The Church of the Half Moon

by Lurker_Moonstare

Rating: teen
Tags: Violence, Fallout, Tragedy, Profanity, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Original Character, Mystery, Suicide / Self Harm
Length: 30449

Following a southern family in a post-apocalyptic Equestria, identity or sacrifice in the name of duty weighs heavily on the Moon's children. You see a child bear the brunt force of the church’s practices.

All life, big and small, came from the Sun. Only for her to watch them burn. Even the world was set on fire with the Sun and her relentless will to consume. Her younger sister, the Moon, was gifted to Equestria from the far side of the star. Witnessing creation's turmoil—its battles, its sorrows—she took pity. Allowing those who would follow her under her wing.

Following a southern family in a post-apocalyptic Equestria, identity or sacrifice in the name of duty weighs heavily on the Moon's children. You see a child bear the brunt force of the church’s practices. His adolescence is marked by a struggle against forces he cannot fully comprehend. Beneath the many faces of the moon lie hidden secrets—whether in the masks the residents wear or in the council's right hoof.  Many fail to uncover the truth, but the consequences will shape them forever.

This is a character study about abuse, neglect, and religious trauma to be exact. You follow Pixie Dust throughout his life under the church of the Half Moon, a semi-new group who became more prominent after the end of the world. His father isn't around much, and his mother is still grappling with the grief of her closest friend. The main character is under a lot of conflict and stress in this isolated community, only having few outlets. One being an outsider, the only outsiders the Church has any interactions with. Then there's Selene, the reincarnation of Luña, head of the group, isn't what she seems. Pixie's older sister Picpuck, a council member, is trying to find out why. Barbaric practices are common within this Church, but it's completely normalized. Individuality is not what is expected from you. Will Pixie continue this cycle of abuse his mother, Genesis, has carved for him, or will he be his own Stallion, despite facing repercussions that include death? Will Picpuck crack under the pressure of loneliness that comes with the job of being a Council Member or will she rise above? I plan to explore these themes and more within this story of loss, sexuality, religion, bullying, and trauma.

Published 2024-08-21 00:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2025-02-10 04:01:13 UTC

A Burned World

A Burned World

Patterns of change become mundane with each year that passes. Pixie was around eleven now, at first his lack of energy took time to become the new formal. Words fell out of his ears like spilled milk, and his eyes had trouble staying open. The body had a way of adapting, and even he found familiarity with it. He was able to catch on to one of his mother's lessons. How they all would have a promise week, to lead up to a promise day. The first part was with your mom, then you spent the rest of the time with your dad, until the moon was split exactly into two. The few that were able obtain their cutie marks would be there on promise day. The hoof full of children who were able to follow in their hoof steps, by having a cutie mark would embark on a life long journey in their parents' image. It was common for their cutie marks to be shared with their parents, this was a way in making the process run smoother. Some ponies don't get their cutie marks; their fate is tied elsewhere. Promise week would still be a good introduction on what their duties might be. It isn't rare to see faces in more than one job here. Besides the council, that was forever.

Then there were ponies like Pixie. The journey they had to take was a long one. So promise week was stretched out for the entire journey to the mines. Very little work would be done by everypony during that week. So it was expected to over exert yourself until then, with few exceptions. It wasn't all bad, most foals caught the infection of excitement, spreading it to the adults. The small group of colts and fillies lined up in rows, in front of those glimmering silver gates Mama… left Pixie alone, and without her shadow, there was a cannon between him and his peers. This time Papa was there, slumping low towards the group as he looked on forward. Staying close under him, Pixie pressed his head on the side of his leg. The old horse let out a half laugh, as he ruffled the Colt's hair through a familiar brown hat. Pixie raided the closest and found a brown cattle hat, that was at least 3 sizes too big.

Loud sounds of metal pressing on metal caught every pony’s attention. Some even skipped from the suddenness of it. The gate flew open. Magic was like lights in the mist, as a group of guards walked back into the gate. Giving the go ahead, Picpick waved every pony in, and finally the group started to take off into the old world. They were rushed forwards until a sudden stop when every pony was finally out of the village. There were rules still, even out here. The young ones weren't allowed to go very far, but it stopped none of their eyes from wandering.

Sand covered everything, with the thickest layer of dust covering the ground. It buried structures, the broken, and tainted. The trees would not bare leaves, but their roots covered areas of land only torn by wind. The ground stayed uninterrupted by stone walls. Pixie turned around fully, as the sky surrounded them, stretching its palm over them like a blanket of snow. Yet when he turned to see those gates close, the town glistened like fresh water, fading into the world. Sparklers lingered for a minute like fading fireworks until nothing; but the never ending landscape. He knew the world would be big here, but they were merely specs of dandelion fluff in a canvas of gold.

“Where did it go?” Pixie thought out loud,

“it's still there,” Silver answered ,“you can hear them,”

Pixie's ears tilted towards the empty area. Papa was right, he could hear the soft chattering and the belles of the wind chimes from here. His eyes scanned once again, unknowingly trying to catch details he felt he glossed over. Yet however many times his brain told him he was being deceived, his eyes couldn't find the clues to it. Then his ears pivoted back when a feminine voice was raised to the crowd.

“There are dangers here, the very world may not be in flames but it's still burning. Stay close to your fathers and mothers, and Listen to our instructions.

“You may see things that are unsettling, let it be a reminder of what would happen without the moon’s graces. Don't be alarmed, simply hold your head high and continue on.

“As you teeter on adulthood, you shall be treated as one. We'll show you the few areas you'll hopefully never see again, the rocking hills, the pile, and so on, we'll also show you where you might grow up to become, the mines, and the duty of protection of the moon and your home. Once reaching adulthood you are allowed to roam this territory unless you are with child. There is little reason for you to venture off to begin with. So get it out of your system when you're of age.

“Any question?”

Many small hooves raised up, as she started to pick and choose who would get their voices answered. Once Picpuck was satisfied, everypony took off, into the deep blue skies and the sand your hooves sank into. There were some buildings, old, walls broken in and glass shattered. The grown ups never let them get too close to them. Life stopped here, there were no flowers, only withered flower boxes in empty towns. Pixie pictured ponies, ghosts, walking through besides them. Yet it only made the pony feel lost… As the faded imaginative imagery too burned like a picture.

When the sun ate all things, she only left the scourged shadows of before. He thought that was more metaphorical, but once seeing the outlines of ponies from before… he knew it wasn't. Then there were bones, pony bones bleached white. Some big, some small. Left there, alone, clothes concave on their structures, if they haven't rotten away. A part of Pixie wondered why the church left them there, but the more he saw the more he realized how unrealistic that thought was. The closest destination they went to was the rocking hill. It was more of a cliff. Very little hills there, a jagged rock with a marble structure on top, perched like a hawk. Picpuck explained that they called that the nest, and that it's a sad day when you have to go there. They passed by over old bridges, and old camps made out of wagons. Pixie sat on top of silver's back, watching as the group made their way to their first check point.

A heavy sigh of relief came from both the adults and the foals. Ponies stacked their heavy tools by a large building as they rushed inside. Some ponies stayed out, including Picpuck. Pixie slipped off of his father's back into the dirt. Papa tried to pull the foal into the building but Pixie pleaded to stay.

“Stay in sight, okay?” Papa said,

Pixie nodded. He saw his sister, looking off into the distance, getting lost in the darkening colors of the sky. Walking up to her, he climbed on what looked to be was a wall, but it was short and stout, yet wide enough his body could fit on the slab of rock. Sitting down he stared up at her, watching how the ruffles in her shirt breezed through the wind, and her jewelry dazzled with reflections of the area inside them.

“Are you interested in being a part of the council?” Picpuck asked,

“That means I can't like any pony right, Ma’am?”

“Well, you can't marry anyone,”

“No, I want to love somepony, like Mama loves Monotone,”

That name, Picpuck shot the younger one a glance.

“...is that bad?”

“No. It's not,” she settled herself resting her hooves on the half wall, “Mother never loved Monotone,”

“No, she's very clear about that, she definitely loves Monotone,”

“How would that make sense, two mares can't love each other, besides that, Genesis only loves her own self loafing,”

“...oh,” Pixie tried not to show his tender heart,

Picpuck realized, “... Sensitive topic,”

“It always is, everypony is always talking about that mare, and it's confusing! Am I supposed to hate her? Or was she good? I know she's dead, but no pony is giving me answers,” he said, his voice squeaked, “I -I’m sorry, I'm so sorry!”

“Don't be.” Picpuck said, “Keep that spirit to you.”

Pixie nodded… letting the silence blow the air between them.

“...She was good, like a mother to me, her siblings, my own, she cherished the living. She was over most days. She had a soft, stern voice, but she was a fool. She trusted Fae,”

“How is she a fool for trusted-ing Mama?”

“Your face is a treasure Pixie, and showing it outside of your immediate family, is a sin worse than blasphemy. Yet when you're Monotone your bleeding heart sees every pony as family.”

“So she showed her face?”

“To Fae yes, but her love for the town folk went outside of that.”

“...where did she go?”

“Fae found she wasn't the only one Monotone favored. So she told the ones who could punish her for it. They took her up to the nest, she was found guilty, and then and there, she died.”

“...she died? She went back to the cycle?”

“...that would have been a mercy wouldn’t it?”

“...I don't know.”

“You know how the Moon doesn't make us choose to love her, Pixie?”

“Mhm…”

“Well, once we choose to love her, we must follow the rules set by the past. No matter what. Even if the good suffer for it. So you'll say that she's bad, but know she was nothing but,”

“Like a lie?”

“Wiser than that Pixie Dust,”

She got him there. Pixie took the large hat off of his head, huddling it close to his chest. Picpuck looked so focused, like she was reading a good book, but an ear was pointed towards him.

“Do you hate me?” Pixie muttered,

“No,” Picpuck ripped herself away from the sky, to look on to the little pony,

“...is that a lie?”

“Nope,”

“Why do we not talk?”

Picpuck thought, “we never had a reason to,”

“Do you believe in Selene?”

“I do,”

“Was that a lie?”

“wiser than that.”

Pixie looked down, drawing circles in the stone slap he sat on. His sister lifted herself up onto the wall, sitting down next to the colt. She was tall, skinny. She smelled like fresh flowers, but the fake ones you'd get in bottles. It was quiet, yes, he could listen to the wind making waves into the sand like an ocean, and the distant sound of crickets. Yet he could hear her breathing, soft, yet congested. He gripped his father's hat closer to his chest.

“Do you have reason to talk to me now?”

His sister surveyed the area, to then let herself slump down. Brushing the loose curls back, she untied the ribbon holding her mane back. Blowing, she whistled, collecting her thoughts on a final decision.

“... I can try to find one,” she said,

Pixie nodded… he didn't want to know if that was a lie or not. Picpuck enjoyed silence more than speaking. Any other questions Pixie asked, she only returned different pitches of hums to him. Everypony settled into the empty wasteland of the scorched Equestria. It didn't seem too bad to Pixie, empty, and lonely, yes. Yet it didn't burn to the touch, yet he rather be fast asleep in his own bed, than the cots given to each of the family units. At least they had curtains for Papa, so he could sleep with his fur out in the open. He still snored… loudly.

Love

Love

In a Stone House gifted by her father, Genesis Fae sat alone. She cradled the shivering body of a newborn foal before gently placing it on the floor. Leaning against the wall, her hind hooves resting on the ground, she listened to the colt's cries. Her once delicate curls that covered her masked features became entangled in the brick behind her. Her face now revealed a hollowed, blank look as she gazed at the infant. This was clockwork for Genesis, wondering how long it would take for his thin layer of foal fur to turn blue. Yet somehow, she always found herself scooping him back up as the baby would jitter so much one could say he was truly frightened. But he was too young to know anything of love and loss, and too young for his soul to bond to his feeble, weak body. Still, the mother swaddled him in blankets knitted with tight lace and silk as she brought him back to his crib where she had taken him in distress prior. Tired from his grating hollering, his breaths were quick as he lay there on the off-white fabric in his crib. Genesis hit the mobile with delicate crystals featuring the moon. A soft twinkle of the melody “Luña May Bird” played as the mobile continued to rotate, soothing the foal's breaths.

“She would have loved you. She was known to be foal crazy,” Genesis said, her voice just above a whisper. “It's such a powerful word, isn't it? Love. I only truly loved one pony. Strange how much a pony could love.”

It was almost quiet. The much more pleasant song was the break her ears needed. Stillness took over the room and the foal below. Genesis lay against the bars of the crib. The whole fixture creaked and moved back under her weight. Both forehooves hooked on the side of the bars as she rested her chin on top of her pasterns. The baby's face was round and pudgy. A smile crept up on Genesis's face; when he wasn't loud, you could mistake him for being cute.

“I can't love you, at least not in the way I'm supposed to,”

Her eyes felt heavy. Taking the burden of her weight away from the crib, Genesis left the scene as it was. She lingered at the doorway. It would be a day and a half until the father would come around. It would have taken longer to send a pony out to give him the news that his foal was finally here. None of it bothered her; the absence of those you cared little about had less of an effect on you. Before the door shut, sealing away this picture, the mare felt a longing in the near empty room.

“Let's pretend, Pixie Dust. You'll be my good boy, and I'll be your loving mother.”

With a creak, the door met the frame. It's strange how fast a child can mature; yet, inevitably, they all find themselves sobbing on the floor. The only distinction being the passage of years and newfound mobility. Physical changes were also expected. Pixie's eyes as a baby were almost ghost white. Now, the vibrancy in his eyes only intensified with his age. They were a deep blue hue, like the colors from the deepest parts of the sky. You could see the moment when thought entered his head. The moment where his soul truly bonded away from the moon and into his mortal body.

The colt toed the line to the kitchen. That's where he kept his body firmly on the side of the dining room. He was still stupid; he thought his mere silence would be enough to hide him. Genesis shouldn't have expected more from a pony who could only write down his own name. At least he was wise enough to heed her warnings when she was busy cooking in the kitchen. Raising Pixie proved easy compared to his older sister PicPuck. If Pic were his age again, there wouldn't be any line she wouldn't cross. Instead, she'd probably be in the kitchen by now. That's where she'd try to trip Genesis by standing directly under her.

Genesis blew the cabinet door open. The smell of vinegar filled her nostrils. Not surprisingly from the amount she scrubbed the furniture with it. It may as well be a part of the Bricked House. Many things were stacked on top of each other. Mostly cups and bowls, some salts and peppers, vegetables who were beginning their first stage of rot. The mare rummaged through the compartments having porcelain jars scraped together as her hope perished with each open container. The jars were labeled but she was expecting her only gift from the moon, her idoncey, would make her misplace something. but at last nothing. Slumping down, Genesis placed her head on the counter top cheek close enough to touch the edge of her cutting board. Her forehoofs circled around her head, shielding her.

Was this really what the moon thought best for her? Quickly snuffing out her blasphemous question, her focus fell elsewhere. She listened to the noise of hooves walking on quartz and cement from the curtained windows. The soft light made the fabric near transparent as the noise muffled against it. Still Genesis could point out each and every neighbor from the sounds. It was two ticks away from The Festival Of The Newborn Light. Its excitement was contagious among Luna's children. There were foals giggling outside, a wagon being pulled. She could even hear the barks of Memory's old dog. Just life. Always moving around her. Genesis was never too fond of them, even with her notable personality shift.

Grappling around her leg like a ball and chain. Something clasped itself on to her back hoof. It was shifting, replacing its hold on top of each other, resting a warm beating sensation against her skin. Bringing her muzzle away from the countertop, her eyes rested on a foal. Pixie Dust, who has found the courage to pass the line into the kitchen, was hooked onto Genesis. His face was nestled into her sprint bone, eyes closed so tight you would have guessed he glued them. He may have hidden his eyes further into Genesis's fur if it wasn't for that horn on top of his head. Genesis settled back onto all fours, and the sound immediately caught Pixie's attention. His eyes snapped up to his mother, still believing his silence hid him. The foal sniffled as he wrestled his face back into her leg. The mare brought her hoof up, leaving the warmth the child offered. He nearly fell to the floor. Luckily for her, the uncoordinated little thing didn't.

