mare, cant break, cant crack, just bad.

I’m just a mare, silly, this is the norm.

Cutlass gently sings along to the haunting tune as she watches Cyrus’ pencil scribble furiously on the sheet music. Jolting rhythms in the countersubject ensure that the music never stays quite at rest, like how a tortured mind never does. Quavers dominate the baseline, marching upward to create tension as the lyrics fight to be heard, each line cutting each other off, pulling the music deeper into the pits of anguish. Short reprieves are heard, slight resolution of Songbird’s despair, but they are few and far between. They never linger, always broken with a loud false entry or subject, linking each line of depressive lyric with the other.

Songbird filters sequentially through her lyrics, each entry making the fugue thicker and thicker in texture. By the time she gets to I’m just a mare, silly, this is the norm, Cyrus is completely blown backward by the amount of interweaving parts Songbird was juggling. It all lent to the pure raw emotion of the music, a window into Songbird’s broken trust, her shattered heart.

Just suck it up.

Those lyrics start the lurch toward a perfect cadence, but Songbird is no chump. There will be no resolution for her heart, she draws the piece to an incredibly unsatisfying and ugly imperfect cadence. Cyrus can not help but break out into applause and a couple ‘bravos’. The Immortal Songbird has done it again. Cutlass giggles at Cyrus’ theatrics, pausing the gramophone before it can play the next track.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you had the hots for her.” Cutlass ribs, jamming a hoof into Cyrus’ bicep. Cyrus gives a dramatic, incredulous ‘harrumph’ as he shoots a side eye at Cutlass, his mind already loaded with counter-wit.

“What and you don’t?” Cyrus jabs back with a healthy dose of snark. Cutlass contemplates for a second before sounding off a resounding ‘yeah, you’re right.’ The pair share a chuckle before continuing on with the rest of the album with Cyrus hard at work.

This actually was work for him after all, the library didn’t have any Songbird’s music on paper so Cyrus had to do some aural sleuthing. The album runs its course for the third time and Cyrus puts the final touches on the music, paying great attention to Songbird’s marvelous fugue: I’m Just a Mare. Satisfied, he clips it into his shiny new ring binder alongside the rest of Songbird’s music. With a sigh of contentedness, Cyrus flops onto the bed. Cutlass gives him a nervous glance before slipping the vinyl back into its sleeve.

The whole time, Cutlass had been showing the outward appearance of cool, professional calm, but on the inside she was fluttering with anxiety. Yesterday’s stunt by Luna had really thrown her for a loop.

Having been kicked out, she had stood on guard outside, pressing her ear to the door and straining to hear anything that was being discussed inside. Unfortunately, the officer club’s muffle enchantment was done by a real professional, she couldn’t hear shit. Thankfully, the confrontation went well; Luna and Cyrus were not going to kill each other.

But Cyrus had only given some passing details about what happened between him and Luna. Cutlass had to know more. She turns to Cyrus to start a conversation, but she suddenly finds herself winded by an emotional punch aimed straight at her gut.

She had completely abandoned Cyrus yesterday.

Cutlass fights to keep her ears remaining pointed and upright. The sinking feeling starts to set in as she steals a few more glances at Cyrus, trying her hardest to read his current emotions. He had seemed fine last night before bed, but Cutlass knew that he often put on a brave face, stiffening his upper lip at adversity.

Buck I really shouldn’t have left him. Stupid, stupid Cutlass! You literally apologize for ‘following orders’ but when push comes to-

“Hey Cutlass, can I ask a question?” Cutlass’ train of thought is derailed at Cyrus’ sudden query. Her heart leaps to her chest as the war to keep her ears upright increases in intensity. Cutlass gives her blessing with a curt nod. Cyrus scrunches up his face. Cutlass knew that facial cramping is often a bad sign. It meant he was thinking about what he was going to say. After a brief and tense pause, Cyrus de-scrunches his face while slowly craning upright.

“Um. Luna. She said something last night. I think it was… Nightmare Moon? What’s that about?” Cyrus nervously asks, unsure if he was shattering some forbidden taboo. Cutlass almost let out a gasp of relief, not knowing she had been holding her breath; she was sure that a heavy and uncomfortable talk was about to occur. Nightmare Moon she could handle. Cutlass gives Cyrus a warm but sad smile.

“Yeah. Nightmare Moon, that’s a big one. It’s really hard to explain but I’ll try. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad, well not that bad at least.” Cutlass tenderly replies, trying to alleviate some of Cyrus’ worries by giving his arm a light nuzzle. She can feel him tense up a bit at the contact and her previous anxieties shoot forward in her mind. Cutlass beats them down with fact: Cyrus isn’t really used to pony affection. Cutlass gingerly sits upward, meeting Cyrus’ eyes.

“Depends who you ask, really. We Thestralians have a special relationship with Luna. My answer will be different to, say, a sol’s.” Cutlass lectures, pausing to see if Cyrus would allow her to continue. Cyrus listens intently, giving Cutlass the go ahead with a slight nod.

“Thestrals are creatures of the night. Luna is the Immortal Manifestation of night. So, we kinda got along. Even in ancient times. There are lots of stories of Luna being a hero to the Threstrals, slaying dragons for us and whatnot. She’s really important in our legends and history, but the sols had pretty much forgotten her. This may sound unrelated but it kinda is so bear with me.” Cutlass continues, bitter edge creeping into her tone.

“The Sols will tell you that Nightmare Moon was the personification of petty jealousy, that’s how the old tale goes. Nighties will tell you that it’s more complicated, Luna was bullied or rejected. Even though she tried her damned hardest to make things work. Nopony knows the truth. Either way we got the short end.” Cutlass finishes. Cyrus stares back, knitting his brow in pensive thought.

