我虽求而不得 [No matter how I beg, I'll never have it]
It lay on her finely finished oak desk, staring back, utterly ignorant of her emblazoned status.
How disrespectful.
A gaudy red envelope lay on top of the offensive package. Etched rose bushes decorated the perimeter of the envelope, the signature of the current Empress of Griffonia. The objective was clear, this was a gift for the sole monarch of Equestria, no doubt snuck into her room after their terse negotiation.
Celestia reaches out her mana, whisking the envelope to her face and pulling out the letter hidden inside in one thoroughly bored motion. Her ears flick to the open window, locking onto the sound of nature babbling in, picking out the whistling eveningsong of the various birds that called the castle ground home. Her eyes trace the papers strewn across her desk, summer breeze floating in and rousing their fighting spirit. They battle her paperweights for freedom, but it is in vain.
Vigorous struggle, against a hefty weight placed by an external origin.
The irony is certainly not lost.
The brazen itch to spread her wings and soar fill the monarch’s mind, her gaze shifting outward and inadvertently tracing the beauty outside her elegantly decorated prison. Her sun was already on its way, thanks to her guidance, gently meandering toward the horizon.
Celestia always loved to fly during the setting of her sun. Diving through the purpling, yellowing, and oranging clouds. Hearing the laughter of-
… Do. Not.
Alas, she was locked in. Bringing her focus back from her mini-daydream, she scans the bright blue ink set upon the letter with extreme indifference.
Dearest Princess Celestia,
Formal greetings to Thee, Celestia, monarch of the great nation of-
Celestia’s eyes almost find themselves in the back of her head with the vigor she had rolled them. There were about three vile sentences of prattling glaze. Enough sweetness to make her vomit.
Celestia. Vomit from sweetness. A truly sisyphean task, yet accomplished so well. Such is the way of diplomacy in this brave new age.
-I would like to thank thee, firstly, for thy grace in allowing us audience to discuss the reopening of our trade routes. Truly, I believe the negotiations underwent under Thy Grace will prove to be greatly beneficial to both-
Rancid… how does she do it?
-Secondly, the package that I have gifted to Thy Grace. A recent invention, from our lands to Thine. It is called a ‘cigarette’. Thou may have heard of our penchant for the burning of a certain type of leaf during our festivals. This is a condensed version - it does wonders for my stress! Perhaps Thy Grace can enjoy the effects of it as well.
Best,
Empress Charlotte IV
Did she just…
The insecurities immediately sneak forward, crawling on her skin, breaking out in poorly hidden shivers and bristling her fur. The first reaction was anger, but Celestia is too practiced for that.
More than two hundred years of statecraft.
The second reaction was panic. For how could she have given away so much!? She was a master of her body, and it was her temple. Each muscle responded to her every whim with no hesitation or complaint. Her face could twist and wind to display any emotion, regardless of the authenticity. She was the pinnacle of image.
She was Equestria.
How did she know? Was it that obvious? That every single waking moment of-
… No. Do. Not.
Breathe. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Celestia’s mind traces her inaudible breath. The panic is ushered out, hastily rushed into the filthy, cobwebbed basement of Celestia’s mind palace. A sordid and quick affair.
The other boxes rattle with rage.
Best not to linger. She slips out unscathed, another practiced maneuver from the Sun Goddess.
The third emotion does not exist. It is of cold calculation, plain and pure. Celestia’s chessboard has been disrupted by that unexpected move, her position possibly compromised by the brazen jab left by Empress Charlotte IV. Prying at her insecurities, she knew what she was doing.
What are my pathings?
She noticed = she made a jab.
No. Illogical.
Why: That information, confirmed with her eyes, is too valuable for her to waste on a silly jabbing letter. Tarnishment of my image is gold in this day and age. She could have done better than a silly, private letter.
She didn’t notice = she made a blind strike.
Yes. Logical.
