[AiE] PPPPP 5: Earth Departure

       

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        It's unsettling.  This place, that is — this palace.  Ponyville had teetered on the edge of a fairytale.  Canterlot had looked at that edge, nodded to itself with an arrogant grin and an apparent hatred for humans, and then pridefully proceeded by jumping as far across it as possible, straight into the abyss of madness you now stood in front of.  Disregarding Celestia, you stand still, taking in your surroundings.  Giant spires atop an equally giant castle, jutting out at inconceivable angles.  Banners of white and gold on one end, black and blue on the other.  A construction that, by all means, should be falling apart right this moment.  And yet here it stands, dozens of lights burning behind windows; even now, nearing nightfall, it seems to be a beehive of activity.

 

        “Quite the sight, is it not?”  Here, at what's supposed to pass for her home, she seems to be more at ease.  It's not in her expression, nor in her tone.  Just something in the way she stands — something in her gait.  As if she'd been straining herself earlier.

 

        But what was she expecting from you?  Honesty?  The knowledge that with each passing second sanity seemed to slip out of your grasp, at this point little more than an alien concept from a not-so alien world?  Probably not.

 

        “It's something alright.”  It'd have to do.

 

        The comforting smile she casts your way seems to imply that it did.  Again, she asks, “Shall we?”

 

        Raising your shoulders, you meet her smile with a half-one of your one.  “Not like I'm drowning in options here…”  With a snap of your fingers and a low-pitched whistle Ashy turns her head away from the off-white flowers she was sniffing at and with a merry trot, she makes her way back to your side again, off to the castle.

 

        “You oughtn't worry, Anon.  The castle's staff might not have the discretion and courtesy they once had, but I can personally assure you no pony will bother either you or her, unless you ask their assistance.”

 

        “Roomservice isn't really what I'm worried about.”

 

        Her laughter is just as foreign to you as this world is in itself, maybe even more so.  The fact that something that emphatically could pass for a horse is laughing is its own source of perplexity.  But it's got nothing to do with that.  If you just look away or close your eyes, it remains to be a wonderful sound to listen to.  A wonderfully strange sound.  Earlier, she'd spoken of her age, pained, and you'd simply shaken your head, chosen to ignore it as just another ancillary branch of your mind.  But it might not be.

 

        You breathe a long-drawn sigh, its mimetic counterpart coming from your side seamlessly blending in.  Your eyes meet Celestia's and she halts, allowing you to walk side by side.

 

        “I have promised you my aid and I am truly, deeply sorry that it is all I can offer you right now.”  With a glance at you and your pet, her expression softens and as the castle's entrance creeps closer, so does Celestia — her coat and your hand sparsely meeting at odd intervals.  “But for what it is worth, Anon, my aid has helped many.”

 

        Following her example, you turn to the little grey bundle of joy at your side.  Your anchor that ensures you still haven't jumped over that edge yet.  Your response comes quietly as the moon begins its ascent, “Thank you.”

 

        She shakes her head, her enigmatic mane following with delay.  “You owe me no gratitude.  Never.”

 

        You were on the point of telling her you most certainly did.  Especially now.  You could point out how she could've chosen to leave you to your own fate.  You could've brought up how you didn't consider the aid she's so carelessly throwing your way an inevitability.  But already, despite how shortly you've spoken, you know that going against her inexplicable kindness would be futile.  So instead, you offer her something she can't deny — or so you'd thought at least.  “I really owe you an apology for what she did to you earlier, though.  She usually never does that sort of thing.”

 

        But again, she revokes, “My behavior was—”  As she takes the first step up the stairs leading to the massive two-segmented doors, she turns to look at the two of you again, her expression short-lived and unreadable.  “I let my excitement get the better hand of me.  I acted out of line.”  Smiling, she adds, “She had every right to butt me back into it.  I oughtn't have steered you away from her, nor should have I used magic around her.  I fear the latter might bear ill repercussions if we do not proceed cautiously.”

 

        “What do you mean?”  Celestia halts in front of the doors and lowers her head, her mouth already parting.  Before she could grasp the doorknob with her teeth however, you already held it in your grip.  “I'll get that for you.”

 

        She nods, motioning for you both to enter the castle.  “Thank you.”  As the door closes behind the tree of you, she continues, “Apart from momentarily losing consciousness, which you wrote off to the shock yourself, you're feeling fine?”

 

        “Yeah.  I don't really feel all that different from usual.  Bit of a headache, if anything.  As long as we don't go flying again, I'm good.”