“By short end I’m assuming you mean racism?” Cyrus deduces, shooting Cutlass an empathetic look, “So what do you believe?”

Cutlass taps her chin, eyes glued to the ceiling as she tries to formulate an answer. The question was deceptively simple. Machinations complete, she draws her golden orbs once more to Cyrus.

“Some believe that Luna was our ‘god’. I’ve heard tales of Luna worship cults in days of old. But I know that she’s not all that. I believe Luna just needs our help. It’s up to us to welcome her back because everpony else had forgotten her.” Cutlass diligently answers, rocking uncomfortably on the bed. She didn’t realize how hard this would be, digging into the collective past of her race. Cyrus, sensing her discomfort, gives Cutlass a friendly nudge on the wither and a smile. Cutlass tries her hardest to return it, straining her face uncomfortably upward.

The pair sit in silent contemplation, eyes looking, but not seeing.

Forgotten her? That’s… and racism? Wonder how much she’s been-

“I’m really really sorry for leaving you alone yesterday.” Cutlass whispers above the ambiance. She glues her misted eyes on the patch of duvet in front of her, tracing the floral pattern as she allowed her emotions to bubble. She loses the ear war, they shamefully flop to her skull from their previous pointed state.

Cyrus lets out a sigh. Cutlass recoils at it. Gently she turns her head to meet Cyrus’ gaze, expecting scorn and anger. The face of someone who had put trust in her and had it broken.

Instead she sees a smile. A real warm one.

“Cutlass, relax. I know you were just following orders. Trying to blame you for that is like blaming a scorpion for stinging you after stomping on its whole family.” Cyrus jokes. Cutlass wipes her tears away as her ears shoot back up and a small smile builds on her muzzle. Cyrus is struck once again by how cute these ponies can look with their big puppy dog eyes.

“R-really? You’re not…?” Cutlass mumbles. Cyrus stands up from the bed, scattering the rubbish lying around. He had been here before and he knew that the only way to snap Cutlass out of her funk was with a ‘little bit of trolling’. With flair, he spins, putting his hands on his hips while bending forward, face almost booping Cutlass in the nose. Cyrus draws from deep within himself, mustering his best confused face.

“Dunno, should I be? Is that the correct cultural custom after your friend admits to just doing her job?” Cyrus jests. Cutlass reacts exactly how he wants. First she scampers back from the close proximity to her snout, Cyrus knew nose boops were intimate. Second she angrily opens her mouth, ready to volley a lesson about pony affection to Cyrus with all the curse words she had in her arsenal. Third, she remembers that she already told Cyrus about nose boops and her face contorts to confusion.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” Cyrus injects as much faux innocence into his tone as possible. Cutlass catches on, bursting into laughter, washing her tension away with mirth. Cutlass pounces, tackling Cyrus with a mighty hug.

“You’re a good pony, Cyrus.” Cutlass says as she relinquishes her hold. The dynamic duo share a moment of gentle smiles and tender silence. Sadly, Cyrus notices the time.

“Alright you sappy bat, I’ve got a set to play soon and I’m starving.” Cyrus moans, motioning toward his stomach. Cutlass, sensing the opportunity for revenge, narrows her eyes to slits and shoots an angry look at Cyrus. He freezes.

“What. The. Buck. Did. You. Call. Me?” Cutlass grinds each word before grunting them out, all the while continuing to give Cyrus the stink eye. He nervously shuffles, rubbing the back of his head, his face contorting into desperate apology.

“Ah, my bad. Didn’t mean to-“

Cutlass cuts him off with a guffaw, shooting out the door before Cyrus can react. Landing in the doorway, she shoots Cyrus a shit eating grin from across the ocean of bottles and other random shit she owns.

“Oh you’re dead, mate!” Cyrus shouts, grinning like a madman as he wades through the trash toward the door. Cutlass’ eyes widen as she notices one of her other cylindrical objects in Cyrus’ path, her lips part to deliver a warning. Her warning is too late.

On the floor he goes!

Cutlass’ shrieking laughter echoes all throughout the castle.

.

.

.

.

Luna’s room

Luna does a once over in the mirror, making sure that she looks as regal and presentable as always. Satisfied, she clips her chest piece on before levitating the letter Celestia had delivered to her room while she was asleep. Opening the envelope, she suppresses a snort of indignation as she reads.

《Tips on modern conversations》

1. Talk about the weather, great icebreaker!!! ‘Lovely weather we’re having’ or ‘weather team has done a fantastic job today!’

Tia, even I know that discussing weather is boring…

1. Listen and respond! (THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, LU!!!!!!). Make sure you keep engaged. Good examples are: ‘so what do you think of x?’ or ‘personally, I don’t quite like x, but I like y because of a, b, and c. What do you think?’

I am not that inept, am I? I can be blunt but…

1. DON’T use toilet crass humor until he does!!!!! And make sure to keep WITHIN BOUNDARIES. Do NOT make sex jokes!! And definitely do not start talking about your amorous olden days.

Oh for Harmony’s sake, Tia! Luna can not help but to give a hyper exaggerated eye roll at the frettings of her sister. Luna calms her annoyance, knowing that Celestia was just anxious and wanted to help.

When Luna had entered the dining room yesterday afternoon smelling once more of booze, Celestia had assumed the worst. It took a while to calm her down, with Celestia almost breaking out into tears over what she assumed was another failed attempt at friendship. Luna had to slap some sense into her sister, very literally. When Celestia had finally realized that it wasn’t completely over, she was overjoyed. Luna had to spend the rest of the dinner enduring her sister’s jabbering on what next steps she should take.