Quiet. Emotions played across Pixie's face like a movie. Whatever it was, be it anger, sadness, or failure. For now, he didn't wear any tears, he only averted his eyes down with Genesis's stare. His breathing, sharp and heavy, caused his tiny body to tremble. Still, the child held his air in, falling in his attempt to steady himself. A Sparkle that twinkled off of a light fell down onto the foal's muzzle. It caused him to freeze. Pale yellow in color, a mist encompassed a part of Pixie's forelock. Genesis pulled the strands of his multicolored mane with her magic, trying to reset what he had tangled. Pixie's ears tilted forward, observing how the stars in his mother's levitating spell always twinkled into nothing. Easily managed, even as his mother tilted his face up with a hoof to have him look directly up at her. With a defeated sigh, the magic returned to its origin.

“Brush your mane and tail, make yourself presentable” she said,

Orders like that could only mean one thing. Those directions got an audible gasp from Pixie. So, making himself as tall as he could by straightening out his neck and legs, he nearly hopped off the ground to look big. The foal couldn't suppress his grin as he practiced his serious look, nodding before turning to hurry off to his room. With Genesis left to pack up the early stages of her prep work, she, too, would vanish once she finished.

Traditional garb consists of flowing clothing covering every part of your body. If you don't have a horn, a false one will be sculpted onto your mask. Yes, everypony wore a mask here. All crafted to their personalities and status by the chosen few who were gifted the opportunity to cultivate an outer face. Children, those who have yet to reach adulthood at 12, don't need this modesty. Still, it was the mare's duty of the house to make sure all represented the moon in her glory. Even if it meant a constant battle. Genesis had already pinned her mask on. Her curls frame that hard shelled face. The strife of adulthood took hours to mirror the image of the Moon. Yet, the pearls she'd adorned in her mane felt loose.

The time she took should have been long enough for Pixie to accomplish a simple task. But at last, there Pixie was, balancing on a stool, shoving those bristles deep into that mane of his. Genesis would give him a moment. Observing her foal wet the paddle brush down, trying to tame his hair. Yet, every stroke was teasing his hair into spikes. He was not old enough to master the art of telekinesis; it was a wonder how any ground pony could coordinate with anything. She must have caught his attention because that wooden brush slipped from his hooves, clattering onto the floor. His breaths still heavy, his eyes darting up and down. Blue yet glazed over, puffing tears out like smoke despite his effort to contain them.

Genesis moved into the bathroom, her movements deliberate. Sweeping the brush off the floor, she didn't let that distract Pixie from this simple task. No, she directed him to face the mirror. The right handle of the sink glowed yellow before it turned; the water ran at full force. With the same hoof, she used to guide him earlier, she pressed onto the base of his neck, pushing him under. Pixie sneezed, which shortly turned into a cough. Phlegm from his little outburst earlier mixed with the water running down the drain. Only when he was soaked did she release her pressure. The foal fell back on to his hooves, having to stretch himself to reach that far into the bowl. Gasping, he moved his arm to muffle himself out, tiny coughs beating against his skin like a heartbeat. This wasn't in vain, it allowed his mother to fulfill her duty as the mare of home.

“Are you pretending to be incompetent?”

Pixie's ears perked up, nearly turning to look his mother in the eyes until she set him back into place with another pull of the brush. He ended up staring at her reflection, trying to see through the darken shell where her eyes would be. The foal wanted to catch her feelings beneath it. “Incompetent.” That word was long… the type of word grown-ups used, when they knew you could be eavesdropping. Yet pixie could feel every bit of meaning behind it. Shaking his head, all there was to answer him was the sound of flowing water and the pull of fibers from his scalp.

…..

Loud chatting surrounded the pair. Genesis avoided contact with her peers as she checked off the list of supplies she needed to fulfill her duty of the house. Magic hugged around her pen, floating near her head until Pixie insisted on carrying it. That boy always had to stick his muzzle into everything. Keeping a close watch of him, from the corner of her eye, she could see her foal sniffing around in the air. His eyes closed as he cantered ahead, pen in his mouth until it was ripped away to check another box. The world outside their stone home was small to Genesis, but it only the more distracting to her son.

“Pixie, don't kick up the sand,”

“Yes Ma'am,”

Pixie slowed to a near crawl, watching his mother's hooves to match the pace she was going. They nearly disappeared into the crowd now, bringing a gentle sense of ease to the old mare's heart. Right until that dog barked up at the unit. Memories’s old mutt, a large, white, dog with floppy ears. It was a mess, it couldn't keep its spit in its own mouth. She couldn't believe anyone would allow that thing in their own home, let alone near them. But Naive Pixie gasped, flinching at the sheer loud sound but smiling when he saw the dog. Both mutt and Pixie looked to their caretakers until they gave the go ahead for them to meet.

“Mayo!” Pixie exclaimed bringing his hooves around the neck of the animal,

Pixie is getting a bath tonight, if it wasn't just for touching the dog, he was being drenched in its spit.

Author's Note

Fuck hi! names Lurker I'm long time lurker get the name EHEHEHE, I don't expect really anyone of read this. 1 it's OC based, 2 it's really not for the faint of heart. The first arc is done, and I'll be posting every full moon unless stated otherwise. Cheers!

The arrival

The arrival

Mama was always ethereal, clean, even when she was outside. Most mothers scowled at Pixie and kept their children away from him. Memory, on the other hoof, was kind, as was Mayo. Mayo always nudged her nose into the pudge of Pixie’s cheek, effectively getting Pixie to giggle as he kissed the dog back on her muzzle. Her pants were loud, almost enough to drown out Mama's and Memory's daily chats.

“Genesis Fae,” Memory nodded his head.

“Memory Starbow,” Genesis answered back.

That's where they lost Pixie's attention. Tonight was a grand night; Selene shall show herself to her people, speak to them. Last year, Pixie could not recall the soft voice of the mare of the moon, but during that night, Pixie could explore the soft colors of stone around the Village. Every pony would come, be it old, young, sick, or new. It was also the night of song, a celebration of the birth of music. “Pixie.” Now that's what he remembered; every pony sang, joined in one ghostly voice, those few given the gift of music played to match the song. Memory’s viola leads the group to sing higher. “Pixie.” Then like that light came from the mass, and it was like a weight was being lifted from the group. It made the foal sleepy and also gave him a headache.

“Pixie Dust,” Mama sounded crossed.

The foal placed both hooves on the floor; Mayo’s wet nose pushed into Pixie’s fur, nipping him; the spit of pain rang up through his leg, causing the foal to pull away. Mama, content, started to move again.

As Pixie reminisced about the night of Selene, his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the grand iron gate ahead. Different faces of the moon were imprinted on the iron, bars curled into crescent shapes, arcing up to meet at a point. The sun’s rays made the crystals on the gate glare into Pixie's eyes. Pixie's attention was drawn to the swirling magic surrounding the gate, casting a mesmerizing glow of cyan, pink, and yellow. The magical glow was barely visible, but it enchanted into every stone placed into the wall. Other ponies lined up as well, some older ones, shifting their weight; others little, chasing each other, through the legs of the wiser pony folk. Loud chatter overfilled them all. Once again, Mama was there, a graceful aura with her, as she floated her pen and paper into her saddlebag. Pixie stood alongside her, putting his head up as high as he could, trying to capture her grace, squinting against the sun.

When the gates swung on its hinges, dust billowed out like wind breezing through the grass. A group entered the gate through the sandstorm. Town folk eagerly galloped towards the few, greeting their arrival. Among the few was a large, Unicorn towering in stature, blocking out the sun. Pixie's eyes adjusted to the brightness, his heart began to sink down into the sand, hitching the foals breathe. The unicorn's dark silvery mask seemed to glare directly at him, it was easier to stare down. The foal notices how large his hooves were, they reminded him of the dinner plates they had at home. Dirt stuck to the horse like a lifeline, unlike Mama who remained unfazed.

“Silver Dollar,” she greeted.

“Genni,” his voice didn't match his looks, “And Pixie Dust.”

“Hello sir,” Pixie replied,

The horse chuffed at Pixie, dust puffing from the holes of his mask like a steam engine. He must have breathed fire. Perhaps that explained why Pixie hadn't encountered this stranger before. As Pixie observed the group more closely, he noticed wagons laden with shining jewels. It only proved his theory, they were scary monsters that hoard all things sacred and pretty. Instinctively Pixie darted behind Mama’s flowing dress. Silver, with his piercing gaze, scrutinized the foal for a solid minute before finally turning away.

Then, a couple entered the town. The gate closed behind them. They stuck out like a shaved tail. Their fur was left in the open, you could see their cutie marks, one a cleaver, the other a single daffodil. They were older Ponies, unsettling and peculiar about the two were their faces. They lack their gift, the mask, leaving their expressions out in the open. Their age was evident in their faces—the colors of their eyes and the way their faces were shaped made Pixie shrink further into the veil of his mother's dress. Below the pair was a single brown colt. He was around Pixie's age, but that led to more questions. Despite feeling his cover slipping away, Pixie couldn't resist stealing a few more glances at his unfamiliar peer.

“I'm going to drop this by the house, I'll catch up to you by Moon high,” Mama said,

“You’re leaving Mama?” Pixie called out trying to catch up, but she ignored him,

“Come on little one,” Silver said, softer this time, “it won't be long until Genni will be back,”

Pixie looked back at the stallion, shrinking into himself as his head tilted down to the floor. Despite following the stallion, he made sure to steer as far as he could get away from him. Silver slouched his head, when he walked. Weak with slow movements, he dragged his hooves in the dirt, like his own mass was weighing down on every bone, pulling him to the ground. Pixie saw the way Silver held back his yawn, as if it was a bomb ready to blow. Those glaring eyes snuck glances down at the little pony, before finally deciding to speak up when the silence outstayed its welcome.

“Have you started school yet?” Silver’s smile could be heard beneath the mask,

“In the next moon cycle I will, sir,”

“Are you excited?”

“Mhm!” Pixie chirped. “I- I mean, yes sir I am. For the fest-...fest-y-vile and for School,”

“Good, but you don't need to call me sir, Pixie,”

“Sorry sir, I mean- sorry,”

There was a moment of Silence that fell between them. Those blue eyes caught onto a strange long stick, with what looked like a metal waxing crescent moon topped on it. By it was another less strange device; Pixie has seen other ponies melting metals into similar molds. Never had he had the correct name; he just knew they made large pops in the target field. Pixie's hooves took over him, gently pressing onto the moon shape that hung from Silver's waist. Those little eyes widened as he felt his body shake out, not being able to contain his energy.

“What is that?”

“Hm?” The stallion shuffled, struggling slightly to see through the holes of his mask, “It's a pickaxe.”

“Pickaxe?” Pixie pressed further,

“Oh well, it's a tool, you know how we decorate the village with pretty rocks? Things like marble, silver, and gold?”

“Mhm,”

“Well, these tools help get them from the ground, so we can bring them here,”

“you bring home rocks?”

“Yes,”

“Aren't they heavy?”

“Ah, yes?”

“that doesn't sound fun,”

“It's not.”

Pixie looked straight thinking hard about his next approach to this question, “Then why do you do it?”

Silver couldn't keep the light chuckle covered. He assumed Mama would have taught him already, but there wasn't a bit of annoyance for having to explain.

“We all have a role, it will make our community thrive, you'll have one, love,”

“...As long as it's not rocks,”

“hm, yeah, then what would it be?”

Pixie's brain fumbled over itself, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, turning up he kept a still tone, “Run,”

Later, as the night made her arrival, the festival sprung forth an air of excitement. Candles sparkled like stars all around the Village, hung from roof top to pillars, tied around strings so they'd hang. Each one had a protective magical sphere around them, giving them color. Foals ran past the pair carrying thin sticks that sparkled like Starfire. Pixie couldn't help but yearn for one of those, they seemed so pretty, as they lit the air in a soft smog. Mama, came back as well, in a different dress, her mane was done up in a curled bun. Her most precious jewelry, which stayed in her box for most of the year, adorned her figure. Mayo was let off her leash, chasing another dog, she kept glancing back at Memory, who was setting up for the night's performance. So much noise filled the area, laughing, screaming, instruments being tuned, animals, everything.

Pixie was so caught up in the madness of the festival that he didn't realize Silver had slipped away. There was a pang of sadness that washed over the foal. It didn't take long for the stallion to return with a small box, stretching it out to Pixie. The foal looked at it, turning to Mother, her attention placed nowhere. So Pixie took the box into his hooves looking down at the text. Sp- ar- k- l- ers. Sparklers. Pixie sprang forth wrapping his hooves around Silver's arm.

“Thank you!”

Pixie could feel a hoof ruffle his mane, as the older stallion returned the hug, “Go have fun,” he said, so Pixie ran off.

Sparklers

Sparklers

Pixie ran off, the box clenched in his mouth. The moon herself was bright tonight, shining on his white coat, she was gentle, like she always was. He could smell sugared bread and fruit sponge pies in the air. It had an added aroma of sweetness that only fed into the colt's excitement. Most ponies his age had a clique, somepony to share laughs with, to talk to. But for Pixie, all he had was a box of unlit sparklers. Every time he considered working his way into their circles, his heart hurt. The picture was appealing. Yet there was fear that was overwhelming to his small body. It made his throat dry, and his nerves felt like they were fried. It drowned out any hope that may have sparked, from that. Of course, there was one option. One foal his age that wasn't prancing with any friends, helping carry some strange-looking bags with his parents. He was the only foal with cloth around his back; it almost made him stick out more than his parents. Pixie felt a bit like a cat eyeing him from the sidelines.

Walking out to the road, Pixie fumbled around with one of the sticks. Nearly dropping the box as he tripped over himself, he made his way towards the brown colt. Sitting, he outstretched his hooves as if he was praying. The makeshift table of his arms worked well as he placed the box on top.. The family was stacking things into a wagon. It wasn't a wagon from the village. This one was made from wood, and it didn't have a horse pulling it. No, it had a wheel where the driver would be. Pixie stared at it, still outstretching the stick towards the other foal.

“Can I help you?” the brown foal asked,

“I- um,” Pixie felt his heart race, gulping down his cowardness he continued, “Do you want one?”

“Yeah,”

“Do- Do you want more?” Pixie's eyes lit up, “What's your name?”

Pixie immediately got up, knocking the box off his arms, littering the floor with unlit sparklers. Grimacing, he recollected the sticks. Shoving them harshly into the box trying to get rid of his mess.

“Jack Daniels,”

“...Mmf-ong -ame,”

“Huh?”

Pixe took the box out of his mouth, “that's a long name! I'm Pixie Dust, do you like tag?”

“Yeah!”

“Want to play with me? We can- play tag or- something like tag!”

“Uhh,”

“We don't have to play tag- we can play something like eye spy, or hopscotch!”

“Well,”

“We don't gotta play either, we can talk… with words!

Jack began to laugh, “I gotta help my parents, but after, yeah!”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

Pixie gasped, he turned around spinning, hoping gently in place, before turning to face Jack again.

“When?” Pixie quietly asked,

“Uhh,” Jack looked back, “stay here, I'll let you know,”

The unicorn colt sat down immediately, taking the job very seriously. Jack gave him a look that simply said, “weirdo,” before continuing to help his parents load the wagon. He fumbled with the box, then took out the stick again, rolling it around in his hooves. He sniffed it, it smelled like a match box or a small fireplace. It smelled better than a cigarette. Looking around he saw children use an already lit up stick to light their own, or let a unicorn start the sparkler. Pixie looked down at his own, how does one start a fire. The candles were too high, the stars too far away to even think of.

Ponies moved out of the road, a common practice when the smell of incense carried closer. Two ponies were in front of the small parade, swirling lanterns emitting scents of lavender and borneol camphor. Four ponies carried a palanquin that was covered in silks, and transparent fabrics bunched onto each other so you couldn't make out what was behind it. Crystals, and pearls, were thrown on it as if their value were trivial. A sense of urgency came from the sight, importance as the full council walked behind, chatting to one another about the joyous occasion. Even Picpuck was there. The foal waved hello but his dear sister couldn't hear him over the commotion of the night.