 

        “I do believe we can both agree the same can't be said for your companion…”

 

        Two sets of eyes travel downwards, watching the little mare now striding in the middle without so much as a single worry on her mind.  When she catches you staring at her, she happily states, “Walk!  Walk!”

 

        “No,” you agree.  “Pretty sure that's a given.”

 

        Celestia watches Ashy with a content smile as she continues walking through the oddly empty hallways.  After taking a turn left, she says, “There are many factors that come into consideration here, but I can almost definitely assure you that Equis's ambient magic will have its part in it.  Any spell, whether it be a ritual of ancient nature” — Her eyes rest on yours for a moment — “or simply summoning a quill, focuses that ambient magic into one place.  That increase will almost certainly have some sort of effect on her… change.  Perhaps it accelerates it, perhaps it stops it entirely.”  

 

        Celestia's breathing becomes rushed as she continues at an increasingly fastening pace, “She might feel nothing at all.  But for all we know, it causes her pain like nothing else.”  She shakes her head.  “It doesn't lie in magic's nature to cause harm, but still…  By doing what we consider to be an ridiculously simple action I might have hurt her, Anon.  Do you understand now what I mean when we say that we must proceed with caution?”

 

        “Hey.”  You stop walking, something Celestia is quick to pick up on.  As soon as she does, she's even quicker to turn around but before she can ask you why, you've placed your hand on her withers, slowly kneading the mare's tense muscles.  “You didn't hurt her.”  Celestia tries to open her mouth, but again you don't allow her to but in.  “She knows the word pain.  She'd have told me if you'd hurt her.”  At that, you can feel her lean into your touch a bit.  “Okay?”  

 

        The princess meekly nods as you let go of her.  “I… might be a tad more stressed than I was willing to let on at first.”

 

        “A certain mare once told me running around in panic accomplishes nothing.”

 

        She's about to speak up, but catches herself shortly.  With the hints of a soft blush setting on her features, she simply nods, turning back towards the door at the end of the hallway.  

 

        “Would you?” she asks, motioning at it.

 

        Soundlessly you respond, striding over and opening the door to a rather small room where you're instantly met with five sets of eyes, intently staring at you.  

 

        Not so much as a hint of her earlier doubt shines through her voice as she orders, “Everypony please, a little space for our esteemed guests, if you would…”  The five immediately slink back, allowing you, the princess, and your pet to enter.  Once inside, there was little you could go by to discern this room's function.  In an off-corner stands a brightly polished wooden desk, but apart from that, the only notable features to this room are a handful of doors embedded in its walls.  “Doctor Trails, I appreciate that you were able to come out on such short notice.  I hope Melody didn't give you too hard a time?”

 

        The brown stallion in the middle tilts his head and with a gentle smile, he shakes ʻnoʼ.  His voice catches you by surprise — oddly soft, almost feminine — as he answers, “She knows you wouldn't interrupt charades-night if you hadn't a good reason for it.”

 

        Celestia turns to you.  “Anon, this is doctor Trails.”  You nod at him — a motion he swiftly mirrors albeit with a raised brow.  “He is the head of the medical facility at my honored School for Gifted Unicorns.  He specializes in dealing with patients with hearing and speech impairments, especially those of young age.”  Turning to him, she asks, “I trust Twilight has sufficiently explained the situation?”

 

        He simply nods, trying to gaze past your legs where Ashy seemed to be hiding from prying eyes.  “Very limited speech…  Little to no understanding…  When did this behavior start?”

 

        “Oh, no, no,” Celestia interrupts him.  “That is a matter for another time, doctor.  I would like you to examine her physically — simply see if she is doing well.  Her… impairment is something that will have to be postponed.  I was hoping to rely on your expertise to make things proceed a bit more fluently, is all.”

 

        “Your highness, with all due respect, from a professional standpoint I am obliga—”

 

        “I know your intentions are earnest, doctor, but I must ask of you, as a friend, that you take my word for this.  It speaks for itself that I require the utmost discreteness of you and your team.”  

 

        An unsettling silence sinks as the two lock eyes.  The doctor's gaze then shifts to yours, his squared irises sliding up and down over your frame.  “I'm afraid I've yet to meet a… creature such as yourself.  Forgive me my rudeness, as well my lack of knowledge, but might I ask what you are?”

 

        Celestia denies you any chance to answer.  “A visitor from a foreign land.”  Doctor Trails slowly turns back towards his employer, Celestia's scolding tone diminishing his bravado aptly.  “And a personal guest.  I would very much appreciate it if you could see to the well-being of his companion now, doctor.”