She cares for me. Luna surmises with a warm smile. Her eyes catch the postscript and she breaks out into a hearty chuckle.

P.S: I know you’ll do great Lulu! I’m rooting for you! Love you <3.

It was written in Celestia’s special cursive. Cursive that she reserved only for loved ones. And only loved ones could read it, the script was pretty damn illegible. Experience was a prerequisite for understanding Celestia’s cursive chicken scratch.

Exiting her bathroom, Luna tucks the letter away in her bedside drawer, letting out a sigh. She shoots a speedy glance at her clock.

4:12.

Celestia had calculated that it would be prudent for Luna to arrive at the officer’s club at around 4:37. This would ensure that she looked polite and interested in Cyrus’ company without looking desperate and destitute. That would leave about an hour of ‘hanging out’ (as her sister said) before she had to slip away for dinner.

Of course, Luna was confused at why showing up so late was a good thing. She had wanted to show up bang on 1 PM, exactly when Cyrus said he’d start practice. That way they’d have a full four hours of ‘chilling’ (as her sister had also said). Tiredness was of no consequence, Luna could always wash the weariness of lost sleep away with some more shots of espresso. Even if they didn’t get to talk much, she was really excited to hear the music, especially because it was so new to her.

Maybe she’d show off some of the songs of her time and they could compare notes! Luna loved singing with her friends while they journeyed across the expanses of Equus, looking for new lands to settle.

Not only that, but Luna found Cyrus’ casual attitude very refreshing. Reminded her of a comrade from ages past…

Luna starts to hum those old travel tunes, tapping her hoof on the floor to help her keep time. The clock hands moved agonizingly slowly, clicking toward the next minute, ever marching. She waits in eager anticipation.

Those old travel tunes. Her old friends……

Luna sat gazing upon her stars while they twinkle in the dark. She tried really hard this time, swirling the paintbrush of her mind amongst the sky to weave a sea of glittering beauty. Every detail was accounted for with her scrutinizing eye as she worked tirelessly to produce wonder.

“Beautiful as always, Your Eminence.” A voice calls from behind Luna. She turns to greet them, taking her eyes off the canvas of her sky. Her old friend, Javelin Brooch, stands there amongst the tall wild grass. Proudly displayed on her chest are her multi-colored, striped cloths, each one representing an act of bravery upon the battlefield. Luna gives Javelin a look of faux shock.

“Art thou making an attempt to court me? Such poor flattery shant win neither my heart nor my loins.” Luna jests, pulling a hoof to her chest piece to really sell the act. Unfortunately, Luna can’t hide the massive smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she tries to keep her snickering under control. Javelin lets out a hearty chuckle.

“Ah, perhaps a different tactic? Perhaps if I were to strike a fairer form, would that win Your Eminence over?” Javelin fires back while narrowing her eyes to a half lidded stare and puffing out her chest. She flexes the powerful muscles around her withers and barrel, making her shimmer under the moonlight. Luna fans her face with her wings in a show of being flustered before craning her head around in a sweeping swoon, bringing her hoof to her forehead.

“Thou hast truly won thy Princess over with thine handsomeness. Now come! Make love to me under the- BAHAHAHA *snort*” Luna’s lusty speech is cut short when she spots Javelin making exaggerated ‘sexy’ licks of her muzzle. Unable to contain her mirth any longer, she lets it explode into the air in short, snorting bursts. Javelin joins her in their amusement as the pair ruin themselves with uncontrollable glee.

Javelin, still giggling like mad, trots up while levitating a bottle of rum and two glasses out of her saddlebags before sitting next to Luna. Javelin does the honors, pouring the amber liquid into the squat glasses and offering one to Luna. They swap mana holds, gently crossing minds slightly in a show of friendly affection.

The drinks flow as easily as their animated dialogue under the blanket of Luna’s cool night. Eventually, as it usually did, their conversation transitions toward tender singing, with Javelin playing the lute and Luna providing the vocals.

Her chivalry bloomed under cold winter day,

As the pauper sought shelter from the snow.

And the knight did decree, ‘that her bread to share with thee’,

The pauper did thank great kindness……

And long after season did change and flow,

Did the knight find herself under wicked trickery.

The knight was to hang for a crime she did not commit,

But the pauper did come to plead…

Luna cuts the song short as the joyful memory fades from her mind, evidence of a smile still on her face.

It would not last for long.

Crushing anxiety lurches from the depths, leaping to the forefront of Luna’s mind. The thoughts start racing, of all the things that could go wrong. Maybe she’d be too forward? Maybe she’d be too scary. Maybe she’d say something wrong, make a social faux pas. She didn’t know much about modern social interactions anyway.

And he is not a pony. What if I do something that insults his culture? Something… weird? What if I say the wrong things? Make him not want to speak to me again…

The what-ifs claw at Luna’s mind with their jagged talons, each swipe planting a horrendous thought. They fester, rotting hope, robbing joy, embracing her in coldness. One by one they link up, feeding their true overlord.

Fear.

The raw, evil, and primal fear that came and went in Luna’s mind for as long as she could remember.

I do not deserve this.

It sits, the cruel black Obelisk in the forefront of Luna’s mind, casting its inky gloom across her mindscape. Joy, Hope, Happiness, and Love fade away from its corrupt glory, slinking in the barren backstreets, never to come back again. Luna’s breathing accelerates and her eyes screw shut as sad memories prowl in her mindscape, spurred on by that tall and looming Obelisk of dismay……

“THOU ART THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR HER DEATH!”

