The Church of the Half Moon

Picpuck

How could any pony want children? Annoying, snotty, yet as malleable as clay. She knew as soon as she was able to fathom the idea, she wouldn't want children. It's why she studied so hard to get out of being married. It was the highest honor, being a part of the Council, not even her mother could pass the test for it, when she was her age. Sure she was only beaten out by her aunt, but it still meant the world that she got it. It was mostly luck, you would have to wait until one of those old horses killed themselves, when they “returned to the circle.” Then popularity, you would have to have been voted. One of her main tools was to bat her eyes, and pick out what exactly they wanted. Lies, it's what her cutie mark meant, a gavel. Get them to your side, without promising anything. It was as if fate herself wanted her to be a part of this Council. But we all know that's not real.

She's trotting on a fine line, on the edge of true uncertainty. There was indeed a fire that could be seen on her trips where her duty was to overwatch the Blue Flame trading company. The other council members were still iffy about them being there. Yet Pic knew for a fact, that they had tools the company needed, and they had supplies the Church needed. It was transactional. She over looks the extra supplies they took from the church, they give her a book. The few books that survived the end of the world.

Everything had to be transactional.

This is why she couldn't understand why anypony would want a parasite attached to them. Maybe it's your brain? One of those books she threw in the fire, after of course she wrote down everything she needed in her notes; said that there's a chemical connection in your brain to foals. That's absolutely horrifying. This is what went through Picpuck’s head when she watched the group of boys bicker. Before things could get physical, she rolled her eyes and made her presence known. Pixie was simply fulfilling a family tradition. Least he had that little merchant colt with him, it was more than she had.

“You, son of the Blue-Flame trading company sigil, it's a privilege not a right that you're here,”

“But, they started it! We- we're just defending ourselves!”

She knew that, “And you, colt, how unbecoming of you, To start fights on the streets like mange dogs. What would your mother think of you right now? Should I go retrieve her?”

“No,” the other party answered,

Maybe the chemicals worked for siblings as well? She was out of the house when Pixie was born, he was simply another foal in the crowd. Big blue eyes, that only became deeper pools with time. If she did believe in reincarnation, she'd swear he was Monotone… that name, she could never get away from. She pushed it down, waiting for the boys to get away from each other to carry out on her day. There was no reason why she rushed to get out of there. She wanted to get home, to the silence before her long trip with that damned trading company. Her laziness almost made her wish she didn't advocate for opening their borders to them. Yawning, she continued towards the town’s hall.

A big, soaring tower carved out of marble. Murals of creation, the first coming of the sisters, then the betrayal and the banishment to the moon. Fables, taught in school to only be expanded on with age. The ceiling had paintings, giant murals, rotating, a rotary that encompassed the entire building. Constellations connected by stringed lights, some poured down, twinkling, in those tall ceilings. Crystal statues of children playing were as clear as glass. In the middle, a moon, raised high, the floor had a single bright light gleaming on it, slowly rotating to different phases of the moon. White bookcases were on every wall. Lighting those books in floating bursts of magic, they swayed like dancing fireflies. There was a fireplace exactly parallel to the door, it spit a staircase into two. Up the stairs, they twisted, having a canopy for the council to look down at the folks who may come by. They all had a room there, passed down by tradition. If one were to continue up those stairs, with large gold inlaid secrets of poems, in a tongue long forgotten by time, you'd see a door. Behind that door, was her.

Selene.

Harps were plucked like raindrops bouncing off of rocks. Recordings were like soft echoes, most from the festivals she organized so many times before. Her hooves pressed against a ladder, as she went to the section where the residents were. The library itself is mostly barren. There were too many spots to be filled. She could trace down most ponies' heritage, and the further she got the less pictures were added to each name. She was at a point where these names weren't ever uttered by the town folks. She knew there were princesses, that was a fact. Too many history books outside of the church spoke of first hoof accounts. There was a war, 6 ministries, and more. The princesses were long lived, yes, but they seemed more as political figures, not gods. She searched for a name, where Selene would be born, but every pony had been accounted for.