Jack made his way back, he smelled like sweat and charcoal. Pixie got up, his back leg kicked at the sand as he tried to play it cool, but his smile kept creeping up to force its way out. His heart fluttered like the bells in a tambourine, skipping forward, to greet him.

“Ready?”

“More than ready!”

Pixie could feel Jack’s hoof gently press into his own shoulder.

“Tag,” said Jack,

Pixie gasped, giving up, he beamed brightly, letting out a flurry of giggles. As Jack ran off, Pixie took the box back into his mouth, muffling him but never stopping him, as he chased after his new friend.

Their game only paused when they ran out of energy. Pixie wandered over to a neighbor’s house. Slumping against its stone, the cold was a welcome guest against his sweaty body. His chest felt like it was twisting, and his stomach churn from being shaken. Yet, his mood felt like it would reach the stars. Jack turned to see why there weren't any hoof steps chasing him, his concerned look was swept away by the muffled giggles Pixie still tried to contain. Walking up to the house Pixie set up camp by, Jack weezed. Pixie saw the other foal approached, continuing to lay his body on the dirt he rolled onto his back, so his eyes would connect the constellations above.

“You're good at running,” Pixie motioned with an hoof,

“I know,” Jack sat down, “I'm really fast,”

“Maybe your job will be running,”

“Huh?” Jack doubled back on that statement,

“Like, every pony has a… part? I think,” Pixie recited trying to show his point, “You are fast, so I think you'll have something that'll be fast ya know?”

“Thanks?” Jack said, “My job will be what my parents are doing,”

“Is it run?”

“No, it's business,”

“...”

“...”

“What's-”

“Selling stuff, trading stuff, uh- going everywhere,” Jack stretched, “What about you? What are you going to do?”

“Well my mom's a teacher,”

“And your dad?”

“Mom says he's gone,”

“Oh,”

“Sorry for your loss,”

“Oh he's not dead, just not at home,”

“Pixie I'm confused,”

“That's what I said!”

Pixie's hooves flew in the air. Falling back to his sides before he turned around to sit up beside Jack. He dragged the box around against the sand. Most of the sticks were bent, a reminder of how harshly he barreled-stuffed them, but he compared and contrasted, before pulling out a pretty straight one, offering it to Jack. Jack saw the soft smile Pixie gave him, taking a moment before he seized the sparkler into his hooves.

“I can't light it-” Pixie began to speak, before Jack placed his hoof onto his muzzle.

Taking out a lighter, he stumbled with it, trying to take control of it. There was a bit of confusion from him, his brows furrowing, as he tried to figure the mechanism out. A moment more passed before Jack ignited a gentle flame from the lighter. Pixie knew the assignment, taking out another sparkler, this one bent slightly, the boys lit the sparkler up. The two took a moment to appreciate the gentle fire. This one was green and it made a gentle popping sound. Complete Silence fell on both of them. Pixie's mouth slightly agape, he refused to blink, trying to catch every detail of the stars falling towards the ground, disappearing in the air before it could burn the dirt. As quick as it came, it was snuffed. The two boys made eye contact, as Pixie slowly pulled out another one.

They went through the entire box. The pretty straight sparkler was left behind, only because they forgot it wasn't in the box. A drum began to echo, a beat that was hyper, and familiar. Pixie pushed himself onto his hooves, offering to help his friend up.

“C’mon Jack! It's starting,” Pixie encouraged,

Jack tended to look confused, but willing he let the other Colt help him up. They ran over to the crescent square. Memory was up there, his bow at the ready, his wife hitting that drum with all of her might. It was hard to see, bigger ponies covered most of their view. The music stopped, suddenly.

Then there she was. Selene. The last alicorn princess. Pulling back the curtain, she walked onto the stage. Her wings stretched out, feathers, a midnight blue, fanning out to a near white. Her mane. Long, light blue, its magic flowed to the floor, fading lighter with length. Her white dress was layered, bell sleeves on top of bell sleeves, trimmed with gold, the bottom never ending. She was covered in pearls, and pretty stones. Her own mask was different from the last time she made her appearance. An intricate picture of the sky is all Pixie could make out from here. It looked like she was glowing, stars fell from her, she sparkled in the moonlight. You could hear a pin drop, as she walked further to the edge of the stage.

“Let us begin,”

She said,

And she was beautiful.

Author's Note

I'm like way ahead than I thought I would be, also if I posted every full moon that's like a few chapters every month and I will not let this take longer than it has to be, that isn't fair to the people who want to read this. So... How about once a week?

plus full moons cuz im a sucker for those

Nights End

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.”

The Next Moon Cycle

The Next Moon Cycle

Pixie rolled out of bed, shaking loose his scrunched bones. He dragged himself over to the bookshelf, placing the book he was practicing reading with on a lower shelf. Despite growing a few inches, his sister's old saddlebag did little to show it, hanging loosely on his back. The sound of running water was in the living room, only being a door away. Opening it, the colt could see Mama there, bustling herself with chores. The house looked spotless, so maybe she had a weird power only mothers have to see hidden dirt.

Eager to start the day, Pixie knew it would be a busy week. Not only is Jack coming to play tomorrow, but Papa should be here as well. Marking down the days on his notepad, each day brought Pixie closer to exhilaration. It made the young colt’s heart jump higher than before. School meant he'd have his own stories to tell Jack, not just the ones from his books. Jack knew so much of the outside world, it felt good to finally be interesting. The young boy watched his mother collect her things, his grin widening with each long second that passed.

Mama led the way towards the schoolhouse, which used to be a house, Pixie was told, before the sun's fire scarred the earth, around 200 years ago. It was a big yellow school, you could see it over other buildings. The windows were stained with murals of Selene. The church removed the door, replacing it with a large archway, matching the white trim and roof. Pixie remembered Mama’s complaints about the sand that got stuck inside. It was better than the door getting stuck half way through opening it, so he was told. When the wind blew you could hear bells all throughout the building. The teachers strung up light stones and gold and tied them to the roof of the patio, which circled itself around the building.

Inside were hallways lined with photos. Hundreds of them, framed and hung up on the walls, each with a plaque and a date. Mama was in some, most with children, but the further down he went in the hall, the younger she got. Until she was so young she didn't need her mask. Papa there too, but that wasn't the most eye-catching part. Mama was smiling, showing her teeth, with her hooves around a filly’s neck. A pretty white foal with a gray mane. Her cutie mark was a blue planet, with rings of stars around it. Her eyes, a faint blue.

“She's pretty, right?” A strange voice echoed behind him,

The colt turned to face her, “Y-Yeah,”

“She's a heretic.”

What was that word? Is what Pixie wanted to ask the other filly, but nothing came out. His voice was taken from him when he saw her face. She looked like she fell. Healing cuts all up the side of her face, and bruises on her arm.

Suddenly, a loud chime echoed in the building. Oddly cheery for the erie static that followed it. Older children went out of the halls, pinning Pixie against the wall as they walked by. They talked to each other, some yawning other's running ahead of each other, only to be scolded by one of the teachers who followed behind them. Mama was nowhere to be found, causing Pixie’s heart to drop. “Mama?” Pixie tried to call out but it came out as a whisper, overshadowed by the corners of the building.

The other filly his age stood against the tide. She huffed at the photo, her red eyes drawing curses into the glass, before turning to the colt again. She held her head high,

“I'm MayTower,” she spoke over the crowd,

“I'm Pixie-”

“I know who you are. You're that fat boy who's friends with the outsider,” she said, “I know who your Mama is too,”

“...you do?”

Her voice fumed every time the colt open his mouth to answer her, “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree,”

Pixie sewed his lips together. Jack wasn't an outsider, he was anything but an outsider. His family worked with their church, but the filly spoke over his thoughts like she could see into his head.

“Don’t get caught alone, Pig-xie” MayTower sneered, as she started to move, “And, you don't know me,”

The colt nodded, his eyes felt dry. He repeated the name, mouthing it. He disliked it, it left a taste in his mouth akin to expired fish. Dry, it formed snot in the back of his throat as he did his best to not to make a fool himself in the bumbling halls. The older ponies passing him by didn't feel so big anymore, as he stayed nailed in his spot. He felt a hoof on his side, his haunches went down as he skipped forward, quickly turning around to face his… It's just Mama. Unfazed, she motions him to follow, leading him into a classroom.

No pony was there yet, she set her own bag on top of the desk. She acted like this room was a second home. Taking her own things out of her bag, and wiping the black board clean of white marks. She didn't have a desk, but she had a shelf, where she placed her things. Pixie looked over to the rest of the classroom. There were about thirteen rectangular tables. Two chairs sat at each one. They were carved from heavy stone, he wondered how they fit them in here, surely they were too heavy to lift up.

“Sit down, Pixie Dust,” Mama stole his thoughts,

He took a table closet by the door. This room was unusually long. Closer inspection to the roof showed where they took out the old wall, only leaving in the supports for the building. MayTower made her second appearance, sitting at the desk just ahead of Pixie. Then another foal entered, then another after that, until nearly every chair was full. As each seat filled, the space between him and his peers grew wider. The noise from out in the halls funneled into the long room.

A spec of hope was dropped into Pixie's bucket of a heart when the last filly looked around for a seat. The filly stood on the top of her hoofs, peering around every ponies head. Pixie's attention shot to her, taking a deep breath in, the little unicorn sat up straight, moving his things more to his side of the table, so this potential partner would have more than enough room for their own things. Smiling at her as she approached closer. Yet, when her eyes met his, her mouth grimaced like she was stepping into dirt. She quickly turned away, as if she held back a gag, only to see MayTower sitting alone in the only other seat open. The filly furrowed her brows, pinning her ears back as she sat down besides MayTower.

Class was only four hours, but they passed like years on Pixie's deserted island. The new mundane settled into his skin. Pixie didn't bother unpacking his dinner when lunch came around, he just forced his head to stare at the gray color desk in front of him. The young boy shrunk further into himself, his hooves bunched up in front of him. A part of him expected this. His peers never wanted to include him. But he finally had the reason why. He was ugly.

The chime sounded again, and ponies flooded out of their chairs and into the hallway once again. Pixie stayed put, Mama was scrubbing down the frame of the chalk board with a damp cloth. She turned back to see the colt still looking up at her from across the room.

“Get going,” she said,

Pixie got up, “you're not coming, Mama?”

“You're old enough to be going to school, you're old enough to walk home,” she didn't even bother looking at him, “We all have a duty to our community Pixie Dust, don't make me repeat myself,”

“Yes Ma’am,”

With less distractions, it was quicker to leave the yellow Schoolhouse than it was to enter. On the dusty road, the houses were like big monsters that lined in rows. Loud barking made the colt jump, as a pointy dog lodged its teeth between a fence gate, trying to get closer to Pixie. Luckily the gate wouldn't budge, it didn't do much to ease his nerves. He heard a broom hitting the floor from the other side of him. A stallion yelled at an animal to get back. A black blur scampered across the road into an alleyway, with a slammed door just behind it.

He knew better than to check on what it was. It could be something bad, something that could make him sick. Pixie couldn't explain what made him walk towards that alleyway, but he quickly disappeared in it. It was dark here. There was a tarp that stretched the length of the alley way, used to keep rain at bay, yet it only blocked out the little light left by the sun. There were boxes and barrels here, stacked on top of each other, some with logos from Jack’s family's company. Tiny yellow marbles glinted in between one of the boxes causing Pixie to freeze. His chest heaved, eyes adjusting, he saw a small black kitten, shaking against the corner. Ease settled into his bones. As he watched the small black fluff ball try to stay still.

“It's okay, kitty, I won't hurt you,”

Pixie used his inside voice, hushed, he stepped closer only hearing a sharp growl from the kitten. It got the colt to step back, rethinking his approach. Sitting down, he took out his uneaten lunch, opening the box he pushed it out towards the kitten. Her little pink nose twitched, as she stepped out in the remaining light, keeping her eyes locked on to Pixie. She creeped slowly, her body staying close to the floor. Her fur stood up on its edges, making her look like a ratty puff ball. Once at the box, she sniffed it again, immediately eating the food inside the box. Pixie moved his hoof closer to pet the creature, but she looked up and hissed, swatting his hoof away.

“Sorry!” Pixie assured her,

The kitten’s mouth was messed up. It looked like it was cut into the right nostril of her nose. It was very noticeable when she sneezed, as she scarfed down Pixie’s dinner. She had to be hungry, her bones stuck out from her sides. Laying down into the dirt Pixie watched the feline.

“It's okay,”

he cooed to it,

“see?

“I'm ugly too,”

His voice cracked.

Pointing to his face, Pixie simply couldn't hold it back anymore. He cried… gently, silently, he didn't even know he was crying until he found water on the back of his hooves' fur. Then there was a paw there… The kitten’s face was still covered in crumbs, but she sat down, her soft fur against his. Blinking away what was in his eyes, Pixie managed to hold it in again with her there.

“Thank you, kitty,”

…

“Pixie? Dear, Is that you?” Memory called out, “what are you doing in the alley? Silly goose,”

The new voice caused the kitten to run. Pixie didn't have the opportunity to call out for her, because Memory was approaching rapidly. Whipping away the snot and tears, he dragged dirt across his face. Gulping, he hid his face under his bangs, as he eyed the floor. Memory felt the air change the closer he got to him. His happy prance soon turned into a slow waltz. Memory saw Pixie’s puffy eyes, his red nose, and the mud that was rubbed into his white coat. The older stallion placed a hoof on the younger boy’s chin, moving his face to look up at him. A long sigh fell from his lungs, as he dropped his hooves back to the floor.

“Follow now,” Memory beaconed,

Pixie lingered behind him, staring down at the buckles of his pants. They sang when he stepped.

“I won't tell your mother you were in the dirt,” Memory promised, “Promise me you'll take a bath when you get home,”

“Yes sir, I promise,”

Memory grazed on his words, trying to chew something out that wouldn't be too intrusive, “...you went to school today, if I'm not mistaken,”

“Yes sir,”

“How was it? Did you learn anything?”

Sniffling, Pixie held his breath, he was a boy, boys don't cry. Memory turned to scold him for the lack of an answer, but pause hit him, so he let him be. He silently led Pixie back to his house. They were neighbors, their houses faced each other. The old Pony opened the door, Mayo pranced out, circling them like a vulture. Her floppy ears clapped when she shook her body. Pixie’s smile returned when she licked away the grime from his face. Memory's home was smaller, but there was color in each corner of the home. Mother always said it was garnish, but the scarlet walls were more interesting then their own bland off-white ones. The stallion walked over to the lively living room, taking a wooden instrument in arms, he walked it over to Pixie. It was like a Viola, but it was longer, not as big as Miss Sonata song’s cello.

“Put your hooves out,” Memory

Pixie did as he was told, sitting down so he could stretch his hooves out towards him. Memory placed the wooden instrument into his hooves, the foal moved down with it not expecting its weight. It was brown, Memory's name was carved into its neck. Some of Mayo’s fur was caught under its strings along with dust.

“It’s out of tune but it should serve you well,”

Pixie still couldn't catch what Memory was throwing at him, “How long would you like me to hold this?”

The stallion chuckled, “no, dear I'm gifting this to you,”

“... really?”

“Our last child found their gift in medicine, the one before had a taste for flutes,” Memory stopped himself from dragging on,

Tracing the grooves in the wood with his small hooves he noticed it was hollow inside. You can see through a window in the middle of its body, “Thank you!”

“While Sonata and I are still here, feel free to stop by, I'll teach you how to take care of it, while we are still here”

“You're leaving?”

“...it's about time we reunite with the stars, and forge a new life, dear,”

“...why?”

“Moments are fleeting Pixie, The good, the bad, the ugly, you were a good neighbor, and a better friend to Mayo,” The older stallion pat Pixie’s hair, “now get going, you still need to take a bath before your mother gets home,”

Pixie smiled with the warm touch, shaking his head to re ruffle his mane when the hoof was taken away. He got up, struggling a bit to balance with the large instrument in one hoof, he made his way back to Memory's front door. Something came to mind before he had the chance to push the wood on its hinges.