 

        Softly, he lowers his head.  “Of course, your highness.  My apologies.  The late hours must be playing their toll on me.”  He quickly adds, “Though I promise that it won't bear its mark on my work.”

 

        “You may send your two unicorn assistants home, as well,” she says, “Any and all use of magic is strictly forbidden around her.”

 

        His brow falls, though his annoyance is quick to clear again at Celestia's authority.  Stepping closer, he notes, “This will bring some limitations with it.”

 

        “I don't expect you to do more than you can.  So far, she hasn't shown any signs of hurt” — He shoots her a questioning glance — “but I am not willing to leave anything to luck.”

 

        “Of course, your majesty.  Celia, Lavender, you may return to your families.  I'm sorry for disrupting you in your personal time.”  The two unicorn mares quietly shake their heads, muttering something along the lines of ʻEverything for you, doctorʼ before setting off for one of the doors on the right.  

 

        “A sizeable stipend will be provided for your troubles,” Celestia says, causing both mares to turn around.  “Though I do hope my guest's stay will remain to be an unbothered one.”

 

        Both mares look at each other before meekly nodding.  In unison, they say, “Yes, princess Celestia.”  At that, they slip out of the door, their tails pressed flat against their respective rears.    

 

        Doctor Trails turns to the two remaining mares.  “Go and prepare room three.  I'll be with you shortly.”  Both the beige and pink pony nod, setting off to the door furthest away in the room, coincidentally the largest.  As they step through, you catch glimpses of a pristine white hallway before it falls shut again.

 

        Celestia breathes a quiet sigh, going by almost unheard.  “I'm sorry I had to force my hoof, Ardent,” she speaks.  “But you know how seldom Equestria expands its borders…  Delicate matters are in the works.”

 

        Looking at you as an object of interest rather than a person, he asks, “Does it—”

 

        “He,” you interject.

 

        “Does he stem from Equis?  I can see parallels with the Bovines, though…”  He trails off as his gaze halts on your face again.  “Differences aplenty…”

 

        Celestia shakes her head curtly.  “Another time perhaps, doctor.  There is much left to be done and little daytime to spare.”

 

        Though notably displeased, his expression quickly shifts around again as he turns towards Ashy, still firmly rooted behind your legs.  “Hello there…”

 

        “Ashy,” you add, stepping sideways.  “Her name's Ashy.”

 

        “Hello there, Ashy,” he says in his softening voice.  

 

        Hesitantly — and with a little nudging from you — she takes a step forward, her head tilting to the side.  His smile does little to reassure her.  She looks back at you, her eyes pleading at you.  “ʻNon?”

 

        “It's okay, girl.  He won't hurt you.”  

 

        Even slower than before — but without any help from you — she makes her way to doctor Trails.  This time, she tries to mimic his expression when he smiles at her.

 

        “We're just going to take a quick look and see if you're not having any pain, okay?” he asks, leading her towards the largest door.  Again, she shoots you a look though as you nod at her, she meekly goes along.  The stallion turns towards you both, offering, “You can both be there, if it'd make you feel any better…”

 

        You'd already taken a step forward when Celestia says,  “I'm afraid there are still matters we must discuss.  Privately.”

 

        “I am not leaving her.”

 

        “Anon, I know you'd rather not, but she won't be able to—”  She quickly turns towards Ashy and the doctor, already waiting by the door and in a quieter voice she continues, “She won't be able to come where I'm taking you.”

 

        Before you can respond, she turns towards the stallion.  “Send one of your nurses to fetch my sister.  She is to guide Ashy to her personal quarters when you've concluded your check-up.  Should she prefer to stay here, then Luna will do the same.  There is to be a set of eyes on her at all times, understood?”  

 

        The sharp edge to Celestia's voice made the doctor shrink towards the door, nodding swiftly.  “Of course, your majesty.”

 

        “Celestia, I really can't leave her on her own.”

 

        “I promise you, on everything I hold dear, nothing'll happen to her, Anon.  If I truly can't convince you otherwise we'll stay but she can't come along in any case.  You'll have to leave her with my sister for a short time, no matter how we arrange things.  I have to ask that you trust Ardent to take good care of her.”  She takes a step closer to you.  “I'd trust that stallion with my life.  In fact, I've done so before.  I assure you no harm will come to her, Anon.  You've my word for it.”