The scalding, tearful accusation of Javelin’s son. Luna stands shocked still at the display of pure vitriol……

“I do believe, if the court would listen to my humble request, that the winter moon celebration is not a wise expenditure of the crown budget. Travel during winter is quite difficult and providing food and festivity is nearly impossible with the climate. Instead, the court should pool our efforts into the summer sun celebration…”

The noblepony drones on and on with her carefully crafted speech. The court offers no word of support for Luna’s festival, or a word of protest at the noblepony’s proposal……

No.

“She’s dangerous, you know.”

No!

“Quick, quick! Do not linger too long!”

NO!

Luna definitely strikes forward, hoof making contact with that intimidating Obelisk. It offers heavy resistance, unwilling to move from its position, a position that it had held for the past three months. Screaming with all her might, Luna digs her hind legs further into the ground beneath her, pushing with all her might.

I do deserve this!

The Obelisk starts to crack against her sheer, cold determination, unrooting from its place slowly but surely. Sensing it was losing, the Obelisk redoubles its efforts, sending its monstrous anxiety army straight at Luna. The swarm sink their claws into whatever space they can find and begin to screech, trying to scare Luna’s determination away.

I shalt not budge.

Luna violently shakes her body, flinging the anxieties to the ground. Deftly, she stomps on them with renewed strength, crushing each one as they try to regain hoofing. Letting lose a mighty war cry, she brings her other forehoof into the fray, smashing against the obelisk with all her might. The Obelisk groans as it is pushed backward, cracking and flaking under the might of Luna’s vigor. Luna spreads her wings, gusting into the air like an arrow, aimed straight at the center of the Obelisk. The anxiety army leaps into action, biting her wings and dragging her down. They latch on to her primaries, trying to rip them from her wings, to break them so she could never resist again. Luna grits her teeth through the pain, holding on against the gnashing and pulling. Rocketing her forehoves outward, she smashes into the Obelisk, finally shattering it and breaking its onerous shadow.

Luna lands, much worse for wear. Her eyes scour the battlefield, gazing on the black bits of Obelisk lying smoking on the ground. It hisses as it slowly melts into the ground, creeping back to the alleys of Luna’s mind. She staggers, unable to support herself anymore, falling to the ground. Tears begin to flow.

Luna had won, but she does not feel victory, only the empty scars that lay on her body and mindscape. Dull aching pain of battle throb with every heartbeat. How badly does she want to scream, to tear at the walls and rip everything down.

I can’t fight anymore… I’m so tired… I…

A gentle birdsong.

The flapping of a dove’s wings, it perches light as a feather.

Hope.

I can do this.

Luna finally flutters her eyes open, the room comes into view. Luna exhales slowly, feeling the weight of her exhaustion upon her. Steeling herself, she looks at the clock once more.

4:25.

It was time to go. Equal parts excited, determined, and afraid, Luna channels her teleportation spell, her mind reaching across the veil of space, ripping forward and into reality. She steps proudly into garden #3, startling the wildlife in the process. Marching right past the rainbow lilies and mauve magnolias, she shoots a point turn straight left with a single destination formed in her mind. The tiredness begins to slip away as her steps echo in the halls, excitement building at the prospect of discovering more new music.

And of course, that bird, Hope, chirping its tune into Luna’s spirit. Daring her to believe once more.

Luna can already hear the music filtering down the hall as she jogs. The music starts and stops over and over, each repetition the same in melody and harmony, yet tuned slightly differently. One time it would be romantic, notes slurring into a steamy texture of love. Another time it would be pointed and frustrated, clear notes banging against the air. Luna is put into a trance once more, ears straining to take in each minute difference between the versions of Cyrus’ playing.

I must take lessons! This is truly wonderful! Luna happily imagines herself at the seat, her hooves gliding on the keys, producing beauty. Songs would flow and she’d make wonderful music with her friends once more. The odd tunes were not intimidating, rather exciting.

A whole new world to discover. Luna thinks, almost bounding down the hallway toward the door that would lead her into the new world of music. Her mind races with questions.

How do you make it sound so different every time? How are you able to accent the melody when there is so much going on? How are you even able to play all those notes at the same time? How are you able to play without looking? Can you sing? Can you play while I sing? What is this instrument called? How does it work? On and on Luna’s questions ramble in her mind, feeding her excitement, growing it to almost uncontrollable levels. Joy and Happiness make their way from the destitute backstreets, prancing into her mindscape as Luna’s imagination takes over.

It finally comes into view. Unassuming, brown, the crest of the guard sits on both its double doors. With all the patience of a schoolfilly, Luna rockets her hoof to the door handle, it makes contact.

The anxieties push back.

She’s frozen.

The black Obelisk’s base still sits in the middle of her mind. It is not as powerful as before, but it’s still there. Its jagged shape spreads across, pricking the hooves of Joy and Happiness as they try and dance. Every bit of pain Joy and Happiness feel causes the Obelisk to grow once more, feeding on their growing weakness. Soon the foul Obelisk shall return and cast its gloomy shadow once-

Tia believes in me.

Hope sings its tune deep into Luna’s soul. Joy and Happiness grit their teeth in determination, jumping, leaping, and waltzing in spite of the pain. They fight to stay afloat in Luna’s mind, urging her to keep going, to give it another shot. The army of anxiety watches her every move from the back of her mind. She puts on a brave face, knowing a single point of falter would spell doom. Luna parts the doors open and enters.