Why: She’s a bucking shit-stirrer. Rose to power through her military mommy. Immature, evidenced by her negotiation. All bark, no bite, she never would have actually cut off mineral exports. It’s all they have…
If Charlotte wanted to play nasty, Celestia could always reciprocate. Her eyes and ears reached far beyond the confines of her consciousness.
Perhaps I shall get in contact with agent 007…
An errant whimsy, 007 was too busy with his other tasks anyway.
Celestia discards the letter with graceful vexation, dominating the letter with her blonde magic glow into a shape more suited to her opinion of Empress Charlotte. A crumpled mess, covered by the pencil shavings it disrupted on the way into the bin, right next to the steadily decaying banana peel and apple core.
Crisis averted.
It was the third of the day, evidenced by the snaking feeling of exhaustion seeping into the monarch’s bones. The rabid desire to consume sugar smashes free of its chains, running rampant in Celestia’s mind with its desperate plea.
Muttering to herself, Celestia flops a hoof onto the handle of her emergency snack drawer, ripping the compartment out with untamed force. Face lit with hopeful glee, she peers inward, hoping for sugary deliverance from her miserable musings.
She suppresses a scream of abject horror.
Destitute. In the drawer lies only the crumbs of what used to be a lemon drizzle cake, the rest no doubt bubbling into nothingness in her stomach. The preservative matrix’s soft green glow dances upward, tauntingly circling Celestia’s nose. She snaps her jaws at it with a grunt, childishness zipping through the guard of her prefrontal cortex. Ordinarily, she’d order more, she was the princess after all.
Sadly, being the benevolent ruler she was, she had gifted them all the night off for their hard work providing dinner during the negotiations.
The rattling from the basement of Celestia’s mind palace grows in volume.
… Shit.
Immediately, she strides into the bathroom, ripping the soft and squishy makeup removal cloth from its dutiful place next to her toothbrush. Her carefully constructed painting of cosmetics are ripped away like the layers of an onion, each swipe getting closer and closer to her core. Dimming her magic, Celestia’s mane stops its cloud-esqe flow, flopping to the ground in obedience to gravity once more. Glancing again, Celestia sees herself in her natural state. No eyeliner, no mascara, no powder to the cheeks.
She really was the pinnacle of beauty, even without the heavy-hooved accents of makeup.
But Celestia sees only imperfections.
Her coat isn’t even.
Reluctantly, she summons her nightly torture device.
The fine toothed ivory comb, the tool that brought her perfection with the caveat of pure agony, makes its way through her fur. She winces in pain as it rips across her skin.
The rattling remains.
What is it? I DON’T falter to such… low and base insults! Celestia self-admonishes, her lips curled in a snarl at the mare staring back at her, I’ll show her ‘stressed out’... I’ll freeze every single BUCKING agricultural export we ship to Griffonia.
“BASTARD!”
The last of Celestia’s thoughts were so violent they broke into reality, expelled into the air in an angry shout. Her eyes dart to the red splotch growing on her chest fluff, pooling around her torture-comb and staining her pristine coat. In her tantrum, she did not notice the pain.
Her lip was-
… KEEP. QUIET!
-NOT quivering.
Golden aura covers the wound, winding out the offending sanguine stain in a stream aimed at the sink. Celestia blasts the last of the blood into the sewage using the tap. Growling in frustration, her hoof finds her face.
Just what is it?!
She knew. Deep down. The truth-
Don’tgotheredon’tgotheredon’tgothere.
Warning bells in her brain, they overshadow the eerie clanging from below. She strides back into her lavish room, kicking her golden regalia off in exchange for her cloud-slippers. Her tired hooves practically melt into the marshmallow-like texture. Autopilot guides her toward the kitchenette. If there was no baked goods, there would damn well be tea.
Some foolish force causes her to glance at her calendar. Her conscious mind clocks the date.
The sickness in her stomach explodes, the slithering subconscious thoughts she had been having all day confirmed.
