Cardoon, Curare, Fermented Kumis

Sea of hooves, no longer needed an ocean to thrive, rough and coarse, twisting of flesh, cloth to dirt, dirt to nothing, Celestia clawed, wooden splinters against the frozen ground, raw, the grittiness of salt and stone which burned into her, the traction of friction of a painful redness, Twilight was ahead, her form swallowed by the tide of the town, torches raised, dancing specters in the wind that blowed so harshly some of the flames blew out, and black smoke rose.

There at the edge, at the farthest point of the coastline where the cliffs nearly met the mountainside, where the rocks cascaded down, and the edge of the earth was hidden by a mist, the wave as if knowing the approachhed, pulled back, residue of water splashing onto the support beams, the skeletal tone of wood and rope, the pyre, the lighthouse ahead, out of sight, cruelest reach at the edge of history. Looming against the sky, a painting, blackened timbers of charred claws of a griffon, ravens, pay your respects to the vultures, for they are your future. The ocean held its breath, waiting for what was the come.

The Wheel unnoticed, hung in the air, a vacuum, as the town passed by under it, rising ever so slightly above the town, the library had begun to collapse, break, become just more ash, another memory as Celestia ran, ran towards her only hope. Unholy in its pain, shredded, the scream from Celestia.

"Twilight!"

Reverberated across the whole land, royal voice, the old her, the one she had tossed came out from the woodworks, for a last plea, but the voice lost to the wind, becoming just another sound, Twilight was bound to, lashed to the pole at the center of the pyre, she stuck her hooves outstretched to her sides, a crucifix, in the sea of hatred somehow their eyes met, not peace, defiance, condemnation, curses of black pile among the ground below as Twilight rested, Celestia surged forward, kicking with all might in her being, hooves swinging wildly, but they held her back, with the force of all they could, restraining her magic, her horn and her wings, suffocation. Incoherence, raw animal in the wilderness.

The first torch hit the wood. Sparks.

It leapt from branch to branch, a hunger still unsatisfied, a golden serpent, there was honey in the hallows, in the rocks, which oozed thick from the mountain, a sluggish golden river, a sickly, sticky golden trickle, to be expunged, coiling around this pyre the flame burned, you could hear the bones humming, singing like a puncture. And the contours of the body, emanations. Twilight's features softening, sobbing, choking, drowning Celestia, she fought, pressed and crushed herself into the mud, the grass never felt so painful.

The body in the basin

In the shallow sea-plane basin

The flames went higher, golden tongues wrapping around her legs like a pair of lovers, the fire danced like death, shimmering the air, casting a heat, plumes, tears streamed down the white once pristine coat of an abandoned princess, leftovers. The ocean boiled, as the gold from the mountains trickled into the water, no outlet, no end. Twilight's body arched as the flames consumed her, face titling upwards, ribcage visible as the fur peeled away. Purple to black, a final prayer, a final benediction, a curse, the flash of the Glass Alembic, for a moment, light, returned reality. Face illuminated by the fire which curled along its brother the smoke like a veil, a crown and dress adorned her. Dressed her accordingly. Cheers from the town, cacophony of triumph, torches risen, a sea of torches, and their constructed effigy.

No hope.

Celestia fell, collapsed, no hope, again, no hope, the heat still scorched her face as she slumped in the dirt, stained the mountain, of the bloodstained coast, of Ostia. The town, revealed for all to see, the true face of evil, killed to keep the world turning. Throw her bones over the white cliffs of Ostia, and in the flames. Twilight disappeared. Into the sea, the sea of Equestria.

Sleeping in the sunshine.

Twilight lies down.

And murder me...

In Ostia.

On the sacred ground of Golgotha, Celestia lays, body broken against the earth, the warmth had receded, flames sputtering, a furious dance to a languid crawl, embers flickered, dying orange specks that floated and vanished into the still air. Streaks of black and salt trailing down her cheeks. The townsfolk drifted away in silence, in grimace, but not even one glance backward, not a word, disdain which hung heavy, sunken. The world exhaled.

The ocean below stilled, surface unerringly smooth, like a gray sheet that was drained of its hue, of movement, though it seemed to mourn what had passed. Everything stabilized. The rumbling ended, the pebbles stopped bouncing, the grass died, Celestia raised her head, throat raw, eyes hurting, the wood of the pyre groaned, smoldering still, blacked out, a sickening finality, as Twilight's charred corpse fell, disintegrating as the remnants crumbled away, sliding over the edge of the cliff into the abyss of the dull ocean.

The ocean claimed her without a sound, no splash, no ripple, just a void where she had been, carved there and searing, eternal. The sun rose over the horizon, the sky cleared, the clouds parted ways, out of a view and then gone, the colors were wrong, too beautiful for the violence that had unfolded, honeyed, gentle, a golden glow against a scarred Equestria. Above in the sky a lone vulture circled the pyre, its great black wings beat down on the air slowly, falling, deliberately, its shadow punishing the hunched form of Celestia, it titled its head, such imperceptible acknowledgment of the ruin below, the sacrifice made. She sat unmoving, eyes locked on the horizon, Eskaton. As the faint sound of the fire crackled towards her side. The only constant reminder.

Emptiness.

Ruins.

Left in the night.

Under Luna's moonlight.

Twilight, are you listening?

Author's Note