Cyrus is sitting at the piano, his pencil darting on the paper as he works, completely engrossed in whatever section of music he was revising. He shoots his hand out to mute the clacking of the metronome, choosing not to turn his head to whatever was going on in the room. Cutlass notices Luna’s entrance first from her perch at the bar. She sets her drink down and turns, this time expecting the arrival. Cutlass bows, drooping her wings to the floor in submission, uttering a reverent: “Your Highness.”

Cyrus, upon hearing those words, glaces up from his sheet music to meet Luna’s form. Luna gives Cutlass a curt ‘at ease’, allowing the batmare to remove her forehead and wings from the ground. Luna then turns to Cyrus, her uncertainty made bare by a nervous smile plastered on her face. Cyrus can practically taste the tension.

She showed up. Okay Cyrus, let’s give her another chance. Remember what Cutlass said. Cyrus reminds himself as past memories try to activate his animal side. The silence persists for a few seconds with Cutlass anxiously flicking her eyes to and from both parties. Cyrus arms his wit, his trusty weapon against the ugly face of awkwardness.

“Right, yeah, sorry I’m not bowing. My heart belongs only to my reverent King Charles the third.” Cyrus’ joke exits his mouth…

And falls completely flat on its face, arse, and other uncomfortable positions. Luna’s nervous smile turns upside down into a frown, ears slowly drooping toward the sides of her face. Cyrus’ stomach twists itself into a cringe-knot. Cutlass facehooves. Well she would have if she wasn’t absolutely terrified of what Luna was about to do at this brazen show of complete disrespect and disregard.

SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHO KING CHUCKY IS YOU FUCKING BELLEND. Cyrus berates himself internally as he lets out an awkward cough. Unscrewing his vocal chords, he kicks into salvage mode.

“Ah right sorry you don’t know who Charles is. Um… he’s the king where I’m from… uhh… but like he has no power? Also nobody likes him and everyone thinks he killed his first wife who everybody did like… yeah was making a joke. Sorry.” Cyrus blurts out, cheeks darkening with shame. Luna’s face enters a journey, confusion, contemplation, then a forced smile and a nervous chuckle. Her ears remain folded, however.

“Ah. Tis no issue. There is no need to bow to me.” Luna replies, shuffling on her hooves like she had an unpleasant itch to scratch. Luna and Cyrus both decide unanimously that the spot on the ground near their hooves/feet is perhaps the most fascinating thing in the universe, locking their eyes on it with great intensity. Cutlass’ eye twitches, her face darkening feeling the residual cringe of Luna and Cyrus’ interaction. She knows she has to rescue the situation.

“Cl*AHEM*air de*COUGH* Lu*HACK*ne” Cutlass hides her message amongst coughs, hacks, and wheezes. Cyrus’ face scrunches up a bit in thought before he deciphers the message, hand snaking into his knapsack to pull out the book he had borrowed before starting his daily piano practice.

“So… uhhh… last time you mentioned that you had never really heard much ‘new’ music before. And Cutlass told me some… stuff…” Cyrus’ tone dances nervously around Luna’s feelings, “So I thought I’d play you something. It’s called Clair de Lune. Moonlight in Fren- Prench. Thought you’d like it.”

Luna’s ears slowly moved upward during Cyrus’ babbling speech, returning back to mast at the mention of ‘Moonlight’. Her eyes sparkle with curiosity, songs of her time never had things of her night as the subject.

He… found a piece of music for me? Luna thinks to herself, the bird of Hope singing louder and louder in her chest. Luna cracks loose a smile, before replying: “Wondrous! I thank thee. I am excited to hear this piece.”

Previous trepidation melts away, thanks to the efforts of the brave Cutlass ‘The Hammer’ Stellabright. Luna and Cyrus offer an inward thanking at her timely intervention, both happy that the awkwardness has been banished. Cutlass clears her throat, drawing attention to her.

“Well, I think I’d better take my leave then. I’ll leave the two of you to it.” Cutlass states, flashing Cyrus a confident wink and Luna respectful salute before exiting the room, gingerly closing the door behind her. Cyrus mounts the book upon the music stand as Luna strides forward, picking a seat as close to Cyrus as possible. There she waits in eager anticipation, mind trying to predict what was to come as Cyrus runs a few phantom practices, marking a few troublesome sections of the music with light pencil strokes so as not to vandalize the book.

Preparations complete, Cyrus straightens his seat, looking to Luna for permission. With an enthusiastic nod of consent from the Lunar Princess, Cyrus starts off, drawing his eyes once more to the music.

Easy, slow. Make it romantic. Yung Claude Debussy was an impressionist, he loves mood… Cyrus reminds himself as he plays the opening phrases of the music, being sure to linger on the ends of each chord, dragging it for as long as tempo would allow. As each musical phrase comes forward, he changes the tempo slightly, altering the emotion, pausing in the notes that connect chord to chord to create a sense of mystery.

Luna listens along intently, her ears gripping onto every note, envisioning a valley under gentle moonlight in her mind’s eye. The river that runs through reflects the glow of her moon and stars, making anew her painting of the sky in the ripples and currents of the water.

Make it quiet Cyruuuussssss, dont fuck up the next sectionnnnnn. You’ve already made some mistakes… Cyrus chastises as the music begins to build, faster and louder chords pounding out a sense of urgency as the same theme is repeated with chordal development.

Luna leans forward and closes her eyes as the scene in her mind changes. More urgent, more fun, more activity, her friends are taking a midnight swim. Frolicking when she was young with her sister, playing hide and seek among the wheat.

All the while, Cyrus is shooting short glances toward the happily swaying Luna, trying to gauge her next moves. What he sees makes his heart melt a little; Luna had the biggest smile of pure nostalgia on her face, the sparkles of her mane glowing brighter as the merry memories made their rounds in her mind.