“But what is this?” Pixie asked,

“It's a guitar,” said Memory,

Moments

Moments

It was a mucky day. Little drops of rain kept spitting on the folks below, never deciding if it truly wanted to downpour. It left the smell of the mutated creosote brush all across the area. Yet, everything stayed on time today. Including the town’s monthly arrivals. The silver gates roared when they opened. Waves of dust flew and folded over each other. Pixie ran full force ahead of every pony. Jumping on to Jack, he wrapped his hooves around him. It was to be expected, last week he did the same, including this last month, then the year before that. Pixie was starting to tower over Jack. It didn't stop the unicorn from pretending he was still just as small. He wrestled his face as if he was patchwork with Jack’s fur. Jack on the other hoof, struggled to breathe with the scarf that was Pixie around his neck. Squeezing him, the unicorn rocked happily in his spot.

“Pixie! You're stranglin’ me!” Jack managed to get out,

“Sorry! I'm just… heeeh!!” said Pixie, finally letting the other foal breathe.

The weird sound he made got Jack to bust out in a full cackle.

Pixie let go, peeking over the brown colt's ears. He spotted the scary masked stallion, making his already chipped mood brighter. He waved his arm in the air like a flag. He already grabbed the attention of the large gray stallion but he still felt the need to shout.

“Papa!”

The loud scream caused Jack’s ears to lay flat. Pixie’s expression turned into an apologetic smile.

Papa swooped in hugging the young Unicorn in a similar fashion to how Pixie grappled Jack, but with the quarter of the force. Pixie returned the hug, for a second, but Jack was always more interesting. Weaseling out he hopped over to Jack Daniel. Giving himself room to gently tap his hooves into the floor with each idea he laid out.

“What do you want to do first? Oh! How was your trip? Did it go well? Did you encounter any big mean bugs! Also what do you want to do?”

“We can talk- with words?”

“You said you were going to let that go!”

“I said I might!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“Well, guess what?” Pixie patted the side of his arm, then bolted, “Tag!”

“That's not fair!” Jack called after him, yelling,

Pixie ran under Silver, nearly tripping him, as Jack followed. They used him as a pillar, Pixie blew raspberries in the air at Jack as they paused when they kept blocking each other's way. The only thing that stopped them was a hoof on each of their foreheads.

“Wait til’ after dinner,” Papa said,

It didn't stop their chattering, as they took off towards the stone house. The boys kept running ahead of Pixie's dad, only to run back and start their trip all over again. Silver was so slow, you'd think his longer legs would let him over more ground, yet he dragged on like a doll in a string. Finally at their house, Silver opened the door, and went in, leaving it open for the two.

Before going inside, Pixie's eyes locked on to Memory’s empty house. Nothing changed about it. A part of him expected to see those lights flicker on, then music. He could almost hear Memory play. Every time he would mess up he announced, yelling out a word Pixie wasn't allowed to say. Few times he even got in trouble for it. That only stopped him for a week, then he'd be back to the same old. He was a strange, but good stallion.

Ever since he left that day, he never showed up again. Pixie knew everyone would have to return to the cycle at one point. Most times it just meant a big feast for everypony in town, from what he could remember. Memory felt like a permit mark on Pixie's life. They said, at school, how after 60, your body degrades. Bones whittle down, and your eyes turn blurry. Your skin will sag, and you'll become tired by simply standing up. Pain will be in every muscle, with no peace. It was one of the curses the sun brought pony folk for disobeying her will. It's no life to be lived, but Memory seemed fine, to him. He never accepted help. In the end it was never his choice. Mama said it was the scars on the heart that caused you to hurt the most, Pixie didn't understand how somepony could reach your heart through your bones.

Mayo didn't understand either. She always waited by the door, her once pretty white fur permanently colored a darker shade of tan. Her tail rarely wagged like it used to. She stayed put ever since Miss. Sonata and Mr. Memory said goodbye. Every time somepony took her away she always found a way back. She'd stay there in the same spot, waiting. Defeated the town taken to feeding her, she was old too, retired from hunting. Pixie knew animals can't be reincarnated. Maybe if he ever got to speak with Selene, he could ask; when Memory is reincarnated, Mayo will be by his side again.

“Dusty?” Jack interrupted, nuding Pixie's shoulder,

“She’s a good girl,”

Jack stood there, staring at the white dog, curled in on herself. She laid under a wooden house Clearwaters made for her.

“no luck?”

“Mhm,”

Silver peeked out of the house, “hurry in boys you're letting the hot air out,”

Inside they went. Not a lot has changed in the living room. Genesis was busy cooking in the kitchen. Her hair was tied back, her pretty curls hugged around each other. It smelled like potatoes and pepper. The boys whipped their hooves on the welcome mat, and ran straight into Pixie's room. Silver shook his head, hanging his hat on the lonely rack, before going over to the kitchen to speak with his wife. Pixie's room was filled with his current obsession, music. Sheet music staples to the walls and his beloved guitar was set on his bed. Mama even let him have the family gramophone in his room, him being the only pony to use it.

Little black paws patted at Pixie's window. She meowed, pressing her nose against the glass.

“Shh Pickles, Mom can't hear you,” Pixie said,

Opening the window the little cleft lip cat linked her body against the wall. Lanky steps she took her time getting away from the bipolar rain. She smelled like wet animal, spots on her pelt still contained the water from outside. She propped herself up on Pixie's bed, rolling on her back to stretch those long legs. Her little beans looked like duck feet as she pawed the air, letting out a rumbly purr.

“Hi Pickles,” Jack greeted,

Days like these were Pixie's favorite. His stale room turned into one of muffled giggles. They only hyped each other up to be louder. Until Mama or Papa called them to quiet down in the other room. This only delayed the eventual squeaky cackles and screeching. Pixie would share everything he could with Jack. Offering to read, to him, even trying to give him his few possessions he had. There was a world outside the gates of the village, Jack would give him drops of information. Animals as big as a bus, that was poisonous to the touch. Apparently the church did a good job of keeping this area safe. Wonder struck the colt, how many other outsiders were there out there? They all had to be interesting. Was it a common occurrence to fight those mutated horrors? Was water really that difficult to find out there?

When they got too rambunctious, mother sent them out on some errands. The two made a game out of it. Rushing to each stall trying to fill the little check list as fast as they could. They split it into two, so I was like a scavenger hunt. Pixie did feel like he was cheating because he knew where everything was, but he wasn't going to let Jack know that. When that got old they moved to puddles. Every time they spotted one on the marbled sidewalk, they'd take turns slashing the water around with a jump. Lost, it was as if the two were stuck in their own little world. Only intruded by snorting. When Pixie walked by some of his classmates one of the boys started to snort with each step Pixie took. Only to duck down to laugh with his little group of friends. Pixie’s ears slowly fell, trying to force out a laugh. It was more of a copy than a true show of joy. Jack’s eyes narrowed at the group.

“Do that again, I dare you,” said Jack,

“Or what?” Flint, rolled his eyes, moving in front of his posse, “What you gonna do glitter hoof?”

“I'll kick your ass with these glitter hooves,” Jack moved in front of Pixie,

Flint smirked, one of his friends pushed the side of his flank so he'd get closer to the other boy faster. “You talk a lot of shit for a tiny pony,”

Things were getting bad, “let's go home, Jack,” Pixie begged but Jack was carving valley’s into the sand.

A feminine call took their attention, “My ears better mistake me,”

She was the only mare in town to wear pants. Her legs were long and skinny, like stilts. Her mask was stark white. Strangely simple it had stars on it, mimicking freckles. Long ringlets tied back, framed her head like a lion's mane. They swirled with pinks, purples and blues, overlapping each other in a flurry of colors. A single black moon on her forehead marked her as a part of the council. Her presence was usually a welcomed one, but this was simply not the time. Picpuck, Pixie's older sister, had much to do, so she didn't bother shadowing her annoyance.

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

Jack flared his nostrils, “but-”

She ignored him, turning to flint, “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,” Flint-n-Steal avoided eye contact,

Flint anger festered in a two hoof stomp, looking back at his friends he shook his head to storm off. It wasn't long until the others rippled away too. Only then was Picpuck satisfied with the status quo returning order to the village did she leave. Jack waited for them both to disappear.

“Thats’ your sister, right Dusty?” Jack said, as soon as he felt Picpuck wasn't in ear shot,

Too many details rushed Pixie at once. With the moment of rest, he used it to catch up on his breathing. The unicorn felt a rising sense of embarrassment. All he could basically do there was sit and prune his feathers. Yet, he did feel safer, with Jack. You didn't have to be a grown up to understand they were outnumbered. It didn't stop the small brown horse from acting. If the business job doesn't work out, Jack would make an amazing hero.

“I don't like her.” Jack didn't wait for an answer,

Pixie finally came back to equestria, “She means well,”

“Then she should’ mind her own beeswaxes,” said Jack, “or at least listen to us about what happened,”

“Maybe…-” Pixie searched for the right, be it meek words, “thank you,”

“Hm?” Jack comedically blinked, “Oh! Yeah don' mention it,”

This didn't stop him from thinking about it. As the day continued, the sky was dumped with mixtures of reds and pinks, the boys found themselves back at the house. Dinner was eaten, Silver was trying not to doze off on the couch as the boys watched the warm fire crackle in the dim light. The heat dried their eyes and flesh, but it was warmer than the blanket in Pixie's room. Ash flew out of the light source, cinders turned red with enrage, but contained.

“It's weird,” Pixie whispered,

“What's weird?” Jack replied with a yawn,

“How fire is from… her, but we keep it in the chimney,”

“Celeste?”

“Mhm, the sun”

“Its nice-”

Was it wrong to think so? It would be a lie to disagree, but it felt gross. Like he was hurting someone he didn't know for thinking anything to do with Celeste was… positive. There was warmth to her chaos. She added excitement to Selene’s gentle quiet. Even how she burned, the fire never danced in the same spot twice. It swayed and raised as it ate the wood below. Different shades of reds and oranges, like the sleeping sun outside. They faded up, energy flowing, glittering in the air. Yet she was transparent, unreliable, she was in a constant state of change. Pixie placed out his hoof, trying to grasp the flames twirling, enticing, yet it was slapped before he could make contact.

“Well don't touch it!” Jack scolded,

Papa stirred, causing the two to crane their heads back. Then, a knock at the door caused both of the boys to jump, Pixie even let a sharp yell. Papa was awoken with the knock, but he got onto all fours when he heard Pixie yell. He looked around, seeing the little awkward bunch huddled together on the floor. A heavy sigh came from the workhorse. Then yet another knock. Silver went to the door, opening it, to see Jack’s parents. With a nod, Jack knew the sound of their voices. Papa never spoke to them, in all honesty there were very few members of the church that talked to Jack’s Mama and Papa. It was the worst game of charades, as silver motioned for the two to say their goodbyes. Pixie gave Jack another squeeze, before he too left until next week. The colt was already counting the seconds till then. Once the door closed Papa went back to the couch, taking off his mask and placing it on the arm of the sofa.

“Papa?”

“Yes Pixie?”

“Why are you so quiet when Jack’s Mama and Papa are here?”

“We… um we aren't allowed to talk to them,”

“We aren't?”

“Well you are, until you're 13,”

“Huh?”

“Children's… their souls are still tied to the moon, the older we get the further we become,” Silver tried to explained, “So you're allowed to be friends now, but once you're an adult, we have to keep our distance,”

Pixie didn't answer. So Papa gently patted his head.

“You have a while until then, love, so try to have fun while you can,”

Pixie nodded…

“Try to get some sleep, it's getting late,”

The colt dragged his feet into his room. Removing his guitar from his bed, he crawled in. Pickles, was still curled in a ball on one of his pillows. Picpuck was allowed to talk to them, anyone with the black moon on their foreheads was allowed. So why were they any different? He knew Jack was an outsider, so was his Mama and Papa, his sisters and brothers. Their hooves have been on the secret land, their figures seen by Selene. Would he really have to stay away?

Picpuck

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.

Knowledge

Author's Note

Trigger Warning: Eating disorders

Knowledge

Knowledge

It started when they turned 13. Silver was starting the beginning of his constant tracks up to the mines, leaving them alone. Clearwaters, Monotone’s husband, was learning the trade of carpentry. It was the start of all their lives, all at once. Yet Monotone found time for her. Many times the two have been in this stone house, only now Genesis Fae owned it. A wedding gift, from her father and mother. Both chose to have an early reunion into the cycle, leaving Genesis Fae to Silver. They had few children, only two, a rarity in the depths of the village.

Monotone closed the curtains. She made sure the door was snug, she locked every lock to be sure. Once the house was dark, she flicked on a light switch, letting the buzz of magical electricity flow into the house. Only then did Monotone take off her mask. Her gray face was kissed by the gentle heat. Her ghostly blue eyes rested on Genesis Fae. Expression melted into a smile. Her mane was straight, black, braided back, she laughed at the other frozen unicorn. Fae was as tense as ever. Gently patting her she watched the pony ease, her hooves moved to the shell on Genesis’s face. She brushed back the curls she worked hard on maintaining with carelessness.

“I won't say anything if you won't, Fae,” Monotone whispered,

“Promise.” Replied Fae, placing her hoof on top of the one on the side of her face.

…

Genesis awoke in her bed. Her hoof traced the side of her cheek, drawing circles in the spot. What a lovely dream she just had, even if it was more of an echo. She heard movement outside of her room this early night. A familiar sound, she would give time for it to subside. They never seemed to tire. Getting up, she pulled her mane back with a spell, tying it in satin ribbon. She pulled the sleeves of her night gown back so she would not trip. She was in the hall now, the shadows of the room near black, eating up the corners. That child’s room was cracked open. A single black cat’s yellow eyes glinted back at her, startling her, before she could see one of its ears flick back. The cat didn't run, it returned to her destination. Opening the door, she saw Pixie there, ripped sheet music surrounded him, torn from the walls. He curled in the corner of the room, coughing on his own snot, his breathing ugly. He held it when he saw her, trying to keep in more of those nasty tears from falling down.

“Pixie.” Genesis said,

Pixie wouldn't answer. His hooves covered his head, his weak body shivered with every hiccup. So Genesis moved closer, her voice raising, to be heard over his noise.

“Pixie.”

Pixie still refused to acknowledge her. Tensing slightly from the suddenness of her voice. Monotone used to find her like this, in the same room. Instead of paper it was glass from a shattered mirror that swarmed her like buzzards. Genesis let her body drop besides the cornered foal. Placing a hoof on his arm strangling his face, she watched the child drop them. He threw himself close, to wrap his arms around her waist. She entered a type of stasis. Her body only breathed, as her sight looked down at him, rubbing his face into the lilac fabric. She let that same hoof drop onto his mane, brushing the rats nest he had created for himself. His crying was loud, it took time for it to come to a rest. It waited for his throat to become scratchy and sore.

“Why am I ugly?” Pixie asked,

She continued stroking the colors of hair on his head, those blue eyes searching for more meaning behind hers. Genesis counted the flaws in skin. Most of them are a reflection of her own, especially at that age. Ugly… a word she had carved in her arm. The snickering of children, her sister’s face, her stupid perfect curls, her body was so… delicate. Frail, long legs, a true moon flower. Her eyes couldn't focus on anything, as her own tears blurred her vision. Both of her hooves encompassed the parts of Pixie's cheek’s, pivoting his mucus filled snout towards her.

“Oh, Pixie Dust,” Genesis’s voice was barely audible, “you want to be pretty?”

Pixie breathing got heavier, he was always a cowardly child. Sniffing, he nodded.

“I need you to say it Pixie.”

“I want to be pretty…Mama”

Genesis stood up, walking out of the room, she led Pixie with a hoof. A smile formed from the corners of her mouth, the same weight as a petal. The sound of their hooves clicked on the tile, as they made their way towards the toilet. The floor was cold, through her dress and they surrounded the bowl, the smell of the water was close to their face. She pulled out a stick from a drawer, floating it in front of the young boy. He took it, those pretty… ghost blue eyes staring at her.

“Push it to the back of your throat,”

He looked down at the stick, his puffy eyes trying to place the puzzle pieces together. The picture never cared to show, but he opened his mouth and shoved the stick down, coughing it hurt. Genesis placed her own hoof on top of his, to direct the stick to the back of his throat, about where his sinus would be. Throw up flooded out through the young boy's nose and he tried to keep it from coming out. His mother pressed his back so he'd get the rest in the toilet, as he coughed. Some of it rested on the lid of the toilet rim, and some fell on her pretty dress, less than half made it into the bowl. Genesis gently patted his back, keeping her voice gentle.