 

        “Are you being dramatic over that flu you had again?” you heard the stallion ask from the other end of the room.  Celestia shoots him a halfway annoyed, halfway amused glare that he chooses to ignore as he addresses you, “But I will see to it that your… companion won't be hurt.  Apart from my doctor's honor, I give you my personal word.”  He looks to none of you in specific when he says, “If it means that much to you…”

 

        Celestia nods at him.  “Thank you, Ardent.  I know I can always count on you.”

 

        Ashy looks to the stallion at her side, before looking back at you.  Silently, she cocks her head.

 

        “Here,” you begin, swinging your backpack off.  “Just give her one of these if she acts fussy.”

 

        The doctor makes his way over to you promptly, his brow furrowing as he looks at the box on the floor.  “The use of non-documented sedatives, however unfortunate, is an i—”

 

        “They're sugarcubes.”

 

        It does little to assuage his apparent doubt, the not-quite understanding look on his face still present.  “Sugarcubes,” he mimicks.  Then he nods, flourishing a bright smile.  “Ah!  I much prefer alfalfa as a quick snack myself, though I suppose that's an acquired taste.”  The box now firm in his maw, he mumbles, “…'ll wuse it ʻfnit needy…”

 

        He strides across the room, opening the door there with a flick of his tail, holding it.  Even though compared to some of the other things you've seen this is hardly the weirdest, it's still enough to send shivers down your spine.  If her frightened, hesitant look at you is any indication, your pet seems to think the same.  

 

        “…Go with the mister, Ashy.  I'll be back soon.”  There's no point in lying: you don't understand this world.  You're not even going to pretend you do.  Almost nothing here makes sense.  But, if there had to be one thing you might just be a little more certain about than anything else, it's that one's word here means a lot more than it did back at home.  If Celestia is that dead-set on showing you… whatever it was she wants to show you, she'd have a good reason for it.  At least, you hope she does.  You still can't say you're partial to leaving her behind — regardless of whose word you had.  “We'll be back soon, right?”

 

        Celestia had already turned back to the hallway you came from.  She doesn't face you as she answers, “That depends entirely on you.”

 

        Looking back, you note Ashy'd obeyed your order, retreating to her examination room with the others.  Heaving a sigh, you follow Celestia into the hallway, hoping you'd made the right decision.  “What does that mean?”  

 

        “I've witnessed this planet change its face so many times now.  There were times where I was the cause, others where I was change's adversary.”  You can barely see her face, obscured by her mane as she glances back at you.  “You clearly recognize it no longer.  Perhaps—”  She stops in place, somewhere amidst a hallway that looks exactly the same as the previous one.  Her eyes turn sullen as she stares at you, and try as she might, she can't seem to keep the corners of her lips from limply turning downwards.  “Perhaps you won't remember it at all.  But I have to try, at least.”

 

        “I, uh…”  It's moments like these: where she seems to think she owes you her life or where you're supposed to remember this fantasy-world from her past that make you doubt whether you should've left Ashy on her own.  “I don't know wh—”

 

        “I know you don't.  Not yet.”  She looks towards the end of the hallway.  

 

        “Where are we going?”

 

        Now she seems capable of upholding her smile.  Flicking your leg with her tail, she says, “My bedroom.”  Before you can ask why, she adds — on a far more serious note, “Which also happens to be in the highest tower of the castle.”  She turns to look at you, her eyes pleading just like Ashy's and even before she's opened her mouth, you know what she's about to ask.

 

        “No.”

 

        “It's a lot faster,” she all-but sings.  Just as you were about to assure that there was absolutely no way she could teleport the both of you to her room, she says, “You'll be back sooner if we don't have to climb all those stairs…”

 

        “This is extortion, Celestia.”

 

        She slyly smiles.  “Maybe.  But it's true.”

 

        “How do you even know it's safe?”

 

        “I've my reasons,” she waves off your concerns.  “Besides, I've told you before: it doesn't lie in magic's nature to cause harm.  It's the sudden onset of changes in your—”  Her lips press themselves shut and with a glimmer, akin to excitement, in her eyes, she tentatively sounds out the word, “pet… that worries me.  But you?  You'll be fine, Anon.”  The glimmer still lingering, she smiles at you.  “Give it a try?”  

 

        A troubled look had been on your face ever since she said ʻmaybeʼ.  It wasn't going anywhere.

 

        “Or we take all three thousand four hundred and two steps.  Whichever you prefer.”

 

        Heaving a weary sigh, you answer, “You know you'll run out of ʻtrust meʼ-s eventually, right?”