Not murderous at all… She’s really enjoying it! Cyrus inwardly concludes, happy that his playing was being appreciated. He returns attention back to the music, not wanting to play any dreadful devil's tritones that would surely snap Luna out of her magnificent mood.

The music reaches climax, glissando chords bringing the tone back to calm, accelerating toward a possible resolution. Cyrus, using his hours of musical experience, is able to trick Luna into thinking the piece is ending, slowing each arpeggiated chord until it is painful. Then, slowly, the theme repeats itself once more, but the baseline has changed. Ascending notes ring forward like a harp, Cyrus speeds up the playing pouring as much emotion as he can into his playing, accenting the tops and bottoms of the left hand arpeggios to create tension as the right hand belts out the melody once more.

Luna is now floating in a sea of sound, staring upwards into the beauty of nature as she gently drifts down the river. That special valley, she had watched it grow and change over millennia. The seasons fly by, death, life, and death again. The sprouting flowers, the falling leaves, all the beauty of struggle make themselves known in Luna’s beautiful trance.

The intensity draws to a close and the theme repeats itself once more, shambling toward resolution. While the theme remains the same, the supporting chords have morphed into arpeggios and changed their structure. The difference is clear, yet the spirit remains. In Luna’s special valley, time has clearly passed, it is now populated by buildings and bustling life. All under the gentle glow of her timeless moon. Slowly, Luna reintroduces herself to the room, cracking her eyelids open.

Cyrus draws it to a close and takes his hands off the piano. Luna pounds her hoof on the floor in awestruck approval. Cyrus, ever the professional, stands from the piano with a sly grin and takes a looping bow.

“Ah! Thank you!~ Thank you!~ My adoring fans!~” Cyrus embellishes, blowing kisses to his imaginary audience, earning pearls of laughter from Luna. Swept up by the revelry, Luna offers her own excessive praise in the form of a firework spell, letting flashes of color dance through the room. Cyrus pauses his egotistical display to look on in amazement at the lights flittering from Luna’s horn. He himself claps at the display, a look of clear bedazzlement on his face.

“That’s amazing, how did you do that? Ah, don't say, magic innit?” Cyrus praises, grin on his face. Luna blushes at the lauding, running a bashful hoof through her mane.

“Tis a simple spell,” Luna fiddles a bit with the ground before hesitantly adding, “thy playing is the impressive feat of magic here.”

Now it’s Cyrus’ turn to be under the scrutiny of praise. In expected motion, his hand finds itself at the back of his head and sheepishness invades his face. He lets out a chuckle, sitting back down on the piano stool.

“Thanks, I do practice a lot.” He responds, taking the music off the stand and back into his half-saddlebag. Luna steps up eagerly next to the piano, peering into the cabinet of the instrument with childlike wonder. Cyrus snickers to himself, Luna’s actions reminding him how amazed he was when he first got to see the inner workings himself. He presses a key, demonstrating the tandem interactions of the piano’s action. Luna is startled at the sudden sound at first, but her face quickly turns to amazement as she spies the deft strike of the hammer followed by the muting weight of the damper.

“Basically, when I press the key, the hammer comes up and strikes the string which makes a vibration. When I let go, the damper comes down and mutes it. If I press this pedal on the right, the damper won't come down, making it so the string never mutes till I let go. The piece I just played abuses the middle pedal a bit, which is the Sostenuto pedal. Bit of a tricky one. It lets me choose which notes I want to sustain, then makes the rest normal. The one on the left is the quiet pedal. It locks the damper in place.” Cyrus explains to a wide-eyed Luna. She buries her head deeper into the cabinet, trying to peer at the mechanism that the levers control, bumping her horn against the strings and letting out a gentle hum at the contact.

Cyrus can't help but let out a hearty laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of Princess Luna, with all her formal regalia on, shoving her muzzle as far into the piano as it can go. Hearing the laughter, Luna is jolted back from her curious foray into the depths of musical engineering. The coat of her cheeks darkens to purple.

“*ahem* A remarkable piece of ingenuity. Much has developed since I’ve been gone…” Luna salvages, trying to remain as dignified as she could. Cyrus offers a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, I was like that too at one point. Although if you have any questions, ask away.” Cyrus offers, trying to help Luna come down a shade or two.

“Yes, I do! Are the strings pluckable? Why are the hammers covered in fur? If it’s not your hoof touching the string, how do you make it sound loud or quiet?” Luna rapidly questions, giddy excitement replacing previous trepidation, her eyes sparkle with expectation as old feelings of discovery reawaken.

“Uh… first question, yes, but if done wrong it can damage the piano. Second, related to the first, less damage on the strings. Third question? Well, the short answer is practice, long answer is I press the key gently or roughly to make the hammer move slower or faster.” Cyrus lists off to Luna as she strides to the side of Cyrus, looking intently at the keyboard.

“And the black… things, why do they sit above the white ones?” Luna continues her interrogation. Ever the studious teacher, Cyrus straightens himself up, organizing the various bits of music theory required to answer Luna in his mind.

“That’s a bit of a tough one. The black keys are sharps and flats… are you familiar with that?” Cyrus lectures to a feverishly nodding Luna.

“Yes, I am familiar. Semitonal changes of the quote-unquote eight notes of the octave, am I correct?” Luna answers, looking to Cyrus for approval. Impressed, Cyrus quirks a surprised eyebrow.

“Huh, you’re familiar with music theory?” Cyrus asks with an impressed tone. Luna puffs out her chest and flutters her wings a little bit.