“Good, now again,”

He did so.

Quicker this time, surprisingly he was a fast learner. He didn't need help from his mother. What little of his meal was gone. All that was left was stomach acid that burned all the way up, causing him to weeze out in pain in his always hoarse throat. Tears welled up in his eyes again, but his mother was there now. Holding back his mane from getting in his way. Then he did it again, with her instructions, and again, until it looked to be mostly water he was hurling in the bowl. Pixie looked paler, he wobbled on his legs like he used to when he was younger. Only now did his mother pull her young child into a hug, squeezing him.

Pixie smiled.

Sand.

Sand.

Breakfast was served as a stew to every capsule in the big old building, known as checkpoint 14. The windows were large, covered in a sheer fabric, pinned neatly in rows folded over each other. The color was dull, like everything about check point 14. It was incredibly hot, but a welcome change to the night's dry cold. The rebirth of light entered the building that way, as lanterns were inlaid like jewels on the walls. Pixie could hear secrets, from the other side of the curtain, a father answering their child’s blunder of questions. A naughty conversation, he was definitely not old enough to listen to from the counter side, but he also knew better than to ease the job. Pixie was at the small table beside the bed Papa was sitting up on. The boy was writing as steadily as he could, each letter hard and scratched in the paper. Papa had his hooves busy too, sewing little flowers in his coat. Every once and awhile he'd move his bangs aside to see his son jotting away.

“Are you drawing, Pixie?”

“nope, a song-poem,”

“A poem… song? May I have a look?”

Pixie swiveled in his chair, to dramatically point the pen straight to the heavens, “it's not done,”

Papa’s brows raised, “oh-… Okay,” he bit down on his tongue to stifle a laugh, “what's it about?”

“...it's just pretty words,” it wasn't completely wrong,

“Like what,”

“Lace… umm periwinkle? Glimmering,”

“Those are pretty words,”

“...Yeah, they are…” Pixie tapped on the table, “Papa, do you know more pretty words?”

“Hmm, I might, I'll tell you if you eat,”

The foal turned to the cold bowl of stew beside him. If he wasn't avoiding the smell he would have no clue that it was there. The spoon stayed shiny and pristine, contrasting the scarfed down bowl set at the other side of the table.
“I'm not hungry.”

“You aren't?”

Pixie shook his head, “I'm not,”

“It'll be a long walk until dinner, please try to eat something,”

Pixie pushed the bowl away almost knocking it to the floor, “I’m okay”

His stomach growled, yet he hated the taste when it burned up his throat. He pressed his tongue on the back of his teeth as a force of habit. Almost losing himself to his thoughts before he eyes Papa’s frown. Pixie’s breathing hitched, feeling like a flightless bird caught in a power line. Yet this was Papa, he had to remind himself. The foal pushed himself out of the stool and sat next to the stallion, pressing his face into his father's arm. The big work horse treated the child like glass, as he patted the other on the head. It was easy to make Papa happy, this would have worked under any other circumstances, but there was no smile to be seen on him.

“Is there a reason you're not eating?” his voice was hushed,

Pixie chewed over his words, it was weird for a boy to be concerned about his features, is it not? “I'm just not hungry,”

“Eat.”

Pixie stayed silent.

“Pixie,”

“Please don't make me again,”

“You can't survive on pretty words, Pixie,”

“If I don't think about it… it's okay! I keep my mind busy with other stuff and bam! No hu-”

“Pixie Dust,” Papa said, scarier this time, “you're a growing boy, you need food for your body, to be big and strong,”

Big… Pixie took away his affection from his father, stomping over to the bowl. He just about knocked it off the table in his haste, and a part of him wanted to. It would be hard to find time to… take off the weight, without lurking eyes. Using the spoon he dug into the brown liquid. He stirred a carrot as if it was being eaten by the waves at sea. Silver raised a brow at Pixie, for his son to huff and shove the spoonful in his mouth. It was plain, like the walls and floor, but was it incredible. His stomach growled for more. Taking the spoon out of his mouth he sat it on the lip of the bowl, watching the disturbed water settle.

“Do you like it?” Papa asked,

“I do,”

There was more Papa wanted from Pixie… That Pixie could tell from the strange expression from his father, in those old lost eyes. It didn't stop the fact Papa didn't let Pixie free until half the bowl was eaten. Mama was right, though. It became harder to eat like he used to, almost as if his body was forcefully stopping himself from consuming too much. He didn't understand it, but he felt the pride that came with it. Like he was winning.

Little time passed before the group ventured off into the old world. There was less chattering among the younger foals, some rode in the empty wagons, trying to rub away the sleepy from their eyes. Pixie couldn't slip away when they walked, Papa kept a close eye on him. There was a bit of nervousness to him, that was there before as he eyes the horizon, through that dark mask of his. Honestly, now that Pixie truly surveyed the others, he wasn't the only pony searching for something. The further they were from home the higher the adults' ears perked up. Not that there was much of anything out here, besides sand. So much sand his hooves sank into the ground, weighing down his fur. Papa offered to carry him through the deep sand but Pixie shook his head, he was still lingering on the morning’s conversation.

Before the sun burned the world, this was a valley. Covered in blades of grass, with blooms of poppy flowers. This land was sacred, the sun had a harder time reaching them here, it's why the world decided to rebirth the moon here. Whatever that means. Picpuck danced around the question, on how this land was exactly sacred. “Because the sun couldn't reach the land,” she would answer, but if you asked why the sun couldn't touch the land, she would answer, “Because the land was sacred.” Maybe she didn't know? Or she did, and she wasn't willing to give the details for her own reasons. That mare was smart, so Pixie knew there was always more to her words than what she gave. A lot of adults did that, some better at it than others. Other than that there was nothing here, besides two large iron boxes, the group was slowly approaching.

Attention was drawn to it, as Picpuck led the group to stand a good distance away. The children watched closely.

“As you know we have multiple duties here, you too will be given means to protect yourself, and more importantly protect the moon herself,” announced Picpuck,

Picpuck looked over to a masked stallion, nodding as he went forward. He had on him a tool, the same type that Silver had, that wasn't his pickaxe. The ones that go pop, pop, pop, as it tears into glass at the target range. The stallion walked towards the box, placing a pink crystal on top of it. Pixie could tell this was a real unicorn as his horn under the porcelain mask lit up. He floated the Crystal up and seemingly let go of it in the air. Then, the crystal cracked, exploding into itself then dissipating like flames of embers. Transparent pink like roots stretched out, and seemingly disappeared. Only then did the unicorn levitate the first box open.

Disfigured and disjointed, the creature pulled itself out of the box. Eyes wide, the ones not used to seeing the creature froze, but Pixie knew what this was from Jack's stories… a Hellhound. It was bug-like, its spine was on the outside of its body. Skin thin yet dark stretched tightly against its ribs as if it was starved. Veins glowed green, thick in its body, its eyes bloodshot and red, with yellow sickly looking pupils. Its maw held hundreds of teeth, some small, others like tusks growing though parts of its lips. The creature growled, towering over the unicorn as its claws dug in the dirt, spit rolling out in foam.

“These are the remains of the sun chaos, a mockery of the moon’s creation,” Picpuck's voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade, “and this is how you take care of it,”

The unicorn took the tool and held it beside him, then as quick as he pressed the trigger the tool started to glow. The gold etching traveled in waves of sparkles, up to the nozzle letting out a loud bang! A beam came from the tool, right into the creature's skull. It's head imploded in on itself, burning like a shooting star, at such force it was flung. Suddenly stopped by an invisible shield, pulsing pink where the creature made contact with it.

“Now any pony noticed anything?” She chipped,

No pony answered. Pixie was too busy finding solace in Papa’s sleeve, as he saw the poor creature be shot in the face… yet he muttered, “... Its head exploded…”

Picpuck noticed, “Speak up Pixie Dust,”

Pixie took a deep breath, “It- the Hellhound was hit in the head?”

“Mhm! Shot,” she corrected, pondering for a second on how he knew what it was called, but she carried on, “You know why?”

She was met again with silence.

“Hmm, well let's just show you,” she turned, giving the stallion a wave.

The second box was open, and a similar creature dug its way out. BANG! BANG! Two shots pierced its chest leaving chasms in its body, as flesh sizzled under heat. The Hellhound ran towards, opened its craw and struck the unicorn, flinging him like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum about its doll. His body hit the invisible bubble. Blood splattered against it, as the pink pulsed around, highlighting the floating color.

Silence…

…

Horrid screams came from the children. Pixie began to sob, as the stallion wouldn't move, his body still as this… monster, started to make its way towards him. Papa looked to be about to say something, as he brushed his hoof against the shaking foal’s body. This only made Pixie tense up more, wrapping his hooves tighter against his arm.

Then, magic veins retraced the path they rooted themselves in before. Now they stretched out to go further, almost enough to touch the group. Where the invisible wall was, was now made visible by a pink light. Suddenly, everything sucked in on itself like a dying white dwarf. Then the hard sound of a clear crystal hitting the metal of the box.

The Hellhound was stunned, not knowing what had happened, the sudden light flash banging the creature. Only for the unicorn to get up, taking the tool and aiming it at the creature, then shooting its head off, much like the other who still laid dead in the dirt.

“That's why,” Picpick motioned, “Did we scare you?”

Relief, as the unicorn made his way back relatively unscathed, besides the tears in the fabric he wore, and the stains of his blood on his clothes. Yet, where you could see his fur there wasn't a single tear in his skin. The unicorn gave Picpuck the Crystal, that was about half the size of a bottle of whiskey, and as thick as a loaf of bread. She motioned to the stallion who took another one, this time it was as pink as the first crystal was before it imploded.

“These are Charms, They have one use, anymore they would be too big to be convenient to carry around. They are enchanted by our Selene herself, from Clear Quartz, a protection stone,

“Hence why they produce a field of protection. It traps you, yes, but when dealing with Hell hounds you must take precautions, as you saw, he was hit, and subsequently, was left immobilized. He would have needed a doctor, but because of this Charm, it healed his wounds, stunned the creature, and allowed him the precious time to strike a counter attack

“You can't use this on other ponies,”

A hoof raised, “Why, Ma’am?”

Picpuck was more than willing to answer, “Simply because it will heal the enemy. The healing spell it creates helps all pony kinds, even outsiders. You won't need to fight outsiders too much, most are simply looking to pass. One of your duties will be to accompany those who do. The ones you would, they are too scared to set hoof here, and on the very rare occasion you do, they will be out numbered.

“But with a beast like that, they work perfectly. You won't need them most of the time, but it's a good way to add a safety net,

“Now let's carry on!”

Picpuck smiled, as she continued to walk. A towel was dropped on the unicorn's back to cover the holes in where his flesh would be exposed. Pixie watched intensively. Mostly at everyone's reactions. The adult didn't seem all too phased, but there was a slight limp in the Unicorn’s walk… not much else happened as they made their way to check point 13. Only the ruined buildings in a sea of never ending sand.

You.

Author's Note

Tonight is the harvest Moon, so you'll get an extra chapter this week. :3

You.

You.

It's been exactly 5 days since the group ventured out. It was constant walking, for those days, with little time for breaks and the annual lectures from Council member Picpuck. Pixie was exhausted, his bones felt like mush and cursed him for every step he dared to take. No matter how many piggy back rides Papa provided didn't take away the lingering soreness. They walked past checkpoint 10. Fear entered Pixie’s heart at the idea of not losing his relief for the day. A constant turning as he watched checkpoint 10 get further and further away. They all stood at a hill that dove down steeply. There was a house, there not abandoned like those with skeletons as decorations. This home was warm like the richness in the wood that it was made from. Picpuck glided to the front of the group, a growing habit that meant she was about to speak.

“This is the Blue-Flame Trading company,” she said, “get used to their looks you'll see them a lot,”

Pixie didn't hear her after that. He was too focused on the ponies looking back up at them. Especially Jack Daniels, who smiled back and waved. It took everything in him not to roll down that hill and wrapped him in his arms again, but a wave back will do for now. Then they finally started to walk back to checkpoint 10. Papa seemed to read Pixie's quiet Yearning.

“Later,” He promised,

Later, it was. Energy revived the foal's dead legs, as he was hopping around the quarters he was sharing with his father. Most of the words that spilled from his mouth didn't make sense, simply talking out of a need to get out energy. Papa was fine listening to the splurge of nonsense. Silver began to walk out, beckoning Pixie to follow. His teeth pushed together as he squealed, skipping between the older stallions legs, like how Pickles would weave to ask for pets. The pair walked down the steep hill. Pixie used Silver as leverage in order not to trip on the loose sand. It was like the floor was moving right from under him, trying to send them forward. Yet Papa was so adapted to it, he walked on it easier than the floor at home, appreciating the extra cushion for his hooves.

Finally they were on the wooden porch, and Silver held his hoof up to knock on the door. Butch came to the door, looking confused for a moment as Papa stood silently, looking down at his Son then back to Bloody Butcher. The old horse pressed his lips together before laughing out and opening the door for Pixie to come inside.

“Jack’s in the kitchen helping Daisy clean the dishes, we just finished dinner,” said Butch, motioning towards a hall,

Pixie was quiet. The many smells in the house filled the child’s lungs. He was still, that budding excitement frozen as he looked up at Silver for permission. With a nod, he walked inside. The floor was creaky, walls small and a bit cramped. Still, it was fuzzy, with the lovingly placed decorations scattered here and there. He moved past the dining room table into a narrow kitchen. Jack was on a stool placing dish by dish into a rack, as he looked over at Pixie. Strange, wasn't that what mares are supposed to do? He didn't have time to think about it until wet hooves were linked around him, Pixie returned the hug. His wide grin returned, when he reopened his eyes and let go of Jack, he saw Daisy May putting away certain spices.

“I just need to finish the dishes then we can go,” Jack took Pixie's attention again,

“No you don't,” Daisy May said,

“I don't?”

“Nope, you boys have fun,” she smiled, taking over where Jack left off.

Jack returned that smile, “Thanks Ma,”

Jack led Pixie around his home, introducing him to his sibling, then running out of the house with little object from the other foal.

“Where are we going?” asked Pixie

“The park-”

“With no pony with us?”

“Why would we need a pony with us to go to the park?”

“The monsters?”

“ehhh we'll be fine,”

That wasn't concerning, “What's a park?”

Jack doubled back a look at Pixie before releasing yeah, there weren't any parks at his village, “it's like- well you'll see, okay?”

They went to a rusty old weird… honestly he had no idea what exactly he was looking at, apparently this was a park. Jack began to climb one of the weird metal structures, offering a hoof to Pixie to join him. The smaller colt sat him down on this ramp thing, and before Pixie could ask what this was, Jack placed his hooves on Pixie's back and pushed. Pixie yelled, his dad’s hat falling from his head and to the ground. His lungs got quieter, with the slow stop of the ramp. What was that.

Jack started to cackle, “it's just a slide Pixie!”

“Again!”

“Then come up!”

They spent most of their time taking turns going down this old slide, giggling and cackling. When that got bored they climbed on the gym, in ways it wasn't intended to be used. The light from the day hushed down, as the moon once again made her appearance. Pixie laid on a patch of dirt, panting, as his eyes finally started to connect all of Selene's stories embroidered in that deep backdrop, in nothingness. Those stars twinkles back down at the two, easing the child's breathing to settle like the spilled milky way. Jack walked up and laid next to him, his head by his. Their chatting evaporated up into the scattered clouds in the sky.

“I really hope my part won't be in mining,” Pixie broke the Silence,

“Well even if it is, at least we can see each other, even if we can't talk,”

“You knew?”

“I figured, the only ones that can talk to my parents are in that group your sister is in, it's gets a bit awkward, walkin up here”

“Heh, yeah?”

“Heh… yeah…”

“Hey Jackie…”

“Yeah Dusty?”

