1000 Years Alone on the Moon - An Autobiography (Abridged)
Editor: T. Sparkle, M.Thau, B.Fr.
Project Hoofenberg's 1000 Years Alone on the Moon – An Autobiography (Abridged) by Princess Luna
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Title: 1000 Years Alone on the Moon – An Autobiography (Abridged)
Author: Princess Luna
Language: Equestrian
Character set encoding: UTF-8
*** START OF THIS PROJECT HOOFENBERG EBOOK 1000 YEARS ALONE ON THE MOON ***
1000 Years Alone on the Moon
~An Autobiography~
by Princess Luna
Abridged by the Canterlot Institute for Royal Studies
Chapter One
We arrived at our place of exile, fittingly enough, in a depression in the Mare Crisium. Meaning a small hollow in the ground rather than a state of mind, for we were in a towering passion! The Nightmare had full rein as together we vented our rage and railed against the foul treachery of our callous, hated sister. We blush to admit that we had but little concept of the passage of time, and although the stars wheeled and danced overhead for our entertainment, we gradually exhausted ourselves and sank into a crushing despair. Yea verily, our depression had became a place of depression indeed.
Eventually, we roused ourselves enough to set up a rude camp in the lee of a large boulder. To our astonishment, we found beneath it a basket sent by our vile, heartless sibling containing a small selection of treats including chocolate bon-bons and sherbet lemons, a fleecy blanket, and a small, rather decrepit cuddly toy called Mr. Snuggles. We are embarrassed to admit that the blanket was promptly burned to cinders in a fit of pique, and we missed it most sorely on the nights that followed. As for the other gift, we most certainly had not seen this toy before nor knew how it had acquired its name.
Chapter Two
As our heart cooled and the wrath which drove us subsided, we decided that we must occupy ourselves in a great work. The Nightmare still raged in our mind, devising new and ever greater plagues and humiliations for our tormentor, but the part that was still Luna yearned for significance, or at least such as could be found in so desolate a place.
But what was this Magnum Opus to be? Raising our head, we looked about us to see a barren plain of dust and... rock. And there, another rock. Suddenly, 'twas all so simple that we nearly laughed aloud! We decided we were going to count the rocks.
"One," we said decisively, pointing at the first rock.
"Two," we said, pointing at the second rock. We felt a small and gratifying surge of satisfaction. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, after all?
"Four," we said, pointing at the third rock.
We found that amusing because, you see, we had counted incorrectly.
'Twas most droll.
Mayhap thou hadst to be there.
Chapter Five Hundred and Sixty-Seven
After sleeping for a period of six hours and seventeen minutes, we awoke. Then we continued counting rocks.
T'was at this point that we let forth with a mighty oath which echoed from the horizons, for we realised something which must have been obvious unto even a simple foal; we had neglected to categorise our rocks! The Nightmare waxed wroth within us as we tried to remember our geology lessons and the differences between breccias and Anorthosites, and the many-faceted basaltic morphologies.
Chapter Three Thousand and Twelve
Once more, the lunar peace was rent by a shattering execration as we realised that our rock measuring gauge had eroded – again! It seemed that they lasted barely a scant few years before the passage of our study materials wore them away to a nubbin. Our mood was not improved on returning to our base of operations to find another care package from our hated sister, containing six Marmite-flavoured bagels, a small pot of yoghurt, and a Romaneian accordion. Truly, the horrors of Marmite make an hour's meeting with Azathoth seem like a foal's tea party.
We were, however, well pleased to see a plastic traffic cone of fond memory included. After all, we art Princess of the Night, and 'tis never a good night unless thou gets a traffic cone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven Thousand and One
Night 365,250 of our exile. We found ourselves brim-full with gleeful exhilaration, for at last – at long last – the night long hoped-for and dreamed of had arrived. The night of our victory! The night of triumph! Unable to contain ourselves, we gambolled joyously toward the markers delineating the last 100 square paces of our study. Breathlessly, we bent to our task - categorising, measuring, cataloguing.
