The Church of the Half Moon

Nights End

They sang of the newborn light, they sang of the Sun and her relentless will to consume. She birthed all things, big and small, only to watch them burn. Her younger sister, the Moon, was gifted to Equestria from the far side of the Sun. Witnessing creation's turmoil—its battles, its sorrows—she took pity. Bestowing upon them small gifts: a horn for unicorns, strength for ponies. The Sun, angered by this, sent birds to perch upon her sister's closest attendants. These birds, scorched by the Sun's fury, sprouted wings, commanding the attendants to take flight as she and her sister did. Now, the Moon's plans were at risk, as spies encircled her, transmitting every thought back to the Sun. Yet, Luña, wise and cunning, utilized her moonlight to fashion drums and her constellations to weave strings. Her ponies began to play, their music lulling the spies into a deep slumber

When they awoke, her love extended even to these spies. She offered to sever their wings; some accepted, while others fled. The Moon never demanded their allegiance, knowing such love would be false. Those few who remained joined her, bringing with them the gift of music.

There was a moment when every pony glowed. It was a bright feeling for the soft light. It ended like a kiss on a newborn’s head. Drifting away with the wind. Selene gave a nod of approval before disappearing in her wheelless carriage. It was late, Pixie let out a yawn, he felt as if he was about to fall over at the moment's notice. Silver and Mama had found them as the crowds started to disappear into their homes, leaving clean up to be a morning job. It was the time where every pony would be home, and Pixie sensed it. Turning to Jack, his face scrunched up. How did time slip away so fast?

“Do you want to play tomorrow?”

Jack shook his head, “I can't,”

“The day after that?”

“Can't ethire,”

It may have been the lack of needed sleep but Pixie felt tears well up in the back of his eyes, “Did I make you mad?”

“What? No!” Jack held back his own yawn, “It's a really long walk here, but when we come here next, yeah!”

Pixie was quiet, “So… goodbye?”

“Nah, till next time,” Jack promised,

The white unicorn moved up pulling the boy into a hug. Giving him a gentle squeeze, he buried his face into his mane. Jack returned the hug. Usually hugs carried a fuzzy, vivid, type of feeling, so it confused Pixie on why this made his heart pain more. Letting go, he took a few tiny steps back, trying to stay as close to the other as possible.

“till next time,” Pixie promised in return,

Looking up at Mama, Pixie was scooped up by Silver. The young colt looked back at Jack one last time as he watched the other disappear in search of his own parents. He knew he couldn't see him, but he still felt the need to wave goodbye, just in case.

Once close to their stone house Pixie wiggled to get down. Silver placed the foal on all fours and Pixie Dust walked up to the door. Turning around he looked up into Silver’s scary eyes.

“Goodbye Mr. Dollar,” Pixie said,

Silver did a familiar chuckle, the same Pixie does when he's trying to show his feelings weren't hurt, “I live here,”

“You do?” Pixie looked over to Mama,

Mama sighed, “Yes Pixie, where else would he go?”

She opened the door letting herself in. Silver moved towards the door, trying to open it for her, but he was late. Instead he held it out for Pixie. Inside was their humble little abode. A couch, by a snuffed fireplace. There were very few pictures on the wall, and smaller clutter. There was an intricate rug on the floor. The foal studied Silver, looking back at Mama, as she unhooked her mask. Wasn't this illegal? Then Silver did the same… Silver wasn't a unicorn, the horn was attached to his mask. His fur was gray, and eyes a sharp blue, he had sideburns that matched the pink of his mane. The horse stretched, hanging his saddle hat on the coat rack, he set up his tools by the door. It added life to the otherwise dead home.

“Why do you live here?” Asked Pixie,

“Don't ask stupid questions,” Mama demanded before being interrupted,

“Genesis.” It was the first time Silver sounded as scary as his size, but it quickly melted away when he addressed the foal, “I'm your dad,”

Pixie nodded, shrinking into himself when he saw the look his mother gave his… dad. Staying still, he hoped he could blend in with the patterns on the rug.

“You're out of line Silver,”

Mama’s glare burned holes into Silver's… Dad’s pelt. It was like she stuck a cigarette bud into his skin, leaving it there to boil every moment they spent in the thick quiet. Mama got into his face, Muzzle an inch away from Dad's.

“Are you implying I'm not fit to rear our young?” she spat,

“N-no,”

“You do your part, and I'll do mine,” she placed a hoof onto his chest, “Am I wrong?”

Mama smiled… it didn't feel like a smile, devoid of warmth. Those eyes still ripped apart every aspect of Dad’s character. She patted the side of silver's muzzle, each pat held a wince from Dad, he stayed silent.

“We don't need anybody else getting into our troubles do we?” Mom whispered, “so let's keep the peace.”

It sounded like a demand.

You could only hear her hoof steps, as Mama took herself away. Once turned around that smile completely faded. She delicately went inside her room. Silver untensed, dipping his head down, letting out a sigh he's been holding onto for that entire interaction. Pixie couldn't get himself to relax, his bones were stiff, keeping his breathing shallow. The bigger pony tried to make his big steps light, making his way over to his foal, he moved closer to the ground so they'd be eye to eye.

“It's okay…” his father reassured, “Did I scare you?”

Pixie wouldn't speak even if he could. His face wrinkled, trying to catch those tears that fell down his cheek. He wasn't supposed to cry, so he tilted his head down, hiding behind his bangs. Cutting his air off, he prayed that it would work the same with his leaking eyes. Realization hit Silver, as the water fell down his cheek. Taking the wrist of his hoof, he brushed away the translucent water. Pixie finally looked at him. The older stallion moved up to set a small kiss on the young boy's forehead.

“I'm sorry,” said Dad,

Sniffling, Pixie nodded.

“C’mon, let get you to bed, little dust bunny,”

The colt followed close, nearly tripping his father, he had to intentionally look down in order to not get caught up in him. In Pixie's room, silver scooped up his son once more. Pulling back the covers, he placed him against the hazy blue of the blanket. The white foal looked like a single cloud against the background, smiling as he pulled the covers over him. Silver left his side for a moment, over to the book shelf, there was a thin layer of dust covering the books. All of them were on the top shelf, too high for Pixie to even realize they were there. Dad took out a violet book, with white and yellow lilies wrapping around from the cover to its spine. Each flower twisted and weaved, around outlines of bunnies and deer, old animals long gone from the sun's fire.

He brought back the sand storm with a single blow, the cover could now show where those intertwining Lilies lead to. A single red hare, carved into the cover, was at the middle of the book, its one eye staring deep into the seeds of silver’s soul. Sitting on the bed he opened the cover to the first page. Pixie drifted off like a sale at sea. Silver slipped away once he was sure the young colt was settled.

Somewhere in the beginning of the early morning, when the moon finally whispered its last good night in the valley, Pixie wrestled awake. He found the floor, his legs still fuzzy with sleep, he stepped quietly out into the living room. Dad was fast asleep on the couch, Mama’s room’s door still opened. The foal pushed her door open with his cheek, squinting when the lantern's light pierced his eyelids. Mama was there, laid out, she was lost in the ridges of the ceiling. Mane mangled, like a bird's nest, her cheeks had stains of streaks. Besides her a picture frame, faced down.

Pixie crawled up onto the bed, hugging his Mother as tight as he could. Mama did little to address him, keeping a soft voice as she spoke.

“I see her Pixie,

“I see how the wind glides through her mane,

“I see her eyes a faint blue, just like yours. She glares at me, haunting me,

“And she is beautiful.”