It's been over 200 years since the true birth of this Church. No pony could be that long lived. unless she was an actual alicorn. No pony has even seen her face. Her descriptions, where they include her wings, height, size, in these passed documents stayed the same. If she was Luna, princess of the night, then why did she hide her face? Disfigurements? Didn't she have an army? Why is this such a convoluted tale? Simply say that you're Luna not a reincarnation that came from the depths of the white sand. Who the hell is this mare, who is Selene and where did she actually come from. Flooded by her brain she took the book she was reading and threw it down at the floor, letting out a frustrated yowl.

“Picpuck, darling, are you okay?”

Damn it, “yes dear Cider, I got a paper cut, I'm calculating the pairings,”

“Already? It's no where close to the next moon cycle,”

“You know me, always ahead of the game,” she faked a smile, even under her mask, “now what could I do for ya’ need something?”

Cider shook her head, an obvious lie, “I was going over the plans for the next quarter moon’s festival,”

“Festival of a Cycle?”

“Yes, that one,”

Pic slid down the latter, gracefully catching herself on the last bar, before stepping on to all fours. She walked over to the mare and reached a hoof out to her. The stack of papers fell into her hooves. She moved over to one of those long tables, spreading those files out. Blue prints, mostly. They are building a gazebo. She would recommend more houses, but more public spaces could keep morale high. Happy town is a happy life. She looked over them, they wouldn't be able to finish this with the amount of stones they were raking in this year.

“How about a stage, the one we used last time, that way we could save the stone and open it next year,” she slid the papers to Council member Cider.

“Well I was thinking we could ask our miners to make more trips,”

“Ah. Well you like productivity?” She smiled, “because it doesn't seem very productive to over work our advant miners, does it not?”

“We would be bringing in more stone, I don’t see the problem,”

“You're not listening. If you like the constant state of supplies rolling in you'll leave it, there's a reason we give them a week off, to avoid burnout. Have you forgotten traditions?” she hummed, “I don't simply plan things without any merit, I thought of it, tried it, the numbers don't lie in my calculations,”

“I guess you're right, but if it's only a little while I can't see the issue,”

“Would you like to see my tables? I can show you if you'd like,” she didn't have these,

“No! No thank you, we'll carry on with your plan, Council member Picpuck,”

Pic waved her off. Most council members made sense on why they'd be there, but Pic could never understand how Cider got that position. Was she really the best option? Maybe they should implement a type of impeachment… mm too risky. She went back to the books, looking at the one that was thrown on its spine. Papers, old, did little to cling on sprinkled the floor like dandelion fluff. She collected it, putting it back in the book case, and went upstairs to her room. Sparse, the walls were bare, she was never one for decoration. Yet she had her own books, most on the floor, some sideways in the bookcase, never set up neatly. Locking her door she went over to her mess of a bed. She laid her body on the floor, reaching under the bed to collect a box. Taking the key out from under her hair, she unlocked it. You could never be too careful. Even a simple act of this blasphemous act could cause her to go out like Monotone did. In the book, there was no cover, nothing that drew the eyes.

Only then did she pull the book from her saddlebag. An old book, the cover was chipped, and the pages yellow. The glue that weaved and kept it together was failing, but she was going to rip the pages out anyways. This book was special, a Bestiary Equestria. There were diamond dogs, griffins, Equine, changelings, bears made from stars, and more. A god of chaos, a bell of power… Maybe this book wasn't all right, another children's book. Sighing, she still read the now stack of papers. If anything, it could give her eyes into a long dead world outside. Once gathered, and written she went to her own personal fireplace. Feeding the pages to the flames. It was strange. Something they taught her to fear, yet it could be so enchanting. Taking off her mask, she let her pink face and yellow eyes be seen by the solitary room.

There was always a moment, a short moment, but loud enough to grab her attention. Always, like this, where she knew it was only her. Who else would listen to a crazy earth pony mare's spills, who else would care? Was it even worth it? No, it wasn't. She doesn't have answers, but that's all she needs.

There would be nothing to stop her from achieving them.