“I shalt have thee know that I often partook in singing in the days of my youth. An often forgotten fact…” Luna brags, but her tone drops into a low grunt of disdain at the last sentence. Cyrus nods in a show of respect, his own curiosity peaking at the prospect of being able to listen to ancient music from a primary source.

“Singing? You mind singing something, I’m curious as to what Equestrian music was like a thousand years ago.” Cyrus queries. Luna straightens out a bit in embarrassment, eyes darting away. Cyrus picks up on it, cursing his rudeness.

“Ah sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. It’s okay-”

“No, I would like to” Luna interrupts Cyrus, having found a semblance of courage within herself. Clearing her throat and taking a few steps back, she prepares one of her favorites. After a few slightly wobbly breaths, she begins.

She sat upon the ivory throne,

Drinking burgundy wine,

“O where will I find a sailor

To sail this ship of mine.”

Luna’s ballad begins, she slowly sets the scene, her clear voice filling the room with the cadence of a sea shanty. The rhythm isn’t too complicated, but it is interesting enough, but the singing is really what sets Luna apart. On key, yes, but more impressive for Cyrus is the sheer vocal range that Luna possessed. Not a single note was strained or reached for, no sliding or slipping between leaping octaves.

The court remained unimpressed

For this kingdom had no need for ships

The advisor spake: “My lady, seek reason!

We are locked by land, believe my lips!”

Luna increases tempo, kicking into the meaty part of the song. On she sung about the advisor’s tirade with the incompetent Queen, altering her voice masterfully to convey the tone of the story she told. Getting into it, she starts kicking her forelegs and hindlegs in rhythm of a traditional Equestrian jig. The advisor and the Queen go back and forth with the Queen insisting that they needed ships to cross the legendary ‘golden sea’.

It was a desert.

Eventually the Queen got incredibly fed up and had the advisor's head cut off.

Gory, gory, gory! What a horrible way to die!

Luna accents the finish with a few stomps of her hooves while Cyrus showers her with applause. Luna lets out a series of giggles, covering her mouth with her hoof to mute the unprincess-like sounds coming from her mouth.

“Huzzah! It has been an age since I’ve last performed that!” Luna cheers, happy that she finally got to share some of the tunes of her past with someone else. Cyrus puts the fallboard over the keyboard and pulls out some leftover blank sheet music, setting it down on the new flat surface. He starts to scribble, earning the confusion of Luna. She sidles up to Cyrus, peeking over his shoulder.

“Pray tell, what are thee…?” Luna trails off as she notices the symbols appearing on the staff. Cyrus glances up, midway through adding a few naturals to some of the notes.

“Figured this might be some ancient treasure you just dropped on me. Can’t hurt to transcribe it. Although, my aural isn’t really that amazing so I might need you to sing some parts again?” Cyrus requests, returning his attention and focus back to remembering the tune Luna had just sung, removing the fallboard every so often to work out a section using the piano. Luna is completely taken aback, this was the first time anycreature other than her sister had taken even a droplet of interest in the times of her past. She lets out a giddy grin.

“Absolutely, my friend! I await your call.”

Perhaps too eager. She freezes.

TOO SOON! Luna’s mind frantically bashes, cheeks coloring lavender at the zealous mention of possible friendship. Cyrus pauses, the overexcited statement from Luna jarring into his head. Slowly, he turns to look at Luna, face not betraying what was going on behind the scenes. She gulps.

Very audibly.

“Um… uhhh…” Cyrus mumbles, filling the air with uncertain filler words. They cut Luna like tiny jagged shards of glass, reminding her of her frenzied mistake. Dejection and despair start to fill Luna.

Until.

“You know, you gotta stop doing that ear thing, it’s really unfair,” Cyrus whines, rolling his eyes in indignation, “you lot are too cute. Unfair,” Cyrus shakes his head in defeat. Crossing his arms, he sighs before continuing, “Friends? I dunno…”

Luna awaits her judgment, keenly eyeing Cyrus, trying to pry into the warring emotions happening behind his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cyrus lets out a cutting tisk.

“Part of me says you’re still out to get me,” Cyrus raises his hands defensively at his statement while Luna’s face cringes at the mention of her past ills, “just telling the truth.”

Luna wrenches her eyes to the floor in shame. Of course she had to mess it up. Why didn’t she listen to Tia? Silly, silly Luna.

Tia said: ‘don’t act too soon, wait, be patient.’ Stupid me! How could I-

“But a part of me also says that you’re trying... So fuck- buck it! Why not?” Luna’s eyes shoot back up to Cyrus’ face, the corner of his lip adored with a slight upturn. Daring, silent hope returns to Luna’s body. Cyrus’ sticks out his fist. Luna bumps it.

The deal is sealed.

Smiles return and Cyrus gets back to work.

“Can you repeat the ‘My Queen, the sand-sea is not of water’ section please?”

The pair work for the next half an hour, surprisingly, like a well oiled machine. Luna’s singing was always perfectly on key, never faltering, making it easy for Cyrus to reliably transcribe the music without confusion. The respect and reverence of each member’s skill grew with each passing note and scribble. Cyrus, taken aback by the sheer range of Luna’s voice. Luna, by the accuracy and creativity of Cyrus as he put down a few accompanying chords to her melody.

All things considered, the pair are jamming.

With a dramatic flick, Cyrus marks the appropriate tempo on the piece, finishing the pair's hard work. With a soft *click* the new addition is added to Cyrus’ growing music binder with reverence. Luna stood proudly, happy at what she had accomplished.

Not just the transcription of one of her favorite shanties, but at the inroads she had made in friendship. Her heart glimmers warmly, Hope happily chittering its delightful birdsong.