“...You shouldn't count as an outsider, you… you are so- spark like- you sparkle,”

“I sparkle?” Jack moved up to eye him, giggling slightly,

“Yeah! And… You're… Jack Daniels, you see monsters, and big metal birds- you're brave, and strong, and you can be kinda scary- but you sparkle, Jack, like Selene's stars. You sparkle, like the most perfect-est sparkler, but you won't ever burn out because- well… You're Jackie, and you're the best… to me at least, and that doesn't mean much- but.”

“You're rambling,”

“Sorry! I just… If it means my soul will forever be in damnation… a hell with you is better than a heaven without.”

…Jack didn't speak.

They didn't need to, only the comfort of the other in the deep depths of the darkening sky.

…

Pixie set his father's old hat onto Jack's head; his hoof traced the brim so he could pull it down to cover Jack’s eyes. The other protested with a, “hey!” As he pushed the hat back up to see Pixie sticking out his tongue. Jack's face became serious, placing all fours onto the floor, looming over the other Colt.

“Wait! Wait! Wh-” Pixie quickly rolled over to try and stand, but he was squished into the dirt like a bug.

His laughs filled the open space, shaking like rumbles through his body. Wheezing in heaps trying to catch on to air that never stayed around for the two. He clawed ravines in the dirt before he was finally given mercy by Jack; he paid enough for his crimes. Pixie however, never learns. When Jack rolled off, Pixie nudged the other, who took the challenge to push back, ping ponging as the two pushes became lazier. Until it was nothing more than gentle boops on the others coats. Pixie shook the remaining dirt from his face, finding his bones wishful for rest, as he eyes dragged with his forehoof. Jack’s head was pivoted up into that abyss above them. That expression on that boy's face unyielding in the speckled pinhole lights that streaked across their shared sky. The blues melting into purples and hazy pinks, freckles that glimmered only adding to the fact that Pixie was right. Maybe it was the fact that the nearest star was besides him, that made Jack so bright, or maybe Jack would one day be the brightest star in that deep sky.

Patiently Pixie waited as Jack stared at his heavenly reflection, hoping he could catch those eyes when he came back down. Yet the only thing that fell was a sprinkle of water from the corner of Jack’s eyes. Immediately Jack shields away his expression.

“Jackie?”

“Yeah?”

“...Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah!” Jack forced a laugh, “I was trying to hold it in until I got home-”

“Did… I say something wrong?”

“What?” Jack's head shot back at him, “No, Pixie-”

Pixie set his hoof on the other's shoulder, hesitating before becoming firm. A part of him doubted he would be able to do good here. Jack was always better at making frowns and tears turned into flutters of giggles. Past experiences with Mama, where Pixie always made her heart pain ache more, gave shyness into the boy’s movements. Yet there was something that wouldn't let himself give up. The other half expected Jack to scold him, push him away, but Jack did not. Snot fell from his nose as he did his best to sniff it back up. Red covered his now puffy eyes and more tears trickled down his cheeks. Jack breathed in, controlling his hitched breathing to be smooth,

“Are you okay?” Pixie said beneath the quieting sobs,

“...yeah, I'm really happy- really, really, happy,” Jack assured, “I just- I'm sorry- I don't wanna worry you-”

“It's okay- worrying about you- is what I want to do.” Pixie assured, “Why-... Why are you crying?”

“I-”

Pixie watched as the boy fought to get it out. Jack's mouth opened, to then grit his teeth, Pixie could feel the other trimble against his touch. The foal moved in to wrap his arms around his neck, his ears pointed at the other, trying not to rush the other's answer.

“I don't know?” Jack admitted his voice crass, “I'm really happy, it's been a lot of fun- I, I- don't know why I'm being such a baby-”

“You’re not a baby,”

“I feel like one,”

The little unicorn squeezed his grasp on his friend. It was always hard arguing with Jack especially when he had his mind made up. It didn't mean he was any less wrong. Jack continued to cry, doing his best to muffle it. There searched for something to say yet words countied to fail him. Dad was right, you can't survive off of pretty words, and pretty words don't make everything better. So, he held him. As tight as he could, trying to take away those bad voices that haunted his brave friend. Even when Jack settled into his fur; when there was nothing but the sound of the rusty roundabout blowing in the wind, crickets and Jack's sniffled breathing. Pixie didn't let go.

Jack waited a second more before he spoke out, “It's late-”

“...yeah.”

“We better get back ‘for our parents gets mad,”

Pixie gave him one last squeeze before letting go.

Jack began to take off the hat Pixie placed on him, handing it to the other. Pixie's smile returned, softer this time as he placed it back on the other.

“Keep it,” Pixie said, “It fits you- like, it's too big, but it fits you ya know?”

Jack giggled sniffling one last time, “yeah, I know.”

The two threaded back in the heavy sand after that. Jack gave Pixie one last big hug before walking inside of his small cozy home. Pixie took a few steps back, feeling the eyes of the moon on his haunches as he recounted what happened like a vivid movie. That was their day. He couldn't tell what would happen, how many times they would shed tears caused by Flint, fear, or something other. All he knew is that he would have Jack, and Jack would have him. That small fact got the scary shadows of the night to crawl away, and all those haunted thoughts be set at ease. A droplet of worry stayed with him, a bittersweet taste that left the colt thinking about his friend. Yet that would be only of his many duties, even if it would never be officially said by his role to play. It was his favorite one.

Once back to checkpoint 10, Papa was there, by those pretty marbled doors. He jumped when he awoke to the other tapping his knee. Was he sleeping while standing? Pixie yawned, his eyes too heavy to care. Papa swept Pixie up in his arm, holding the colt close to his neck. Pixie nestled close, feeling his father's warmth beneath his scared garb.

“Did you have fun?” Papa asked,

Pixie only hummed, grumbling slightly as sleep’s grip tightened on him. Papa went into the roaring building, his foal didn't make it to bed before he fell asleep.

Crystal clear

Crystal clear

The winds folded the land like origami. Time sang to the change of the trail, even a short moment would mold the ground into something different. The mountains that were blurry brush strokes that framed the surrounding area, became more refined as they towered over the group. Sometimes those giant sharp masses generously provide shade, breaking the sun's unyielding glare. There were many caves in that white rock, stars carved from that mighty mountain to lead to the ones above the floor. Checkpoint 16, the biggest checkpoint building Pixie has seen. The building has multiple floors, and a curvy roof. It was long, part of it built into the rocky cavern of the mountain, like it was carved from the very marble that made up the building. It has the number 16 in it, marking it as that check point. Pixie would never understand why the numbers were out of order, but it never seemed important enough to ask. The sand turned to grass, and soft dirt your hooves slightly melted in.

There, the trees were lush. Unlike the twigs and torn stumps back on the trail. They were a deep brown, the bark had Moss growing on one of its sides, it smelled fresh? Like cleaned clothes yet was never as other whelming as the incense they used to scent their garbs. Pixie walked on to the changed floor, feeling the blades of grass that tickled the frogs of his hooves. He stepped between the roots of the tree, climbing up one of the fat ones, and balancing on the oak. His weight was nothing but a mere annoyance at the tree, as he hopped from one to another, he came to the biggest tree there. Its trunk was large, and branches were as big as the tall trees around it. There were crystals in the wood, some as big as Pixie. Clearish pink, they reflected the inside of the wood and the roots that grew inside them. The foal reached up, placing a hoof on the closest charm near the floor. His small hoof felt the smooth surface of the rock.

A wave of energy ran up his arm, he saw images of the mines, a tall mare, Selene, here at this moment. Kindness? Warmth maybe? It made his head feel foggy as he quickly pulled back, the sensation ringing in his ears. His heart started fluttering, cheeks flushed, and he felt like he was going to hurl again. Bright pictures made pixie see them, even as his eyes were open, they played over the open blinding him. The bright image of Selene’s enchantment… on a seed? The way it shot into the dirt, beaming up like a spider web changing the mixed colors of the sand, repeatedly played in his memories, uninvited yet yelling as it cycled through each other. It was like another pony was feeling things there; demanding to scribble out his own thoughts, writing over them. Yet Pixie's fear remained, even as the sudden emotions and imagery faded away releasing back its control to the foal.

Pixie gasped. Trying to collect his own thoughts, what he hoped were his own thoughts, and memories that fogged the once vivid memory moments before.

“Ballast, granite and a bit of magic,” Picpuck spoke out, leaning down to speak by the foals head,

“AHHH!” Pixie hopped and he quickly turned around, eyes shot up as his sister who only laughed,

“Did you plan on being sneaky, Pixie Dust? You're bright white with a rainbow mane, you can't hide even if you tried,” Picpuck hummed, “I saw you touching the charm,”

“I- was curious… I was trying to play-”

“You didn't do anything wrong,” Picpuck interrupted, as she too, walked up to the charm.

Her hoof was firm, the black holes in her mask for her eyes glowed pink yet she seemed calm, even as she took away her hoof. She turned to the other, letting out another giggle, she snorted. The first time Pixie has heard her do that, it got Pixie himself to smile.

“Its jarring and first, especially without warning,” Picpuck sat on top of one of the big roots, patting the side of it for her brother to join, “I won't explain what charms are again, but these ones work a bit differently,”

Pixie joined her, “...oh?”

“Equestria used to be lush like this everywhere, but something happened that caused it to be what you saw out there, destroyed, dry, and dirty,”

“When the sun burned the land?”

“Well, that's what we are taught, so good on being studious, I guess.” She hit the tree with her hoof, “when Selene enchanted these big boys, the amount of magic she used was too much for the original crystal, but that was intended to purify this land, so it's like- a recording almost, the exact moment reflections in the crystals,”

“...huh?”

“Remember when I told you why the protection charms we use are that size? Any bigger the crystal would be impractical to carry around. If you still place that magic in there, it becomes unstable, breaking the crystal just like that,”

“Like a lot of water in a bucket?”

“Exactly! But we wanted it to break here, revive the lands with its destruction, it's why Selene left her cozy home to be here to do that in the first place,”

“...but why?”

“Lumber- '' Picpuck booped her brother's nose, “She's done this back at the farms as well, for crops, but it didn't grow with the tree simply forming a big crystal in the middle of the field. This was my personal favorite, always thought it looked cooler,”

Pixie's eyes looked back up at that mighty tree, “Makes… sense.”

Pic smirked, “of course it does, I was the one explaining it,”

The mare slipped off the root, moving away from the tree, “I suggest you get back to the old man, He seemed more tense than usual,”

Pixie stood, following her out of the false woods, back to checkpoint 16.

There were rooms here, instead of curtained off cubicles. Doors, with numbers ingraved into them. There were some adult ponies Pixie didn't recognize, yet they weren't outsiders, they too wore the face of moon. Inside the building, had noise, chattering, and laughter. Hundreds of conversations, and questions. He saw doctors; some by beds that rolled out, from room to room on the bottom floor. The ponies on top of those had a nasty cough. Ponies have been referring to this place as “Starfall,” instead of checkpoint 16. It makes sense, the lights were chained star shaped jewels on the ceiling. They weren't needed, the windows were large enough to give you vertigo if you stood too close. The halls were long, and stairs claustrophobic with foals chasing each other, up and down them. The bottom floor was mostly open. Tables that ponies had already started to rest at. Glass walls showing the natural geodes in the rich mountain, left untouched but uncovered, decorative as they too were charms, softly glowing. Yet, they weren't just pink, they were blues and greens, and purples. The only carved stone was a giant sphere of moon stone, slowly rotating.

“There you are,” Papa walked up to to his son,

Pixie didn't have a chance to answer as Picpuck swept in, “I was showing him the old oak. We were simply taking advantage of the down time to spend some quality time,”

Papa stared at Picpick. Silence, between them, thick enough you could cut through it.

“Oh, that's… fine, that's good! Even,” Papa said, focused on his daughter joy filled up his voice desperate to say more,

“Well I'll be off, take care Silver Dollar, and Pixie Dust,” Picpick stopped him before he could start,

“Oh, yes. Take care, love,” Papa's voice was quiet as his daughter went off to her duties.

Starfall

Starfall

Starfall, the fallen stars that are snuffed out too soon. Looking up at the sky you'd see the stars of the past shoot off into the abyss, leaving a trail of softened voices. When you are taken back to the cycle, that life's memory is written in Selene's gentle sky. You are given a set time on this plane, and then your memories of your love shall shine on your kin. Then, there are constellations. Those souls that were alive to see the rise of Selene's and the Sun’s story. Those are the true elders of the world, immortalizing history for their peers, or even reminding their future hearts of events of those distant dreams. Not many know how to read their thoughts above, less are blessed to hear them.

Yet those fallen stars aren't completely lost. One night, there shall be a blanket of lights, where all those memories reunite. Shining so close together they create a sea of stories. Together for their final, last time, where you can say things never said. You will recall every life you had, every moment you stepped, and the laughter you had graced your ears. A gift given by the moon herself. Then once that night ends, all the stars shall fall into a blaze of their own, and when that happens it shall be so long into the future none shall remain to speak of the tale. Besides Selene, there she would meet her sister again, united with all the moon princesses before. Would they fight against the backdrop of pure emptiness? Shall their reunion be fruitful? Only speculation can come from the image, the tale is what Starfall was named after. It was also one the first scripture you are taught. That was the cycle, that is why it is so important to live your life with the grace of the moon guiding you, because each story is precious, like the crystals Papa mined. Goodbyes are only temporary, it is always until next time, until that last time. Even if Pixie couldn't fully understand, the story came to memory more than a few times, the imagery tranced as murals in the very walls.

Pixie was in the dining hall, by the glass. Viewing that massive sphere, forever rotating. Light reflecting off of it echoing blues and greens, like scales on a dragon. It wasn't levitating with magic, maybe it was some kind of enchantment, he didn't know. It was strange seeing the sick here, so far from home, where Mistyeyes have check ups on Pixie and his family. The walk was long, so it was fair to question how they got here. A lot of coughing into rags, so harshly the adults had to slide their mask down to catch that black stuff coming from them. Though, that sound was more of a weeze, harsh on the throat.

A stallion sat by him, he coughed into a rag that he shoved up his mask, a nasty dry one that seemed to be extra loud. Pixie moved slightly, not trying to catch his black spit in his fur as he felt himself begin to fumble with his hooves. The stallion didn't look at him, so focused on the rotating false moon, Pixie doubted he’d seen him in the first place. There was little light in that adult's eyes, no catch of glimmer behind those caves of that mask. He was older than Pixie but the colt could have sworn he remembered him graduating. Yet he had a storied life, one Pixie would never be a part of. No, Pixie would remain a drop of water in an overflowing bucket. Maybe his star already found a place in the sky?

“Are you okay, sir?” Pixie asked,

“No, I'm not.”

“Why?”

“...I'm,” the stallion looked beside him, his eyes widening when he had to look down, only then did his voice become softer, “I'm being- tested,”

“Tested?”

“Yes, I'm sick,”

“...Oh, then you should be resting,”

He laughed, “I have been but this is a special kind of sick,”

“Oh… how so?”

“It's a bit of a loaded question for the young colt like yourself,”

“Oh! But I'm almost an adult, sir,”

“I understand but you got bigger stars to shoot for, instead worrying about some stallion,”

“Well-” there was very little Pixie could say, “I hope you feel better,”

The stallion let out a soft laugh, taking that handkerchief to muffle his cough that was after it. He didn't need to laugh, Pixie could feel the act of it. Playing the part, to mask that soulless tone of his. Yet he did, and he didn't know how to ask why without it being rude. That mask was blue, with white dots under where his eyes would be. The pattern was almost moving if you stare too long at it, even if he could only study the side of it.

Then, Papa called, “Pixie Dust!”

Pixie turned his head to the sound, he stood up, giving the stallion one last look, “I gotta go, sir, don't worry about that test, you can always retake them right?”

Maybe the nice stallion couldn't hear him, yet Pixie lacked the time to say it again. No, he had to find Papa.

Papa was by those giant doors, the same with the windows surrounding them. Children had gathered, with their Papa’s and Mama's, already snickering like mice in a pantry. Picpuck was there too, counting and recounting before her ears perked up and she gave a soft pat to a work horse beside her. Nodding to him, he let out a rumble in return, before speaking over the small group.