Celestia’s limbs refuse to respond. The foundations of her temple crumbling, aided by the terrorizing, furious rattling of all the locked away boxes in her basement of-
… N-no. P-please…
The corner of her eye catches the package. It still exists, despite its clear cut, sneering message. Against the Sun Goddess' better judgment, it is brought before her judging magenta eyes.
I’ve heard of tobacco… isn’t it supposed to be chewed?
Celestia eyes the pictographic instruction manual with heavy suspicion. Contrary to previous literature, this version of tobacco is supposed to be lit on fire. And then sucked.
Sucked? The princess of Equestria, sucking on a rounded object that is meant to go into her mouth… If [NONONONONONONONONONO] could see me, she’d-
She unfolds the top of the rectangular box backwards. Hundreds of white cylinders with orange stripes at the left end await her.
… Might as well…
Curiosity wins, she slips one into her maw, orange bit first as displayed on the picture. Her horn ignites, sending a clear command to the tip opposite her mouth. It flickers in a wave of orange before calming down to red cinders, angrily glowing and browning the paper nearby. Celestia scans the manual again, trying to dissolve her skepticism by confirming the next step.
So now I just inhale? Okay…
She breathes a deep, guttural breath in.
“BLAHHHHHHHH”
The cigarette is ejected across the room with a hacking wheeze.
Sputtering, she tries to spit out the offending stench of the disgusting, rancid, putrid, and foul smoke she had just inhaled. She dives for a glass of water, desperately yanking the taps as far left as they would go. The pressurized water blasts into her glass, more exiting than entering. Half full and firmly in her magical grasp, she lifts it-
Her brain goes fuzzy.
She barely registers the wetness of her hooves as the glass shatters underneath her, moistening the hard tile of her kitchenette. She giggles. She’s floating……
“Too slow!”
Celestia whips her wings out in an attempt to arrest her momentum. The dark figure flips around behind her with unnatural agility, wobbling her balance with artificial turbulence. Shrieking, Celestia’s hooves make unsteady contact with the squishy clouds, gifted magic half activated to keep her slightly standing, yet steadily sinking. The moisture tickles her limbs, causing her to squirm and making her fall deeper into the marshmallow depths. Frantically, she pulls upward, but the clouds won’t give.
“HEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!”
Celestia’s desperate plea is met by a ring of snorting laughter coming from directly behind her. Whipping her face around, Celestia meets her tormentor with a scathing scowl.
“NOT FUNNY, LU-”
The feeling ends.
Celestia’s eyes dart to the tiny smoldering tube on the carpeted floor.
… MORE!
She pounces for it like a cat, shoveling the orange end into her muzzle, dragging in the deepest breath she can. The cigarette glows brightly as half of it turns to ash, flittering to the floor and staining the pristine carpet below.
She eagerly awaits the rush……
“...need to angle thy primary feathers in this fashion.”
She flexes her deep blue feathers upward, Celestia watches onward, committing the positions to memory. The soft cloud-seats, wrangled together by the pony next to her, overlooked the winding valley next to a grand, waterfall spouting mountain. Splitting the earth, winding through, a river rushes its way to the sea. Celestia takes a bite of the crisp red apple picked from the wild trees below, relishing in its bursting sweetness.
“Sho- *gulp* if I do that, *crrrrrrrrunch* I shall shlow *munch* fashter? Interesting… where did thou *smack* learn this technique?” Celestia asks through mouthfuls of her delightful snack.
The dark blue mass lounging next to her shrugs, haphazardly flinging her finished core toward the ground.
“Practice.” The blue one replies, voice matching the smugness of the glance aimed at Celestia. The newly appointed Sun Goddess hums in appreciation, shifting her attention back to the valley below.
Her sun, propelled moments before by her gentle guidance, makes its merry way down the horizon, chased dutifully by the moon. It casts a beautiful array of vivid colors, accenting the nature around in its soft glow. Evening birdsong floats up from the ground, providing ample musical entertainment for the pair.