 

        She frowns for all of a second.  “I apologize for this — I suppose ʻsecrecyʼ would be the word for it from your understanding — but, to use your own words against you: I'm not drowning in options here.  I'll clarify as much as I can, as soon as I can.  All I ask for is a little more time.”  A quick dip of her brow comes again.  “Perhaps a little more than ʻa littleʼ, unless…”

 

        “How come there's no one here?” you ask, shifting direction.  “When we were outside, just about every room in this place was lit.  You're not telling me those five ponies are the only staff you have.”

 

        “I ordered they stay in their rooms,” she answers.  “I'd rather decide for myself when the public gets to see you.  Neither of you are ready for that yet; another reason why I'd much prefer to take you to my room straight away.  I could miss prying eyes and ears like a sore tooth right now.”

 

        Another sigh leaves you aptly.  Her expression remains as gentle as it was as she nods.  “Stairs it is.”

 

        “No, we'll…”  

 

        ʻMagicʼ still scares the life out of you, nor will there be any change to that sentiment any time soon in all likeliness.  But today's events were beginning to claim their toll on you — physically and now, it seems, mentally as well.  On any other occasion, you'd have climbed those stairs.  But now, you'd just be glad to get this over with and be back with Ashy.  

 

        “…We'll do your thing.  Your magic thing.”

 

        Pleased, Celestia wraps her wing around you again.  “I promise you'll be fine.”  She proceeds by laying herself down on the floor, looking up at you expectantly.  At your raised brow, she explains, “You'll need to hold onto me for this.”

 

        “Can't I just put my hand on your withers again?”

 

        Her muzzle scrunches as her brow dips for a moment.  “…I suppose,” she mutters, rising to her full length again.  Only a single thought flashes across your mind as you rest your hand on her pristine coat — her horn ablaze with arcane sinew.  

 

        “Never thought I'd die like this, that's f—”

 

        Sound ceases to be.  Soon followed by color, then shapes.  Light itself then gives way, crumbling away into tiny, triangular fragments as you feel the world around you shift into a vast, beautiful darkness.  Though blinded, you still feel her presence here, warmth at your side before she, and it, too, fades away into the endless reaches of the void.  

 

        If she'd have asked you to try and put it into words, you'd have drawn the comparison between teleportation and being pulled through a very cold, very tight rubber tube.  But you had no voice to speak with, nor would there be anyone to hear you.  There didn't seem to be a beginning to where you'd come from, nor an end to where you were supposed to be going.  

 

        There didn't seem to be anything other than yourself anymore at all, and even that, barely.  Motionless, bereft of all sensory input, and no possible way of telling how much time passes by.  But perhaps not all senses.  There was still something, a presence here you'd a hard time placing, neither mind nor body — something in between, or just outside of it all, perhaps.

 

        Without warning, light punches you straight in the face: shapes, sounds, colors, and most of all weight flooding the world as you feel your mind slowly filling again — the world grinding to a sudden halt.

 

        Halting on the floor of a cold, white room.  Warmth and light filled your surroundings, an unfamiliar pressure weighing you down which, as the seconds tick by, you come to realize is simply how your body has always felt.  In this heightened state of awareness, your eyes ache at the off-white, near yellowish light that shines overhead.  With a lazy grunt, you shield yourself from the onslaught on your mind and body, allaying rapidly as your head rolls sideways — light now driven off somewhere peripheral.

 

        Now you'd heard the expression ʻqueen-sizeʼ regarding mattresses, but ʻprincess-sizeʼ apparently seemed to be the next step up if Celestia's room was the norm.  Your own bedroom, admittedly not a very big one, could easily fit inside hers three times or so.  Still lying on the floor, your vision aligns with her bed which takes up most of the wall on your right: an overwhelming amalgamation of pillows, blankets, and veils stacked atop of an almost comically large mattress.  All of them, however, some tint of white which, now, eases your hyper-aware mind somewhat.  

 

        Your examination of her room is halted prematurely as a short bout of laughter draws your attention to a clearly thoroughly amused alicorn, gloating as she towers over you.  “Now was that so bad?”

 

        “Well…  I didn't die, I'll have to give you that.”  

 

        That is how you would have answered, were it not for the fact that your intestines, too, had suddenly arrived in Celestia's room, silencing you pertinently.  Hand clutching your stomach, your expression quickly turns into a grimace as the inner workings of your body seem to be rearranging themselves.  “That…”  A low rumbling comes from your mid-section.  “Isn't supposed to go there…”

 

        Dismissive, Celestia holds her smile.  “Ah yes, a slight pang of hunger is to be expected after teleporting.  I could go for a slice of cake, myself,” she says, taking a step back.  “Perhaps a little ice-cream on the side.”  She turns towards the mirror standing in the corner of the room, eyeing her own figure.  