We forced ourselves to work steadily and methodically, never hurrying despite the feeling of great anticipation which set our limbs all a-tremble. The completion of our momentous study was in sight; the definitive geological survey of the entire lunar surface! A single mistake now would be catastrophic.
Lost in our work, the first tingles of magic went almost unnoticed. 'Twas only as the lunar dust began to stir that we looked up from our task to the dreadful realisation that the stars had achieved a certain configuration; our imprisonment was coming to an end.
Dread and terror seized us – not now! How could this be happening?! Another day and it would not matter, but now all was for naught as the growing vortex of magic lifted us away from the lunar surface. We let forth a great howl of anguish as our reams of painstaking notes combusted in the magical backwash. Rocks heaved and tumbled beneath us. Fury and despair rent our heart. Lost. A thousand years of work, irretrievably lost due to the cruel machinations of our sister. At that moment, the Nightmare which had been fading in strength for some centuries roared back into the forefront of our mind, as fresh and as strong as ever. No! This affront cannot be borne! Celestia shall perish!
Epilogue
The sphere of magic which encased us glowed cherry-red as we plunged back into the atmosphere, back toward Equestria and a little village not far from our old castle. In the middle of the village was a broad, circular tower hung with bunting and decoration, into which a large stream of ponies thronged. Well, if they were going to lay on a welcome, who were we to turn them down?
We let the Nightmare transform us into mist and we seeped unobtrusively inside, thinking to observe for a while by stealth. To our shock, we sensed a familiar despised, pale figure waiting behind the curtain on a little stage, but at that moment she looked up and vanished in a sudden burst of light. Laughter echoed from the vaults of our mind – let her run! Let her cower in terror at our approach, for we had returned! There would be no escape! As for the fools who had gathered to fawn over her, what better jape than to take her place?
We let ourselves flow onto the stage, and just as ponies in the crowd were starting to look up and point, we re-materialised. As our hooves touched down on wood for the first time in a millennium and the smells of the earth filled our nostrils once again, we couldn't resist gloating a little at the confusion and fear on the faces of the crowd. “Oh, my beloved subjects! It’s been so long since I’ve seen your precious little sun-loving faces!”
“What did you do with our Princess?” snarled a blue Pegasus with a multi-coloured mane, and went to throw herself at us only to be held back by her friend. This small sign of rebellion needed to be crushed immediately! We reared up on our hind legs, flaring our wings and showing our full majesty.
“QUAIL, MORTALS!” we thundered menacingly.
“She turned the Princess into a bird?” said a bewildered voice from the crowd, in a strong, rustic drawl.
We restrained a sigh. It seemed that the country-folk remained as depressingly simple-minded as we recalled.
“Obviously not Callipepla califhornica, but perhaps she means Coturnix chinensis?” mused an eager voice, with the pedantic single-mindedness of the true bibliophile. “No matter, I know who she is – she's the Mare in the Moon – Nightmare Moon!”
A few of the wiser ponies began to panic, but we ignored the peasants momentarily to focus on the little purple mare who had spoken. Her courage in the face of our great and terrible majesty was most impressive, as was her knowledge. From the looks of incomprehension on the faces of the others, it seemed that we had been forgotten by the common ponies. That was about to change – permanently!
“Well, well, well, somepony who remembers me? Then you also know why I’m here.”
Or perhaps not so impressive, as the pitiful mare started to blither in fear, “You’re here to… to…”
We couldn't restrain our scornful laughter, “Remember this day, little ponies, for it was your last. From this moment forth, the night will last – FOREVER!”
End of Project Hoofenberg's 1000 Years Alone on the Moon – An Autobiography (Abridged) by Princess Luna
*** END OF THIS PROJECT HOOFENBERG EBOOK 1000 YEARS ALONE ON THE MOON ***