Days like these could last forever.
“Lulu?”
“Mmmmh?”
“Let us settle here one day. After the fighting is-”
All too soon.
… Ineedtogoback.
The second one is lit before the first one is finished. It finds its way into her mouth, a desperate drag, the second cigarette disappears faster than the first.
A pile of gray dust gather around her hooves, followed by the splashing of tiny droplets of salty water……
Celestia brings her wings and legs close to her barrel, angling her muzzle toward her target destination. The wind rushes through her ears, an exhilarating cheer. Her target grows larger in size as she speeds toward it. At the very last second, she flings her wings out, twisting her body so she is parallel to the cloud.
The white fluff shoots up into the air with a deafening flomp. The adrenaline rush combined with the tickling moisture of the now wisping clouds force Celestia to let out strings of howling laughter. She angles her feathers upward, slowing to a hover.
Harsh, snorting laughter emanates from above her. Celestia flips over to meet it.
“Not bad! That may be a new record!” Luna lauds as she flips, sliding next to Celestia with an effortless flap of her wings. Celestia’s jaw flops open with mock shock.
“Verily! The marvelous and boastful Luna hath gifted me a compliment?! What hath the world come to?” She brings a wing to her chest. Luna rolls her eyes.
“Pah! Do not become arrogant. Thou prodigious size surely played a role…” Luna cheekily nudges Celestia before dipping below her, anticipating the retributive strike. With a joyful shout, Celestia gives playful chase. Streaking through the air, the two sisters play an impromptu game of tag under the silver glow of Luna’s moon, darting from cloud to cloud with blinding speed.
Squeals of laughter. Uncontrollable giggling. The trading of banter. A heated game. A game Celestia had no hope in winning. She can only watch helplessly as Luna evades every one of her swiping attempts with perfect fluency.
Giving up, Celestia’s hooves make contact with the spongy grass below, mane flipping forward to act as a pink curtain between her and the world. She fixes the left side behind her ear, too tired for anything else.
Exhausted, Celestia lugs herself next to the river, staring into its burbling depths, watching her ever changing reflection as the water continues its journey to the sea. Panting, she takes a well earned drink, soothing her drying throat. Her sister lands next to her, barely phased.
“Giving up so easily? Where is thy fighting spirit?!” Luna taunts, lazily fanning a wing in her face and stretching her muzzle in a faux yawn. Celestia, still panting, finishes her drink, daintily wiping her mouth before planting her hind on the green. Luna’s smugness reaches vomit inducing levels.
“Thou… take… thy victory… Lu… I am no match for thee.” Celestia admits. That’s all Luna needs for her to launch into her usual ‘flexing’ routine, striking all the obnoxious poses she knew her elder sister hated.
Ordinarily, Celestia would act annoyed, trying to disrupt her posing by batting at her with her hooves or magic. Instead, a thin smile worms its way onto her face. Luna notices the inauthenticity immediately.
Dropping down from her classic ‘strongmare’ pose, she plants a seat next to Celestia.
“What is troubling thee?” Luna murmurs as she snakes a wing across her sister’s back. Celestia can only sigh in response. A battle rages on in her mind.
The insecurity that existed ever since her birth.
As always, she chooses the easy path, shrugging Luna’s wing off and looking toward the sky. Luna scowls.
“Oh for buck’s sake, Tia. For once, can we not prance around the bush like children?” She frustratedly mutters, poking Celestia’s ribs with her hoof to try and get her attention. The Sun Goddess remains aloof, erecting a barrier between the two with her damp pink mane.
… Better she does not know.
*tap*
A water droplet hits Celestia’s cheek, no doubt guided expertly by a certain cerulean glow. This tactic again. She tries to ignore it.
*tap tap tap*
It annoys her to no end.
How the buck does she do that! Why the buck can I not…
*tap tap tap tap tap*
Harmony above, she could barely stand it.