 

        Taking a pose, she seems to think to herself as ʻsomethingʼ — no, you have no clue what — and yes, that horrifies you — is trying to crawl its way out of your throat.   “And I've been doing so well with my diet lately, too.”  Nodding to her reflection, she speaks, “Yes, a slice of cake and some ice-cream.  Some chocolate sauce, perhaps.  That wouldn't be excessive; would it, Anon?”

 

        The uneasiness in your guts somewhat settling, you groan exaggeratedly, still failing in receiving so much as one glance from the hungry princess.  “I'm dying over here on the floor and you're thinking about whether or not you should eat chocolate sauce?”

 

        She quickly shakes her head, finally breaking away from the mirror's image.  “Oh, what you mustn't think of me!  Of course there'll be plenty for both of us!”

 

        “Never.  Teleporting.  Again.”

 

        “You just need to eat a little,” she says, helping you back up with a little magical aid.  “You wouldn't believe how sister and I used to gorge ourselves when we were still being shown the ropes to our powers.  And Twilight once—”  She shakes her head again.  “A story for another time, perhaps.”

 

        Thankfully, what she's saying is proving itself to be true again as your stomach now simply rumbles in hunger and both your body and psyche seem to be back intact — disregarding earlier magic-induced trauma, that is.  It doesn't take you long to shove the remainder of your salami sandwich from your backpack into your maw, leaving only a little bit of crumbled tinfoil as evidence.

 

        Celestia stares at you from the other end of the room, ataxia etched deep into her eyes as they roam downwards to the discarded packaging.

 

        “Never.”  You pop a finger into your mouth, lick it clean and let it go with a loud pop.  “Again.”

 

        “Better?”  

 

        Reluctantly, you nod.  Shooting her an accusatory glare, you ask, “I thought you said this was safe?”

 

        “Which it was.  ʻPleasantʼ, on the other hoof, wouldn't be my depiction for it the first few times.”  Sitting herself down on the ground, she says, “You oughtn't worry; it gets better in time.”

 

        “That's an understatement if I ever heard one.”  You haphazardly touch your stomach again.  “Hands down the weirdest thing I've felt in my entire life.  And you can forget about that last bit: I'm never doing that again.”

 

        She simply hums at that, the teasing tone her non-response carries with it already causing scruple to fester at the borders of your fraying mind.

 

        Scooting yourself back a little, you say, “I don't think I like how that hum sounds…”

 

        The light reflects of her eyes with a sharp edge, an almost successful imitation of an innocent look on Celestia's face.  “There is no cause for concern, Anon.  This is the safest place in this kingdom.”

 

        Jabbing back with, “That doesn't mean I've got to feel safe in here.”

 

        Somehow, you struck a painful note with that — a hurt look deeply rooting itself on the alicorn's features, light in the room fleeting.  Again, her mane obscures her from any obtrusive onlookers as she mutters, “No…  No, I suppose it doesn't.”

 

        It doesn't help much at first, when you scoot back towards her and lay your hand on her withers — her eyes still withdrawn from yours.  Quiet and morose as your comment turned her, she finds herself having a hard time fighting back a little, dimmed smile as you brush over her amazingly soft feathers.

 

        “Hey, look, I'm really grateful that you're trying to help me, don't get me wrong.  It's just that you seem to know exactly what's going on, but you're not telling me anything.  Just that I need to trust you and that you know what you're doing.”  Still nothing.  “And it's not that I think you don't.  But look at it from my side too—”  

 

        She opens her mouth but decides against speaking up at the last moment.  “I do trust you, Celestia, otherwise I wouldn't have let you pull me here like that.  So why don't you just tell me what this whole ʻI owe you my whole lifeʼ-thing is all about, because I really haven't the faintest what that's supposed to mean…”

 

        After a few more moments of silence, she seems to have gathered some of her composure, even if her answer comes somewhat strained, muted, “I'm not telling you what I believe to be going on because one: they're nothing but assumptions, and two: you might think of them as nothing more than lies.”  

 

        Before you could even revoke, she shakes her head — silencing you — and continuing, “And you've every right to think so.  I haven't given you any reason to trust me, other than asking you to do so.”  Her eyes briefly meet yours again.  “I'm grateful that you do, but I doubt it'd hold true…  However, you'd be hard-pressed to deny what I think when I can show you.  Which is why I brought you here in the first place.”