She only had one final thing to ask.

“Cyrus, friend. If it would not be too much trouble. Perhaps thou could teach me to play?” Luna humbly requests. Cyrus quirks an eye, mind reaching back to the countless lazy students he had the displeasure of trying to beat a sense of musicality into. He wants to say no, given that having money to eat wasn’t really a concern anymore.

But Luna seemed so excited, nervous, and willing, practically shaking at the prospect of unlocking the secrets of the piano.

Reminded Cyrus of himself. He stands up from the piano and drags a nearby chair over.

“Yeah. Sure, why not. C’mon, sit, let's start with C major.”

Luna practically leaps onto the piano stool.

“But you gotta explain how the hell your hooves are able to press the keys… Ah! Magic innit. I should just keep my mouth shut from now on… Okay so this is middle C, you start here, then you play all the white ones until you complete the octave…”

Luna can’t stop smiling.

.

.

.

.

Far from Canterlot, deep within the twin peaks…

She creeps silently among the shrubbery so as not to alert the wildlife of her presence. The uneven and sharp stones dig into her frogs yet she does not utter a syllable of pain or complaint. She knew well that in her homeland, the hunter can easily become the hunted. Leaving was not an option, these lands were sacred to her and her flock.

She swaddled her cloak closer to her barrel. It was the only protection she had if she was spotted. The journey was long, she was tired and her body ached. Her sanguine eyes scan the landscape for the minuscule landmarks, landmarks that would lead her home. She sniffs the air deeply for signs of struggle.

She spots the rock. It is slightly discolored. Vilviet, a shade lighter than Valret. Closing her eyes for focus, she launches probing clicks into the night air. Satisfied at the echoes, she slithers to the rock at light speed, unable to contain the ecstatic happiness radiating from her body.

The news she had to deliver to her cloud was the most joyous. She approaches the unassuming cave entrance, sweeping her right forehoof across the arid dirt before planting it. Next comes the gentle step of her hindlegs, she brings them close to her forehooves so that her back becomes arched. Then, leaping and bounding from rock to rock like a madmare possessed by the spirit of an angry dancer, she hops seemingly aimlessly among the shrubbery. She performs with fervor, knowing her lovers are eagerly watching.

She was Galor Viv! Red eyes! The chosen, who marched with Her Eminence across Equestria, freeing their brothers and sisters in times of old. How proud she was to be Galor Viv! To be Noctra Za’lav, chosen by night. This dance symbolized her dedication, her knowledge, and her devotion.

She hears the clicks she’s been waiting for: “Come, sister. Enter.”

Giddy with glee, she scurries into the cave entrance. Her lovers greet her with warm smiles, lips already pierced with their sharp pearly fangs. Delicious beads of blood formed on the surface of their lips, ready to be consumed. She bows to her herd, head touching the floor. The stallion steps up, clicking: “Welcome home, Lakla.”

Removing her forehead from the ground, Lakla steps up to meet her lover’s lips with her own. Her lips trace the blood her lover has so generously offered, relishing the flavor, picking out the recent meals her lover has had like a sommelier with fruits in wine.

Repeating, Lakla gives each of her herd a gentle kiss. First mare, third mare, and housemare all share their sacred life fuel with Lakla.

“And She declared: ‘All creatures who think must not eat others. Life-liquid is taken only in love.’ Holy are Stars and Night.” Lakla clicks in reverence. Her lovers bow to the ancient scripture. They embrace. Lakla practically melts into them, having yearned for their loving touch ever since she began her journey.

Unable to contain herself, Lakla breaks into her sacred native tongue: “Arvilas! Darvius, Lilet, Krivis, et Serval. Es dalv’tel holm slet trum golt.”

Formal greetings! Darvius, Lilet, Krivis, and Serval. I have returned home early with happy tidings.

Her lovers listen on. The stallion, Darvius, motions with his wings for her to continue. Vibrating, she steps up proudly, spreading her leathery wings in a display of passion. She was about to deliver the news she had giddily carried for a month and a half, across the burning sands and jagged rocks. Through the woods and towns that shunned them.

“Noctra Havarax! Trasalin! Sil est galor!”

Her Eminence, The Night Stalker! Returned! I saw it with my own eyes!

Lakla’s speech sends shockwaves through the room. Her lover’s lips quiver as they stare in disbelief, hopes of the past rising in their chests. First mare, Lilet, steps forward, her red eyes misty with tears, shivering with reverent fear and excitement.

“Non solat?”

Not a lie?

Frantically, Lakla shakes her head to dispel Lilet’s worry. Lilet’s fear turns into joy. The herd follows suit.

Madly they fly, scamper, and disperse, screaming good news throughout the caves, shouting the holy phrase. The phrase they had been taught as children, indoctrinated into believing that it was the goal of existence. To see Her return. To serve once more.

The twin peaks, for the first time in many, many years, scream once more.

Noctra Havarax! She has returned!

Author's Note

HELLO AGAIN.

You know, writing this I was all like: 'Yeah! I'm going to make my own songs.'

And then I realized that I actually can't compose anything that isn't akin to dog feces. Unlucky.

Songbird's fugue is inspired by Well Tempered Clavier book 1, No:4, Fugue section by J.S. Bach. One of the more depressing fugues written. I think it conveys heartbreak/despair very well.

Luna's songs of old are meant to be sea shanties/monophonic chants.

Of course, I had to use Clair de Lune at some point in this story. Wouldn't be a proper Luna & music centric fic if it wasn't included.

ANYWAY LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU LOT THOUGHT PLEASE AND AS ALWAYS THANKS FOR READING!