I mean, I can levitate, but how does she twist and wind and shape it?! Perfectly, unlike me…
*tap tap tap tap tap tap-*
“ALRIGHT!” Celestia relents, frustration the victor of her fierce internal battle. Luna shuffles back a few paces before giving her sister a raised eyebrow.
“I-I… just,” vocal cords seize around Celestia’s words, forcing her to choke the rest out, “I can not- am not, as… remarkable as thee. I wish… I wish-”
Celestia’s stuttering rant is cut short by a curt hoof to her lips. Luna scoffs, but her expression remains gentle. She reaches up to nuzzle her bigger sister’s cheek. Celestia leans into it, yet her muscles remain tense, wound tighter than yarn.
“Sister, perish this direction of thought. Thou art remarkable in thy own respect.” Luna says, voice as firm as iron.
“But I can not do the things thou can do.” Celestia’s voice barely squeaks above the sound of the river. Luna’s face scrunches.
“And I can not do the things thy do.”
Celestia looks up, peering through her rosé curtain at her younger sister. She’s standing, casting a glowing warm smile.
“Sure, I am more agile and physically stronger. Verily, my magic is more honed. Yes, I do often lead our troops to victory,” Luna injects a level of sarcasm in her boasting before switching to a more serious tone, “However, that means naught compared to what thou can do.”
Pulling Celestia in for a hug, Luna whispers the next bit into her ears, cradling her like she did when they were foals: “I can not help the grieving like thou can. I can not inspire such comradery and kindness. Sure, in battle, they look toward me, but in their hearts, they hold thee.”
Celestia can feel her cheeks transition into a smile-
Celestia slams back into reality with the crushing force of a meteor. Her eyes are wide, panting, unable to see, previous intoxicated laughter replaced with inconsolable sobbing.
The firmly sealed boxes in her mind palace have broken loose.
They scamper up the stairs, smashing through the foundations, sinking their teeth into any and every support pillar they can find. They tear apart the carefully constructed sanctuary of Celestia’s mind with horrific glee. Its destruction plainly reflected in Celestia’s staggering movement, crashing into her furniture without a care for her safety.
… IneedtogobackpleaseIneedthisINEEDTHISINEEDTHIS!
The only goal in her mind is the box of cylindrical salvation. In her haste, she trips over the leg of a table, tumbling down with a yelp, landing in front of her wardrobe. Groaning, she looks up.
The mare who stares back is not Celestia.
Her mane is pink.
Her coat is untreated and rough.
Her eyes are glowering.
She wants to rip apart.
“How could thee?” Her Reflection whispers.
Those words sink into her soul, each syllable a rusty nail jabbing into her core. Celestia recoils, scampering away from her tormenting reflection like a cornered animal. She can barely hold herself upright.
“How could thee?”
Not her reflection, but from the painting hanging to her left. Her eyes fly toward it, unable to resist her better judgment. The portrait that once was of her current abode in is morphed into a sneering visage of herself, pointing an accusatory hoof directly at her heart. The pain manifests physically. An emptiness growing directly in the center of her being, rending her insides apart.
“How could thee?”
Not her reflection. Not the twisted painting. But her own meek whimper, squeezed out by the pain.
250…
One quarter…
I’m so pathetic.
The whole of her princessdom had forgotten. She thought she could too. Ignore, disregard, and spurn. She would worry about it later.
… How bucked up am I?
“Very,” The reflection and painting spit in tandem, their voices forming a grating chorus, “thy solution to everything is to just lock it up and forget about it. Thou art worthless. Thy own flesh and blood.”
My own flesh and blood.
Her chest feels so tight, she can barely scrape enough oxygen into her lungs to keep herself conscious. Memories of that night pull themselves over her eyes, dragging her by the horn through all the moments that led up to it.
Ignoring Luna when she was struggling at that party. All because Celestia wanted to close a trade deal.
Allowing the one holiday a year Luna loved to plan to be erased. All because Celestia needed to gain favor with that particular political party.