 

        Just as you begin to turn your head to search for something that looks out of place — ʻmore out of place than usualʼ would be more accurate — she speaks again, “It's not here, Anon.”

 

        “Then why did you take me here?”

 

        The moonlight falling in through the almost ceiling-high window obscures her outline, blurring where the room begins and where Celestia ends, and only in the last moment do you realize what's happening as the edges of her smile reach unseen heights and the world fades into an all-encompassing pool of eternally expanding dark and cold again.

 

        “I fucking hate y—”

 

 

                ▪     ▪     ▪

 

 

        “You were saying?”

 

        The cold had been the first to go.  Light had drove it off, then the dark that'd come with it.  Now, a swirling pool of gold and cerulean defines your surroundings, enveloping you in every direction — the viewpoint of standing in a bubble, you like to think.  Whereas teleporting made you all the more aware of your body, here it's as if you were falling again; that fleeting moment of weightlessness you'd felt right before you'd smacked onto Applejack's farmlands stretched out into permanence.

 

        “What is this place?”  your voice booms, unintentionally, echoing far off into a silent, repetitive whisper.

 

        “It is…”  Celestia's voice, too, comes from every direction, though she seems to control her volume better.  “A place, yes.  A time as well.  It's quite hard to explain, really.”

 

        “Poetry's lost on me, I'm afraid…”

 

        Her laughter silently fills all, fading into a pleasant, if somewhat static, background noise.  Around you, the gold turns brighter, the cerulean shifting in a muddled teal.  “Yes, I've to admit the specifics behind this place are lost on me, as well.”  In here, the pink in her eyes truly shines and then, for the first time, you take note of Celestia's cutiemark.  “Sister is more well versed in the what's and what's-not's behind magic.  Still…”  

 

        She opens her wings, and as she does, you feel a soft breeze starting to blow.  “The truth behind it all alludes us both.  Magic ʻisʼ.  We know it, possess it, can mold it — shaping beauty, but ask us not to create it.  I have done so, once, when times were most dire and to this day, I've no idea how I did what I did.”

 

        “So why'd you take me here then?  It's beautiful, I'll gladly give you that, but why did you bring me here?  And why not straight away?”

 

        Closing her eyes, the colors underneath you begin to run more rapid, swaying and coiling in angry waves.  The gold rushes towards her, cerulean being driven off to the top of the bubble.  “This, Anon, is a vault.  Equestria's best kept secret.”  Her horn etches symbols in the air, rumbling with divine, arcane energy; the aurelian liquid fleeing to describe the patterns she draws around you.  “And it can only be accessed from my bedroom.”

 

        As the symbols carve themselves into the walls they consist of, a sensation you can only describe as ʻstrangeʼ overwhelms you.  The weightlessness you've so come to enjoy begins to taper off and the orb's gravity begins to tug at you — every segment of your body pulling, trying to run off in a different direction.

       

        The haunting sensation grows: barely noticeable at first, barely impossible to ignore now.  Your mind flashes back to the teleportation; the void and the cold.  Place as much trust in her as you'd like, there's a certain circumference your body simply refuses to cross — instinct vying for domination as you barely manage to utter, “Celestia, I want to go back.”

 

        But she hasn't ears for you.  With one final, graceful swing of her neck she finishes the signature; the runes now run in a perfect circle, no-way to tell where they begin and where they end.

 

        It all passed in the blink of an eye.  You ʻheardʼ the orb tear and averted your sights for whatever was to come.  Curiosity and fear, in equal amounts, quickly cause you to come back on that decison but by the time you'd opened your eyes again, it was already gone.  Everything was back to normal, the tugging sensation entirely dissipated.  Gravity restored.

 

        And you were standing in a hallway.  A very narrow hallway, at that.  With Celestia there, you had to squeeze yourself together to be able to stand next to each other.  A quick glance over your shoulders only showed a wall, just a few steps back.  Ahead, a single door — golden knob shimmering in light without source.

 

        “I do apologize if that was uncomfortable,” Celestia says.  “I've always been a bit more forceful in entering this place than Luna.”  Tilting her head, mane wafting against your face, she raises her brow.  “She does know the construct better than I do, though.”

 

        “Just please tell me that we're finally where you wanted to go,” you plead.  “I don't think I can take another one of those.”  Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief when she nods apologetically.

 

        She vacillates for a moment before she takes a step forwards.  “You'll be the third being to ever step through that door, Anon,” she says as a rush of cold air silently wafts into the petite hallway as her aura envelopes the handle — door swaying open gracefully.  As seems to be the developing habit by now, you follow her as she walks through.