“Alright kiddos, there's a few rules you'll” and that's where Pixie stopped paying attention. He didn't really know Clear Waters too well. He knew he's heard his mama gossip with another mare how he never remarried and how he was a spider. Waters didn't look like a spider, and he didn't understand why he would need to be married again, don't you automatically get married when you get your face? Besides he never met a stallion with two wives before. Maybe because he was a spider he was meant to have multiple wives. Spider could be a mean name he was given, but Mama wasn't mean, she wouldn't say that.

As Mr. Clearwater stopped speaking; he led the group away from Starfall, leaving Picpuck behind. They went past the forest, following a trail trampled on again and again. No roots stood in their way as they came closer to massive caverns littering the side of the mountain. Only to line up against the mountain wall as they were each given a pic. Boring ones, without any of the carving that Papa’s had. Still they were heavy, Pixie dragged him behind his teeth. The head of the pic was doing good plowing chasms into the dirt… it would have been fun! If it wasn't so hard.

Dusty it was, enough to catch Pixie's nose and cause him to sneeze. Unprocessed marble was like a thick shell on the outermost layer of the cave, the deeper you got the darker it became, where the only light was coming from the Adult’s mask. Pixie thought it was jewelry at first, little small crystals connected to the mask’s horn, yet they glowed. Illuminating the dank surroundings like the lights they string up when the fairs would come around. The halls and paths fluctuated with how big they got. Some had wide openings with many missing pieces from the ceiling and floor. Others were so narrow Papa's butt could barely fit though it. It took everything from Pixie to not laugh at that.

The colt watched as other's split from the group, and how Papa tapped his shoulder and nodded for him to follow. Pixie had to lay the Pic against the wall so he could readjust and back track to follow his father. Traveling down into a decently sized opening, Pixie watched his father stop. Dad then unhooked his own pickaxe from his saddle and held it with his teeth. Canning his head the metal fractured a rock as if it was butter making it crumble into much smaller pieces. Nodding he placed the pickaxe back into his belt.

“Just like that,” Papa said, “now go on,”

Pixie looked up at his father, then at the former rock… “I don't think I can,”

“Well at least give it a try,”

Sighing, Pixie bit down on the handle. Letting out a growl as he tried to force the Pickaxe up.

“Don't use your neck, use your back,”

What do you mean not use your neck? The colt dug his hooves into the dirt, feeling his legs shake and the pickaxe lifted from the ground. He was doing it, he was going to make this rock into pebbles!

SCREEEEEEEEEEECH

A large scratch was left on the rock as it bounced off. Pixie felt his head vibrate as his vision crossed, the handle slipped out of his mouth and he fell face first into the dirt.

“Are you alright?” Papa came up right beside him,

“Heavy-” Pixie Whined tasting a bit of dirt as he did so.

“Try using your head,” Silver tapped the horn on Pixie's head…

Pixie looked up, running his tongue along his newly chipped tooth. Sighing he got up. If it meant getting out of here sooner, then he would try anything at this point. The small unicorn steadied his breathing as a faint glow encompassed the wood handle. Yet it still wouldn't move, “Okay there! It's heavy Pa!”

“You ain't a quitter, give it another go,”

Mama would have corrected his grammar there… It would have gotten Pixie to giggle if his head wasn't still ringing at the moment… stepping aside, Pixie widened his stance. Taking a deep breath in, he closed his eyes once again. His horn glowed, as he let the heat of his magic accumulate before engulfing the pickaxe again. It seemed stubborn to stay down, as Pixie furrowed his brow, scrunching up his entire face. As it lifted, it felt easier the higher it became, enough for Pixie to open his eyes to watch the tool slam against a rock, revealing a geode inside.

“Great job!” Papa yelled,

Just like that, Pixie felt his chest flutter as he breathed out… He was a little light headed, and hopefully that would be the last thing his father would ask of him to do for tonight. Only then was he lifted off his hooves onto Papa’s back. His dad trotted around in a circle, as if he was Pixie's age.

“Look at you!” He said, “If your mother saw ya’ now, she'd be just as proud Dust bunny!”

Pixie furrowed his brow… Confused as he followed those hollow eyes on his mask. His heart sank with the new mark on his flank.

A Drop in a Bucket

“Congratulations,”

Too many eyes were on him at once. Familiar faces, some voices he could only recall and vague blurbs in the back crevices of his memory. The kids weren't calling him Pig-xie, their smiles were still there yet it wasn't the same… Adults walked up to look at it too, saying such kind things… Yet it felt bare like it was another piece of dirt he needed to wash off.

“Oh how pretty!”

“How lucky.”

“It's so big,”

It was big, a butterfly with crystal wings perched on an orange pickaxe. Smaller jewels that went all the way down to his gaskin. What felt right was to smile back, though there was a pressure on him. Like when he dunked himself under the water of a bathtub. Staying to see how long he could hold his breath. Feeling the water raise his mane up and tangle it, how it slowly began to chill. His body fluttered as if it was in that tub, the same that got him to kick when he couldn't hold his air in for much longer. How that raised his fur to its edge, but he needed to beat his counting on his head. A rush of energy into relief as he gasped up in that ridgid bite of cold. Only now this feeling was longer. It wasn't overwhelming like the need for air, but it didn't drift off into the background. No it was like there was glass barely flesh with the water. Keeping him in a loose hug, that was only barely more comforting than the air above. That once enchanting world, of twisting trees with crystals embedded into their bark, charms that saved lives, every pony there. Even the pale eggshell blue colored tiles of the bathroom. It looked dimmer. Washed out, even his memories.

Why wouldn't they be happy for him? Kindness on their part, memories of their own Special day, how his time allowed the few here to actually see his cutie mark in his lifetime. A blessing that he needed to be grateful for. A gift that jealousy could be felt in the look of other foal’s eyes. Pixie could see what that stallion in Starfall saw. They were always looking through the same glass only at different points. Pixie did the same thing to him. Not once had he got his name, or cared to remember it. Never shared their dreams, only stayed in their reality. A drop in his overflowing bathtub. The more he understood the world the younger felt. How small was he in this village? How tinner he must be for the outside to see him.

Everything changed, When Pixie got his cutie mark.

Author's Note

THIS IS the end of the first arc.

Also sorry I didn't post on Friday last time and ended up posting Saturday, I'm couch surfing, 19, disowned from my family for being queer, so shit happens.

But I finally got a job ;3... I'm hoping my life can get on track...

What's going to happen later in the series?
The next arc is mostly build up.

The last arc is just BOOM explosions. Ya know?

I'm going to take a short break, until I have everything to its final draft. Thank you those who have read this, and taking a chance. I have to take many breaks with this story cuz' of it's contents, but I won't stop posting until the story is done because it means a lot to me.

I'll see you on the next full moon.

Sleep Walk

Sleep Walk

Genesis Fae, the younger sister to Seraph Shine Twinkle, and daughter to Radiance and Dove Whisper. A small mare, a quiet mare, who's hair was pulled into two parts, tied with ribbons by her mother, Dove, used to use as decoration for her garbs. She collected them, she loved how they felt even when they frayed with age. When she decorated her mane with it, she pulled the sheet off the mirror. Looking at her frail bloated body. She would try to curl her mane around her hoof pretending it did scrunch away in different directions. No, it would stay in ringlets, like Seraph’s pretty mane. Sometimes she would pull it flat, like Monotones… Her mane was simple, a single dark color, yet shiny. She was like a porcelain doll with her big, pale eyes, round face, and a laugh that bubbled like soda pop. Every pony knew her, not just by name, even a filly like Fae. Going to school was her favorite, Monotone would sit next to her, pass her notes with small letters. Fae could smell the citrus and herbs on her.

Even her scars were pretty. She once had wings, cut off before she could be tainted by the sun. Normally, the thought of winged ponies horrified Fae, but somehow, with Monotone, it was different.

“Nothing interesting happens in this town,” Monotone said,

“Well, isn't that a good thing?” Replied Fae,

Mono sighed, the filly’s eyes drifting to the window. The teacher had left like she often did, leaving the two alone. Fae stepped closer, placing her head on top of the other's back, closing her eyes as she baked on her sun kissed skin. Monotone glanced back at the smaller unicorn, her body fizzling as she giggled.

“I knew you would say it,”

“Am I that predictable?”

“Oh absolutely!”

There it was again, that soda pop laugh, with dimples framing her smile. Fae wrapped her hooves around Monotone’s neck, pulling her down a bit as she settled against her. She felt so grateful for these moments, for the way Monotone’s fur laced with hers, for the way their breaths synced. Monotone brushed Fae’s mane back with her hooves, flattening her ears before they sprang back up. The wind blew against the chimes outside, just enough to make them sing.

But time brought change. While Monotone revealed in the unfamiliar, catching onto any excitement with a grin, Fae remained by her side, snipping at her ankles. Even as adults, Fae felt most at peace when those pale eyes were on her, during those special moments when they shed their faces—their perfect little secret.

Then she ruined it.

“Your sister has a new scar,” Monotone said one day,

“...How would you know that?”

“Oh, last night she was at my house,”

“She was now,”

“Poor mare fell splat! Face right into the corner of the counter, luckily her mask didn't have harm come to it, nothing water and some bandages can't fix,”

“Oh.”

“That's really the only knews I have,”

She had to share those blue eyes, with her husband,

“Anyways how about you?”

With her children.

“Fae?”

And now her sister. Who else intrudes on their sacred secret? “Oh pardon me, do you usually spend that kind of time with her?”

“Hm? Oh! Yes, she comes by every other crescent Moon to lead me in prayers for a child, but she's a charmer! So I sometimes invite her over while I sew, Speaking of children, how is your little girl?”

“Another? Haven't you had three already?”

“Well of course! I can't get enough of their baby cheeks, so smoosh wooshie-able,”

“They are a hoof full, if I didn't have you with Picpuck, I wouldn't know what to do,”

“Really? She was such a good kid, I'm surprised you haven't had more,”

“You'd be surprised, the children called her the sun before she fixed her act,”

“You know just as I how cruel they can be,”

Monotone sipped her tea, her ear twitched towards the curtains covering the windows. Children laughing outside faintly ran in her ears.

“what if you had another child? Ours could get married!” Monotone only meant this in passing, “Then we would have even more excuses to goof off with one another,”

“...You're right,” yet Fae took it to heart,

Hearing her laugh grace her ears once more. How it took over the scene like reins on a wagon. It got every ponies attention and got them to smile, it could be felt even under the mask.

Now, the house was quiet, the laughter faded, leaving only echoes in the walls. Genesis sat alone on the same worn sofa where they had once shared secrets and dreams many moons ago. Alone in the house with her youngest off on their extended promise week with his dad. Monotone's voice faded into those walls, sometimes looping around like the gramophone Monotone was so insistent on playing. Replaced with only a humming of pipes, and the empty space she used to occupy. Running her hoof over the cushion, she pressed into the fibers. If she focused she could see her still there, telling her things about the village she heard before. Her presence is like a dream. Waiting for her to walk out those doors so she could finally wake up, her hoof steps were long forgotten a mere fairy tale.

Her figure stayed faint when others were around. Yet by herself Monotone became so vivid. Like a stray puppy, Genesis retraced Monotone’s steps. Back and forth in the stone house. Sometimes she was young, spacing off as she snooped around her parents home, other's she was an adult. Her mask black and white with blue cornflower moons on her cheeks. Her dresses are frilly and soft. Her sleeves are delicate.

Then, there are times where she'd stand upright in the corner of her room, legs twisted like mangled tree roots. Her porcelain face shattered with red painting her like smeared makeup. Her eyes remained, glaring.

Reflections

Reflections

As soon as Pixie returned to the village, he was sent straight home. He watched as Mama’s eyes flicked to his cutie mark. Like a wind-up toy, she opened the closet connected to the living room. Out floated a simple suit, one he recognized from old photos of his father at school. Pixie sat down as she draped it over his arms. The fabric swallowed him up, but Mama carefully folded and pinned the sleeves at his wrists with a button. She continued, methodically piercing the fabric with a needle, creating temporary sutures that could be removed as he grew or when he finally earned his true face. Once finished, she stabbed the needle into a stuffed tomato and silently floated it back up to a shelf, out of every pony’s view.

“Thank you, Mama,”

“Hmm,”

Her eyes were heavy with bags, the same puffy look she had when she locked herself away in her room. Always out of reach. Pixie stayed seated as she retreated to her room. He waited until the sound of her door closing prompted him to stand. He went to the bathroom, pushing aside the stool he used to use to see himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was a look of uncertainty. He searched for words to describe himself, but found none. Knowing his part to play left him feeling like a blank sheet of paper.

“Mrrr!”

“Pickles!” he jumped holding back a yelp, “how did you get in here?”

The door creaked open wider as the feline rubbed her head against his foreleg, pushing into it with all her might. Pixie picked her up, noticing she felt a bit heavier, but that didn’t stop her from pawing at the air like she was reaching for something. As he went to kiss her forehead, a glint of lace caught his eye. Pixie held the vibrating cat close, feeling her claws kneading his chest, making up for lost time. Balancing her on one arm, he shuffled out of the bathroom and back into the living room, where his father lay out cold on the sofa. Moving closer, he kissed his father’s cheek before turning to head to his bedroom. But then, two porcelain bowls on the kitchen floor caught his attention.

With his mouth slightly opened he glanced back at his mother's door.

“Mama,” he called softly.

There was no response.

“…Thank you.”

…

“I love you.”

With silence, Pixie returns back to his bedroom.

The next morning, both his father and mother were gone. Pixie discovered their absence as he fumbled around the house, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He sneezed, and noticed there was an awful lot of cat fur all over his new clothes. Grabbing a cloth from the kitchen sink, he wet it and tried to scrub his vest clean. Pickles, however, let out a loud yowl, as if he was doing something wrong.

“What?”

“Meow!”

“I'm sorry Pickles- I can't give you upsies right now,”

“Meow!”

“When I get home okay? Promise? Okay?”

She meowed again, almost as if she understood. After giving her two pats on the head, Pixie grabbed his things and headed out the door. He passed the rows of houses, the loud, pointy dog, and made his way to the yellow schoolhouse. The floorboards creaked under his hooves as they always did. Following the wall, he spotted a mare standing at the end, staring at a picture. Her pale powdery blue fur was marked with scattered nicks and bruises.

Pixie hunched down, his eyes tracing the grains of the wood. His hoof steps were slow, but she turned her gaze on him. Her eye was swollen, darkened to an angry purple, the bruise spreading outward like ink. It looked tender every time she blinked. Yet her gaze narrowed as she stomped towards him.

“You!” she growled,

“W-what?”

“It's you!”

Pixie blinked, “huh? What did I do?”

“...Don't act Stupid!”

“I ain't acting!”

“...You don't know?”

“No! I mean, yes? No, I don't know.”

MayTower eyes flicked to the buttons on the cusp of his sleeves and on the collar of his shirt, “She picked us,”

“...Who picked us? For what?”

“You really don't know?”

“MayTower!”

“We're… going to be married to one another.”

“...Huh?”

“Married! Unioned!”

“I don't want to marry you!”

“Like I'd want to be with you,”

“So why ya’ so crossed with me’ for?”

“I-” she paused, “Because it's… I'm just mad, okay!”

“Okay?”

“There is not a filly here who would want you, so why me?”

“...Thanks.” Pixie bit down on the top of his tongue, having to take a deep breath in to settle himself.

“I—” MayTower hesitated, “I didn’t mean… Look, I have enough issues with the fillies here. I don’t want to give them another reason.”

“how would I give them another reason?”

“You don't see that?”

For a moment, Pixie was silent. He watched as she shifted her weight, pressing her lips together, her thoughts overwhelming her as easily as he did.

“You know MayTower,” Pixie said, “you're really mean,”

“I'm— I'm not mean!”

“Nuh-uh you're mean.”

“How am I mean?”

“You just are! I don’t know what I did to make you hate me, I don’t know why every pony in this stupid school hates me.”

“They-”

Pixie huffed and pushed past her, walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“We don't know each other. Remember?”

“Don't you dare walk away from me!”

“Sorry I can't hear you over the sound of my hooves walking away from you!”

The belle rang leading children to walk out into the hall.

“Look! I'm sorry, okay! Is that what you want to hear?”