Slowly removing her influence bit by bit, bill by bill, motion by motion. All because Celestia was too cowardly to lift her hoof for fear of scorn.
Choosing to walk away when she heard Luna crying in her room. All because Celestia was too busy, and didn’t have time for that.
“MONSTER!” Her reflection smashes its hoof on the thin silver separating the two, cracking the veil. The painting follows suit, clawing at the edges of the frame with reckless abandon. Celestia is frozen to the spot, horrid memories still running loose in her battered mindscape.
Her reflection smashes free first, sending shards of silver flying toward Celestia, causing her to shriek in terror. Flight instincts send her toward the balcony. Blasting the doors open with her magic, she streaks outside before deftly shutting them behind her and locking the horrific apparitions inside.
Celestia can only choke out heaving sobs as angry hooves and scathing abuse echo from behind the door. They’re joined by another set, creating a symphony of self hatred from behind the narrow wooden doors.
From the edge of her vision, the moon creeps into view.
Her moon…
The sky hangs above. Celestia could never quite replicate her artistry. The full weight of the empty black sky crushes her like a mountain. Silver glow cast upon her. Harsh judgment. She can’t look.
Celestia’s seventy-six year streak has been broken today.
I am such a coward.
Last time she had one this bad was one-hundred and forty-five years ago, when the wound was still tender. A foal had come up to her and asked why the sky looked so plain compared to how her grandfather described it.
It was quite the episode. The foal was sworn to secrecy. A large stipend was paid from the treasury every month for damages.
It took about one-hundred and sixty-seven years for Celestia to not see glimpses of her dearest little sister out of the corner of her eye. Or sit on her balcony, zoned out, waiting for the touch of Luna’s mana when she was lowering the sun and raising the moon.
It took about two-hundred and thirty-three years for Celestia to cram enough work and sugar into her life to forget.
I always bucking run. Why can’t I look. Why do I want to forget? What is wrong with me. What is wrong with me…
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!” She howls before arching her neck and loosing a primitive screech into the night air for all of Equestria to hear. Clacks of keratin on marble ring through like a sledgehammer through a wall. Celestia’s magic zaps out, complimenting her destructive mood, striking the guard railings with a beam of white hot energy, melting the metal.
One last time, Celestia brings her hooves downward onto the pristine white marble. It buckles, smashing and splintering. Panting, Celesta overlooks her hooviwork.
The cold marble offers a window into her soul.
Her true true self. Disheveled mane, baggy eyes, lashes unorganized, coat uneven. Barely kept together by the weakest glue known to ponykind. Her countenance lies shattered by the spider-webbing cracks of the marble.
Where is image? Where is Miss Equestria? Where is the glorious leader?
Gone. She now exists as the antithesis.
“I’m so sorry…”
What she wouldn’t give.
“I’m so…”
She can’t finish. The rows of sorrowful knives shred her thoughts to tatters before they can form. Unbearable pain.
She wants to give up so badly. Go back inside. Try and forget. Her hoof reaches the handle.
Again.
But behind her, demons wait, howling obscenities, waiting to sink their fangs into her neck.
“WEAKLING! MILKSOP!” Celestia screams. Her voice gives out, pathetically wisping away into the night.
Destitute.
THEN DO SOMETHINGABOUTIT.
The last shard of self respect shouts from the back of her mind. Celestia’s hoof falls back to the ground. She wills herself to look up, despite the two-hundred and fifty years of habit, her heart begging her not to lest it suffer more pain. The painted visage of her sister is still carved into the moon’s depths. A constant reminder.
“I’m so lost.”
“I… don’t know what I’m doing. I just…”
The tears begin to flow.
“I just miss thee so much. Thy laughter. The palace feels so empty without it. I wish thou would come and regale me with tales of thy expeditions. I miss our trips to those foreign lands.”
Despite herself, Celestia chokes out a laugh.
