REGRET (Good Ending)

This stallion.

I saw through his curiosity and bravado like I once saw through Celestia’s well-meaning lies. He wanted what I once sought—power. The kind of power that didn’t just shake mountains but commanded respect, demanded recognition. And yet, there was something different about him.

When I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see the same blind hunger that had consumed me all those centuries ago. No, what I saw was determination. A sharp mind and an unyielding drive to carve his own path. In a strange way, he reminded me of myself.

But I had to be cautious. I had learned, at a terrible cost, how ambition could twist even the most noble of intentions. The choices I had made, the paths I had walked, had all led me here: a mare steeped in infamy, a ghost story to frighten foals. If I could steer him away from my mistakes, perhaps he would not share my fate. Perhaps he would not be remembered as a monster.

So, I decided to humor him. Maybe Luna was right about this stallion after all.

"Why do you even care about my story?" I asked him one day, my voice sharp and pointed as I tested his resolve.

Last Page looked up from the rune he was sketching on the crumbling floor of my castle. The dim light filtering through the shattered windows illuminated the intricate lines of his work. He didn’t flinch under my scrutiny; instead, he met my gaze with an honesty that surprised me.

"Because you’re more than the stories say," he replied. "The things you’ve done… they’re terrible, yes. But I don’t believe that’s all you are. There’s a pony beneath the legend. I want to understand her."

His words caught me off guard. For so long, I had been defined by my failures, my crimes, and my thirst for control. The idea that someone might want to understand me, rather than fear or destroy me, was almost laughable.

Almost.

I began to share pieces of myself, fragments of the life I had tried so hard to bury. I told him about my days as Celestia’s student, my ascension to princesshood, and the countless adventures I had shared with my friends. The memories came flooding back, bittersweet and vivid. I could see their faces, hear their laughter—Pinkie Pie’s infectious giggle, Applejack’s warm drawl, Rarity’s elegant wit.

And then, the darkness crept in. The memories of betrayal, of the suffocating weight of expectation, and the crushing loneliness that had driven me to seek power at any cost. I told him about my fall, about the moment Twilight Sparkle had been consumed by Nightmare Eclipse.

Last Page listened intently, hanging onto every word. He didn’t judge me. He didn’t flinch at the darker parts of my tale. Instead, he asked questions, probing deeper into my motivations, my regrets, my hopes.

"Did you ever think about what might’ve happened if you’d taken a different path?" he asked one evening.

I hesitated, the question striking a chord I hadn’t expected. "Of course," I admitted quietly. "Every day. But regret doesn’t change the past. It doesn’t undo what I’ve done."

"But it doesn’t mean you can’t shape the future," he countered.

I fell silent, his words lingering in the air. Could the future really be different? Could I be different?

As the days turned into weeks, I began to see something in Last Page that I hadn’t seen in anypony for centuries—potential. He wasn’t just intelligent; he was inventive, resourceful, and driven. His skill with runes was nothing short of extraordinary. He showed me his creations, objects imbued with magic far beyond what most unicorns could achieve.

"I didn’t have the innate magic that others expected from me," he explained, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "So I made my own way. I created my own magic."

I couldn’t help but admire his ingenuity. He reminded me of myself in my younger years, constantly pushing boundaries, refusing to accept limitations.

"Your work is impressive," I told him one evening as we studied one of his rune-laden talismans. "But it’s not enough."

He blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Runes are tools, Last Page," I said. "Powerful tools, yes, but tools nonetheless. If you want to achieve greatness, you need to hone your innate magic as well. It’s the foundation upon which everything else is built."

He frowned, clearly reluctant. "I’ve tried. I’m not… I’m not like other unicorns. My magic is weak."

"Then we’ll make it stronger," I said simply. "If you’re willing to put in the work, I’ll teach you."

His eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and determination. "You mean it?"

I nodded. "But be warned—my methods aren’t easy. If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to be prepared for challenges you’ve never faced before."

"I’m ready," he said without hesitation.

And so, I began to train him. I taught him spells that had been forgotten by time, spells that had been deemed too dangerous or too complex for most ponies to handle. He absorbed the knowledge eagerly, his hunger for learning rivaling even my own during my days as Celestia’s student.

But it wasn’t just magic that I taught him. I shared with him the lessons I had learned the hard way—the importance of balance, the dangers of unchecked ambition, and the value of friendship.

"Power without purpose is meaningless," I told him one night as we practiced casting complex illusions. "It’s not enough to be strong. You need to understand why you seek strength. Otherwise, you’ll lose yourself, just as I did."

He listened carefully, his expression thoughtful. For all his ambition, he seemed to take my warnings to heart.

Luna’s fears began to ease when she received a letter from Last Page, detailing his progress. She read his words with a mix of relief and astonishment.

"She’s not what I expected," he wrote. "She’s still… intimidating, but she’s also wise. She’s teaching me things I never thought I could learn. And she’s opening up—slowly, but she is. I think there’s more to her than the stories say."

For the first time in centuries, Luna allowed herself to hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance for redemption—not just for Twilight Sparkle, but for all the scars left behind by her fall.

One evening, as we sat in the crumbling remains of my castle’s library, Last Page asked me about Starlight Glimmer.

"Who was she?" he asked.

The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn’t answer. Memories of my former student flooded my mind—her brilliance, her stubbornness, her unyielding belief in the power of equality.

"She was… my student," I said finally, my voice tinged with sadness. "She was brilliant, stronger than she ever realized. But I failed her, just as I failed everypony else."

Last Page watched me carefully, his expression sympathetic. "Do you think she’d forgive you?"

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I don’t know," I admitted. "But I hope so."

As I watched him work on another rune that night, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in centuries—hope.

Maybe, just maybe, this stallion would succeed where I had failed. And maybe, through him, I could find a path to redemption.