Pixie turned around. Looking into her eyes, he sighed, shook his head, and continued off to class. MayTower wasn't far behind, practically stalking him into their classroom. Mama’s things were here, and board wiped clean, yet that Mare was nowhere to be seen.

It got MayTower to speak up. “Why are you still mad?”

Pixie slouched at his desk, his books strewn haphazardly across the table. He pretended to read, flipping through pages with mechanical disinterest, but his ears betrayed him; one twitching toward the mare who now hovered over his shoulder, peering at the book he wasn’t really reading.

“You’re being so immature right now,” she chided, her voice dripping with disdain.

Pixie slammed the book shut. “That’s it! You wanna know? Because you're awful! Just go away already. I’ll have plenty of time to deal with you when I gotta spend the rest of my miserable life with you! Okay?”

His words, sharp and venomous, sliced through the air, leaving the mare stunned. Her face paled as the sting of his anger sank in. May Tower’s ears drooped, and she finally closed her mouth. Her bangs fell over her face as she lowered her head, her whole demeanor collapsing like a crumpled paper. The fire in her eyes, which had flared just moments before, was snuffed out like a candle, leaving only the dim glow of regret. Pixie watched, uncomfortable, as she seemed to shrink before him.

“I mean it.” MayTower's voice broke that ringing silence,

“Mean what?”

“I'm sorry,”

May Tower sank into her seat, retreating from him, leaving Pixie wide-eyed and frozen as the space she once occupied grew more distant with each passing second. Conflict tore at him, dread clenching his heart and rising up to his throat until he could taste it. He wanted to throw up, but he hadn’t eaten anything, hoping to avoid this very feeling. So why now? Why did it feel like he was some unstable bridge on the brink of collapse? All he could see of her was the jack of her ponytail, her black hair surrounded her as she laid her head on top of the desk. Mama came in shortly after… Even as the chairs filled up she stayed like that… he also saw the looks the other filly’s gave her. Some would whisper and point at her, snickering shortly after. Other's flicked paper into her long black hair when Mama had her back facing the crowd. Who knew girls could be so cruel?

It was sparse when they did that. Yet once or twice was enough to chisel itself into the young Colt's mind. He didn't notice them doing that to another pony, even Flint spared him until the few times he caught him outside of school. How often was she teased like this? Were those scratches and bruises not from her playing a little too rough outside? Pixie wondered who else was hurt like him and Monotone? If his Papa and Mama went through something similar, or if it was simple his age type of thing. So focused on keeping his head down, not once did he ever think to look up at the Mare ahead of him. So he waited. After school, when the ponies began to leave. There he raised his voice.

“MayTower,” Pixie said, his voice squeaked as he forced it off the edge of his vocal cords,

“Yeah?” she replied, softer than she ever spoke to him before,

Their eyes met, and for a moment Pixie knew what he should say, but he didn't.

“Nevermind,” said Pixie as she disappeared in the crowd.

Author's Note

Thought I should add this here. I'm aiming for posting on Monday. This will be the schedule for arc two, thank you.

-Lurker

Colors

Colors

Pixie has a new habit. He'd sit outside, right where the stone house would shade him and simply watch. The world itself became a bit dimmer. The blues of the sky seemed to wash everything in a gray. Even yellow, once burning like the sun now blended into the world around him. Music felt flatter as well, every time he'd pull up his guitar and pluck those strings there wasn't that rich chorus that yelled out. No, the sound was now an unsalted cracker. He hated it. Wondering what he could fix to make it go back to now it was, before promise week. Before he got his cutie mark. So he ate his feelings up, making sure they'd go away. Maybe he'd forget them? Then will the moon shine again? Closing his eyes he felt the breeze try to carry him away, and even though he wanted to go, he stayed.

New ponies occupied Memory’s house. A slight change to see those windows click on and beam light like they used to for what felt like a forever ago. Mayo wasn't there anymore, Pixie knew better than to ask where she was. Today they took apart her house, nail by nail. First a pile of wood panels, then an empty space. Washing her away from the scene. Were there other dogs to wait, like Mayo? What would happen to pickles when he's… he swallowed the thought. Then, there was an unfamiliar sight, Picpuck, walking down the road. With no strength to wave at her, the colt kept still.

“Hey,” her distant voice called him back down.

“Hi,” Pixie answered,

“You're just sitting here, again?”

“Yeah,”

“...May I join you?”

“I guess…”

She dusted the stone porch before she sat, but it just stirred the dirt around. Besides him she rested, blowing out a soft whistle.

“So why are you sulking, did you get into a fight with mom?”

He shook his head…

“Not very talkative today, are you?”

He nodded.

“...Why are you so sad?”

“How did you know?”

“I'm magic,”

Pixie narrowed his eyes at her, “no you're not, you're not a unicorn”

“Mayhaps, yet you didn't answer my question,”

Pixie stalled, “Don’t know”

“Hm, well what do you feel? ”

“Like- if I was a girl I would really want to cry but I don't got nothin to cry bout’ or- like… I dunno, it's nothing,”

“If you were a girl? Boys cry too,”

“No they don't,”

“Yes they do,”

“Nu-huh,”

“I'm- We are not starting that.”

That got Pixie to giggle, “It’s kinda fun,”

“Little debater aren't cha? If there was a spot open on the council I would say you should go into that,”

“I'm not smart enough for that…”

Picpuck pushed on his shoulder, making the colt go off balance.

“H-hey!” He protested,

“So learn. Learn how to reason, you learn how to learn, even if it's hard.”

“It's not hard for other ponies, I don't know why I gotta do it,” Pixie replied, grumbling

“One you don't know that, and two there will always be a pony to out play you, you just use the cards that you have,”

“What does that even mean?”

“Do what you can.”

“I can't do much,”

“But you can always do something, right? So use what little you have, in ways you don't see others using it, ya know?”

“I don't?”

Picpuck sighed, heavily. like she was making a show out of it. It wasn't from being tired, no it was… silly.

“You play games don't you?” Picpuck asked,

Pixie nodded.

“It's kinda like that, life is one big game,”

“...Hey Picpuck,”

“Hm, yes Pixie?”

“...What is your cutie mark?”

“That's off topic but um… It's a gavel and a mushroom,”

“Do you like it?”

“Oh,” She hummed, “I see what this is about,”

Pixie adverted his gaze, yet her hoof gently took his face, tilting his face up to meet her eyes, before she took it away.

“You know Dad and Genesis are a rare pair, both have cutie marks,

“Same with me,

“Half of the ponies here never get their cutie marks, or only get them in their adult years. I mean a late adult. Those kids who do get em, some choose to cover them up, others don't until they finally accept their faces,”

“Wait, I don't gotta wear these!”

“...You didn't choose to wear those?”

“When I got home Mama put me in them,”

She snorted, then laughed.

The first time Pixie heard her really laugh, The feeling possessed her for that perfect second. It was loud shriek-like but its brightness made color come back just for a moment. It was blinding, kind of like the sun, but not burning.

“She did the same to me, when I got mine-” Picpuck answered, “I think I was 12? How old are you now? Oh sh-” She stopped herself, “Shoot! Convergence Night is coming up soon,”

“11,”

“You got another whole cycle and a half, Pixie,”

“I… I guess, I'm excited to be an adult, really!”

“Then what's your problem,”

“What if I can't…” Hesitant he was, he remembered their conversation about saying the right things to the right type of ponies, so he thought his word through,
“What happens when a pony don't like their part?…”

Picpuck then stood beckoning for him with a hoof. His sudden cut off in conversation was frustrating, yet Pixie followed behind her as she moved towards the gate. Pixie's breath sharpened as she placed a hoof on one of those crystals. It rippled against her hoof, sending out gentle waves that went though Pixie’s body.

“Uhh, Picpuck I'm not allowed-” Pixie began,

“I'm sure we can make an exception,” Her voice answered,

The gates opened, revealing the endless sea of sand. Pixie stayed by her legs, looking around…

“What if a monster sees us?”

“Have you ever learned about spiders?”

“They are gross bugs with way too many legs! And that doesn't have anything to do with what I said-”

“...ah” she was a bit taken aback, “Technically right, they are predatory arachnids, they live in webs, able to find where their prey is once taken in, be it by smell, sound, or in this case vibration.

“About 150 years ago, Selene placed this ‘web,’ on a the outskirts of the village, up to the Nest, this progressively got bigger until it took up the entirety of the sacred land,

“About 15 minutes or so there's a pulse sent out from the floor, all the way to the outskirts, if there's something unusual in these pulses, like a creature with too many legs, or a pony that is not marked as… safe, to Selene, then we are notified, then we notify the nearest checkpoint, and they continue out to see what exactly sent our web, off.”

“How does Selene know what ponies are safe or not?”

“Originally, ponies would use their blood,”

“What!”

“It's only a drop!” Picpick soothed, “Anyways, Selene would imbue that blood into the gate, yet with how many ponies in the village the gate became a bit cramped. Somewhat in the last 50 years, they imbued a charm in the mask we wear,”

“Ohh, So like? Our faces make us safe?”

“Exactly, but it only works if you're on the ground, things that fly, well, there's a reason why we still have ponies survey the area,”

“Okay,” Pixie nodded, “Why weren't we taught this at school, or when we were walking?”

“It's more of a council thing, or at least the ponies who work with that, your job was to explore, and adapt.

“Let’s say if your cutie mark was protective it would be less effective if there was not any danger, for example.

“You can't force a cutie mark, yet we can try to make it a Science,”

“Wait, won't they know… I'm… I haven't got my face yet?”

“That's another downside, the pulse which marks my mask as safe is hiding you, it is not too big of an issue, I mean, who are we going to talk to?”

“Jack!” he chipped,

“Not for long,” She nearly sang,

Only then did Pixie slow down his pace, weakly following behind her high trot. She turned around, stopped, making Pixie stop too. Her hoof went, touching the porcelain face she wore, moving it Pixie heard a snap, as she moved the false face away. So, Pixie screamed. The pure flash bang of sound had Picpuck in a bit of daze.

“Hey! Hey! It's okay! We're immediate family, we can see each other's face,” she seemed a bit annoyed having to explain it.

“Oh Yeah-” Pixie stopped a second after she said that.

She placed her mask on her back, hooking it with a black chain on her pocket. Her fur was pink, she had a mark on her cheek right under her eye. His sister wore makeup like Mama. There wasn't a point to it, no pony was going to see it so that fact perplexed Pixie, it must be a girl thing. She had yellow eyes, bright yellow eyes that stared directly into Pixie's. Air filled her cheeks as she glanced around, she placed a hoof firm into the sand and turned around.

“Why did you do that?” Pixie asked, continuing to follow her,

“We’re family,”

She continued up a mountain, Pixie could feel his vision blurring, as he did his best not to focus on his hooves moving below him. It was… dizzying, but he refused to stop her, even as he felt himself darken in and out…

Then it was pitch black.

“Pixie?”

Her voice echoed like a siren, sometimes louder in the right, sometimes screaming in his left. In and out, he felt sick… like he was going to hurl, but there was nothing he could throw up… he felt his body be lifted… and set down… all he could do was feel afraid, like he was teetering on sleep.

After a few moments his eyes readjusted.

“Pixie!” Picpuck shook him, not helping with the bile, “Selene and all that is holy, don't scare me like that!”

She sounded mad… livid, he could have sworn she had mother's voice…

“I'm… sorry.”

Her eyes started like mothers as well but they softened. Only for her to slump down sitting. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes…

This place was strange. It didn't have a roof, it was like a circle, with many windows, and pillars that reached out… a c shape, that had an opening looking straight from a cliff… his eyes focused, seeing the vast empty dessert… he could see Jack's house, that looked like a button in a clutter drawer. Then the empty houses they passed by, and another place… One on the very far side of the landscape. There was a giant thing, a pinwheel, rotating like a moon. The whole area could be covered by his little hoof if he reached it out. Pixie stood up, taking steps further towards the opening, a sense of vertigo washed over him. His eyes widened as if to catch the detail.

“Where are we?” he asked,

“The nest…”

“What's that?” He pointed to the distance,

“The gathering of the sun's embers, we call it,”

“We call it that?”

“New Bird, It's called, it's a city,”

“A city…?”

“Um, well, it's like… our village, but denser, where the outsiders live,”

“All of them?”

She laughed, “They are all over the place, to be honest, that's just one of many cities,”

Pixie sat down looking at the blinky lights on the pinwheel. Picpuck stood up and walked over to his side sitting down.

“...I wanted to bring you here in the beginning,”

She started as Pixie stayed silent,

“Your part, doesn't really matter, because at the end of the day, the world moves on, and that's a scary fact, but it's comforting… you know?”

“How is that comforting,”

“Because it lets you make up the things that matter to you,”

“...That doesn't make sense,”

She shrugged, “you'll get it, one day,”

Picpuck saw the distance in his expression, the way his brows wrinkled as he chewed on her words. The winds whistled as sand swept throughout the Nest. She forgot how the wind felt on her fur, the strange feeling of warmth, the light based on her cheeks. It was chilly to bare the outside world in this way. It wasn't unpleasant by any means but it became unusual to be sure.

“I thought you got Sun sickness, so I brought you someplace shaded,” she let slip,

“...No, it just happens sometimes,”

“That’s concerning,”

“Mama says it's normal,”

“She’ll say a lot of things,” She paused, “are you eating?”

“Yeah,”

“How much?”

“I- donno-...”

It was so easy to hear it in his voice, the way he shifted, how he grew further away. He didn't want to tell her, and everypony is entitled to their secrets, even the small ones. This wasn't too uncommon,

yet it still felt sickening to see… to watch. Pixie looked thinner, his plump baby fat was little to none, he was getting awkward, and lanky, like some mangy street cat… like she had. He was quieter than before, he was rotating around with the moon instead of being grounded, and he was drifting, further each day. She knew it wasn't uncommon, the little time she spent here she's seen it before, some smaller than others.

“Okay.” she said,

The energy was thick in the Nest. So many times have ponies come on trial here, so many moons had she sat in the awning next to her fellow council mares. Her eyes drifted towards the opening, the silver stand, the bare throne that was elevated high, so often did she direct its decorations… for her. Pillows and cloth veiling the goddess, as she continued to let her mind wonder elsewhere. Despite her being their “guide” their goddess did little to interject, she rarely spoke, always daydreaming. At first Picpuck thought she was in deep thought; when she was called down she only answered back in vague tones. She wasn't perfect.

The way she acted, or how she fidgeted with her hooves, she daydreams. Even how she clears her voice. It became too common, too many little details Picpuck couldn't just push under the rug, she was touchable despite how far she tried to make herself be. At least, there had to be, had to be a reason for this theory Picpuck created, because the latter of it being wrong was… terrifying. How could a god so forgiving allow her people to suffer so? Why would she lock the world out if there wasn't something to hide. If she acted so commonly like a mare instead of a god, there had to be a reason for it, right?

“Sis?”

“Hm?”

“You got quiet,”

“Ah, becoming more observant, aren't you?”

“I am?”

“Just a bit,”

Picpuck placed her hoof on the colt’s head ruffling up his colored mane. Only until he started swatting at her hoof did she bring it to her face to muffle her laugh.

“Stooaap! I'm not some little colt anymore, I'm almost an adult!” He whined,

“You’re still my little brother, ya know?”

“I guess,”

Picpuck laughed again, looking back at the clearing, “Don't be sulky, you'll go under the sand if you get anymore heavy hearted,”

“...I'm… it's hard…”

“Nothing with meaning is ever easy, Gotta suck it up, even here,” she felt her voice softened, “focus on what makes you happy, even if it'll go away,”

She knew she should take advice herself, but she didn't want that shadow to eat Pixie up as well. Pixie didn't say anything, his ears pinned back as he looked at New Bird over the horizon. All she could do was wish he wasn't too far to reach just yet.

"But the going away part is why it's so hard..." Pixie replied.

Author's Note

Small note here

This next chapter "Bliss," I'm in a bit of a slump in, the middle part I have gutted and re-wrote so many times.

I came to the conclusion, that I'm still learning how to write stories. And I need to work through how to write this in the way I imagined, so I'm giving myself one last week and if it's still not good enough, fuck it we ball. 🫡