“And the disgusting liquors thou insist on drinking! Oh, how repulsive! Gosh…”
Silence. For once, pleasant nostalgia. Fleeting.
Then.
“I made thou hate me. My pride. It stood between us, a thick wall. I… should have told thee every day how much... I should have stood up for thee. I should have been your friend.”
Old wounds. They bleed out into anger.
“I’m not as perfect as you think I am!” Finally, she can admit it, bitterly snapping at the moon, “They are looking to me! Always! I have to be perfect. I have to make sure my- OUR. OUR PONIES. EVEN NOW!!”
Celesta slaps herself in frustration.
“Everything has to run smoothly and perfectly and well and… and…”
Celestia realizes her situation. Hollow laughs emanate from her equally empty chest.
“Stark. Raving mad lunatic howling at the moon- that’s what they say now. Lunatic. I detest the word…”
“Still… my fault… I bear kindness and generosity yet cannot… to my own kin…”
Curled up. The cold marble offers no respite.
“I do not know how much longer… even when you do…”
I do not deserve it.
Too painful to say. Pulled. Beneath the surface……
Luna stood alone. A flute of champagne floated by her, encapsulated by her baby-blue magic.
Around her, a sea of chatting dignitaries and nobles went about their business. Fake smiles, even faker laughter. Luna is cornered. Anxious uncomfort twists her muzzle into an ugly shape.
Celestia wants to stand next to her. Drop a line of reassurance. Maybe they’d sneak off for-
“Hmmm… an interesting offer…”
The slimy noble puts a ruminating hoof on her chin, dragging Celestia back to her impromptu game of negotiation……
… N-not. T-this… One……
She had forgotten to put a sound muffling spell up.
Celestia can hear the crying from behind the door. Luna had a really rough time at the party.
A part of her wants to knock and see if she is okay.
A small part of her.
She will be fine. Besides, I am tired to help… The larger part of Celestia says.
Ignored……
“My cruelty… my shame… I wish I could go back in time and change everything. But I can not, the spell remains ever out of my grasp, no matter how hard I try…”
Celestia brings her tear streaked face into direct view of the moon, staring into the mare-like imprint on the surface of the silvery disc in the sky.
“Just give me a sign… anything… I am begging… please… anything…” She prays, clasping her hooves together in her anguished plea.
Crushing silence greets her. Only the sound of night ambiance exists.
To be expected.
… Go. Back.
Slowly and consciously, Celestia sets to work, laying down a new foundation in her mind. Pillars of veneer spring up from the ground where they once stood. Again, they tower above her soul, fake as plastic, silently judging. Gaudy gold finishings line the walls, languid, luxurious furniture begin to dot her prison.
A perfect palace for a perfect princess.
Deftly and masterfully, the bad memories are rounded up once more. They are locked away again, stuffed into the dingy basement. Wiping her brow, Celestia steps up and out of her cellar. No doubt, this would be the last time she ever-
The sound of clopping hooves causes Celestia’s ears to perk up. An unaccounted for memory? No. She was an expert. This had to be some sort of mistake.
Strange……
The clopping hooves are assigned to an object as it rounds the corner and into Celestia’s view.
?!
There stands a young Luna, maybe a year or two after their ascension. Most atypical, her locked away memories tend to take the form of more… violent versions.
The young Luna smiles.
Celestia instantly remembers.
She can still smell the wildflowers, growing on that hill……
“I just can not! Tis impossible!” Celestia grouses, lazily flopping her wings toward the grass. Luna suppresses a grunt of irritation, trying not to roll her eyes. She unwinds a long exhale, allowing the reigns of patience to grapple her frustration. Luna tries a different tactic, now calm enough to not make her older sister aggy with whatever she was about to say.
“Thou can. Thou just need to put some more effort into learning.” Luna says, doing her best to sound as encouraging as possible.
It’s about as encouraging as a tired parent trying to clap for their child’s barely practiced singing recital. Celestia shrinks behind her mane, ears flopping to her skull.
