With a light touch of magic, she turned the page, the yellowed parchment almost brittle even in her gentle grasp. It was one book of a stack, a deep pile she had been meaning to traverse for a long while, but had nearly forgotten as the years had gone by. The books were old, very old, thin covers still well kept despite their age, little in the way of dog ears or other blemishes to be found. She took in the pages by the soft glow of sunset, golden and warm, dust motes changing motion with her breaths, each one bringing her nose the smell of time and knowledge, a great balance for the wine she sipped.
It was almost refreshing, reading like this again. She hadn't had time for a long while, far too long. Oh, there was always something to read in her line of work, but it was different entirely to be able to sit down and read for ones pleasure as opposed to work or research. To just read a tale of fancy was a rare respite.
Another page turned as she looked over the top of the book. The normally tidy room was filled with boxes she had finally taken out of storage; Most filled to the brim with books or scrolls, the one that was open at the lead of this parade having contained the small pile before her. The worn packaging still contained enough other material that it was almost ready to split in two. Her eyes returned to the page, the soft glow of the setting sun making sure the words were visible even as another page was turned.
She paused, breath catching in her throat. A photo was jammed between the pages, a makeshift bookmark. Unlike the the book it had been trapped inside, the photo had been folded often, one corner lost over the ages and massive crease marks running over the image of six mares, pink, cyan, orange, yellow, white and purple, happily posing together. Despite the wear, one could still make out the smiles on their faces, a moment of joy caught in time. Carefully, holding her breath as if it may destroy the object, she peeled the photo from the book, holding it in the suns light.
With great care she set it on the table before placing a proper bookmark into the paperback, pausing to take another sip of wine as she turned her attention upon the box again. Each and every object in it was slowly taken out, bathed in the suns light before finding its way onto the table. First where scrolls, carefully rolled and sealed, with any luck safe from the ravages of time. Then came a letter, folded carefully and addressed to her. Shaking, she put it aside and delved into the box once more.
A large photo album basked in the sunlight. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she slowly looked through the collection of memories, the six mares appearing through out with friends and family - pony or otherwise - in every setting one could imagine. On occasion two larger ponies would appear, one the purest white and the other navy blue, though they were sporadic in their appearances at best. At times she wondered where they where, what could have possibly been so important that they had not shared time with the others in the photos. Where had they been as life had played out and been captured in these tiny windows to the past?
Her thoughts went to each picture, each one a story, sometimes joyful and simple, a moment of triumph, or a moment tempered with lies, a tinge of sadness. Sometimes there was no definition which was which. She didn't mind, she told herself, eyes misting up again as she remembered each and every event, either first hoof or from retellings. She didn't mind because everything had turned out in the end. Everything had gone just as planned, every single box on the list checked.
Reaching the end of that, the letter beckoning to her, elegant and precise script seeming to flow under the setting suns glow as she opened it. The script spoke of life, and the end, and the middle, and of joys and regret. She read the name, signed at the end, eyes now freely flowing as she banished her belief from before, wondering where she had been, thinking of everything she could have done different. A million and one what ifs plagued her, all the pieces there as she stared at the signed name before slowly folding the letter back, eyes returning to the photo album.
Now the ponies in the book where legends, something that was mentioned in schools, and even regarded as fairy tales by those skeptical enough. Shaking a touch, she made to drink, only to find her glass had been emptied. She nearly laughed, only half managing as she sobbed instead, hooves gently touching the photos as if she could reach back through time and be there with those wonderful ponies. If she could go back and spend more time with them all. Like a million and one times before, she wondered how different everything may have been if she had just been there more often, if she had spent more time with them all instead of only striving to do what she assured herself had to be done.
As she sobbed, all the pain of what might have been running through her, she almost missed the careful hoofsteps that wove through the maze of boxes, the gentle sound of metal shod hooves on stone telling a tale of a graceful pony. Something soft and feathery covered her shoulders as she lay sprawled out over the table, a position she didn’t recall slumping to, hooves running over photos of friends she hadn't seen in so many years.
Celestia looked up at her little sister with water damaged, bloodshot eyes, an unspoken question with the weight of a long life - longer than most could realize - passing between them. Silently, wordlessly, Luna shook her head, pulling her big sister close, taking her turn with the role of strength as she carefully took those photos from her hooves.
Author's Note
I couldn't get this idea out of my head after listening to some Snow Patrol, so I spent a good hour writing the bulk of this and longer editing. Simple, short.