Luna knows exactly what’s going through her head, and why Celestia was constantly flinging her head over her wither to peek at whatever was behind her. Frustration wins, Luna’s hooves latch onto her sister’s withers.
“For. Harmony’s. Sake. Sister. It. Is. Okay. To. Fail.” Luna punctuates each word with a rough shake of Celestia, flinging her around like a ragdoll, making her bright pink mane flop about in the air. She relinquished her hold, allowing Celestia to regain her senses before continuing: “Do thou wish to know how many times I have failed? Countless!”
“But every time, I learned. And I tried something new. Sure, it hurt, and yes, it was humiliating planting my muzzle into the dirt in front of all our pegasi comrades, but I kept going.”
Luna pauses her speech, using her hoof to look into her sister’s eyes.
“Thou can do it. I know it. Spread thy wings, and keep trying. Never give up, always have the courage to face the pain and humiliation of failure. Promise me.”
A terse silence.
“I promise.” Reluctantly, it exits Celestia’s muzzle.
Luna beams that smile down, right into Celestia’s face. It fills her with hope.
Looking above the horizon again, Celestia spreads her wings……
Celestia looks back on her inner sanctuary.
The monument to her sins.
… TEAR IT ALL DOWN!
A renewed urgency surges in her limbs, she drives herself back to that shabby basement, spitting on every pillar along the way. Reaching her box of repressed memories, she wastes no time, kicking it open with a powerful strike. Immediately, the pain rips into her soul, tearing her apart again. The memories dance tauntingly around Celestia, forming a demonic circle of taunting pain.
This time, she stands her ground.
“THOU FAILED US!” They shriek.
“Yes. I did. I am sorry.” Celestia whispers back.
“SORRY IS NOT ENOUGH!”
“I know. I will be better.”
“THOU THINK WE CARE? ARROGANT!”
“I will make thee care.”
Her memories pause their vicious waltz to listen.
“I promise. Enough. My two-hundred and fifty years of cowardice ends tonight. No matter the pain, I shall face it and learn, like how thou taught me.”
Celestia looks them dead in their eyes. Fire of her conviction enough to melt their ice cold stares. One by one, the memories back down.
“I promise.”
Back in reality, Celestia nods toward the moon. She strides back inside, gazing upon the mess she had made. Furniture lay chaotically strewn, out of place from where she had body checked them on her way out. Shattered glass from earlier lay spread across her kitchenette. Scattered across the floor are the cigarettes she so desperately craved moments before.
To be honest, she still craved them.
The taste of narcotic bliss, it offered a chance to drown in synthetic happiness and forget. It certainly was the easy path.
But, after two-hundred and fifty years, she had chosen differently.
Gathering the miniature white and orange tubes in her magic, she mentally outlines a bill to outlaw them completely.
Buck you, Charlotte. Cunt.
Celestia glances upon the portrait of her castle again, hanging from its place. She squints, scrutinizing it.
She frowns.
The art sucks, nowhere near the expressiveness and beauty her sister could conjure. It was a gift from a noble for her most recent birthday. She hung it up in her room because that particular noble would not shut her bucking mouth up about it and would constantly pop around for tea to goggle at it.
The painting is ripped out of the frame and goes sailing out the window.
Reaching below her bed, Celestia pulls out a chest, liberating a massive cloud of dust in the process. Unlocking it, she pulls out a rolled up wad of cloth.
Smiling, she slips it into the empty frame, admiring all the little tiny details of her little sister’s masterpiece. How she captured the grandeur of the waterfalls would be forever beyond Celestia’s reasoning.
“On our special mountain, overlooking our special valley, I shall build a castle. There, I shall await your return.”
“Just like I promised.”
Author's Note
Hope this was enjoyable. I had a pretty good time writing it and doing the coverart for it despite my horrific painting & color theory skills.
Thanks for reading! 