 

        You have no idea what to make of it, her so-called ʻvaultʼ.  Adobe floors, dark and giant tiling that might be revered for their pristine, ancient nature by anyone other than yourself reaching far out.  Right now, you're stood on a little dais of sorts, its width that of the entire room, granting you a clear vantage to overlook its entirety.  The overhanging lights seem to dim the farther they go, sheltering whatever hid in the back from sight.  Just a few steps ahead were the stairs to descend from the dais and into the actual room itself.  

 

        Its right isn't that perplexing — even by Earthly standards.  An utterly overwhelming amount of books and scrolls are neatly laid out on shelves; a fair distance between them, as if they might contaminate one another if they'd lie too close together.  An odd arrangement if anything, though it abates into nil when put in contrast with the room's left…

 

        At some point in time, Equestria'd tried to make a very convincing sci-fi movie.  That's the only reasonable explanation for the shelves' contents there.  They, too, were neatly spaced out — no specific sorting order to be discerned.  A kind of very well-maintained scrapyard, maybe.  Technologies of all sorts and kinds: welded constructions in aluminium that, to you, seemed to belong to some kind of small aircraft; circuit boards the size of dinner tables; and most particularly—

       

        “Hey, I have a coffeemaker just like that!”  Then, those words hit you again, an entirely different connotation forming with them.  “…I have a coffeemaker just like that.”

 

        Celestia'd already strut down the stairs, her eyes roaming along the shelves, left and right.  At your exclamation, she turns, a hopeful smile being thrown your way.  Nodding, she lays her focus on the left as you descend to her side and you both stroll farther into the room.  “Yes?” she asks, a certain lull in her tone — upbeat expression unwavering.

 

        “What is all this stuff, Celestia?”

 

        And gone.  Just like that, her mood dipped again as she tilts her head.  “You—”  She glumly shakes her head and halts at a sizeable table stood against the ledges on the right.  On it, few scrolls are littered about, the places they'd belonged to clearly vacant in the display.  “I'd thought — hoped, I suppose — that you'd know,” she says scantly.  “That it'd help you remember, maybe.”

 

        You had no idea.  Ever since you stood in that hallway, you had no idea about anything anymore.  It'd been your way of coping and now, staying silent is the option that appeals to you the most.  So that's precisely what you do as well.  

 

        What did she want from you?  What were you supposed to tell her?  In the end, your choice simply falls on ʻnothing at allʼ.  It makes the most sense — and that's a welcome change from the rest of this godforsaken day.

 

        She, too, opts to stay silent for a spell; the words holding a graspable explanation seemingly fleeing from her — a near-eternity in which she carried herself so facund: gone, in the blink of an eye.  Sitting herself down at the table, she wordlessly offers you to do the same.

 

        There are no seats or chairs, only cushions but you're at a point where you can't be bothered by it.

 

        “These are all the things we, Luna and I, managed to retrieve from the ruins,” Celestia says.  “We've done our best to halt their decay.”

 

        Not too far from the coffeemaker, another familiar face.  “That's half a laptop over there.”  Her movements come almost lethargic as she turns her head to look where you're pointing, a muted expression etched across her features, her age coming to fruition in the low-hanging lights.

 

        “Then our best was not good enough,” she states finally, turning back to look at you.  “Again.”  When you still refuse to speak, she sighs and halts herself somewhere mid-shrug.  “These are humanity's last remnants.  The rest has fallen prey to time's relentless grip, I fear.”

 

        Glancing down the back of the room, you can see larger structures: engines almost entirely enclosed by rust, half-melted constructs gleaming ebony, tangled messes of electrical wiring in between carbon fiber plating as to which you've nothing but guesses for what purpose they were intended,…  

        It's a good thing the lights there are scant — ignoring that part of the roam not too hard a task now.

 

        You're not keen on asking her.  It doesn't matter much what answer she'll give you.  There's no option that'd tell anything good, of that much you're certain.  Still, it's something you can't ignore like you've tried to do for so many — too many, if you're honest — things now.  

 

        “What happened here, Celestia?”

 

        “Many things,” she says.  “Few of which I know.”  Her expression uncertain, she admits, “That's not much of an answer, is it?”  

 

        You shake your head at her and lean back, the shelves digging sharply into your skin.  

 

        “Equestria hasn't always looked like it does now.  When I was ʻyoungerʼ, I suppose, we simply lived on a field.  There were far fewer of us as well, back then.”  Her head sinks again, mane veiling her, and though you have no way to be sure, you think she's closed her eyes.  “Mother cared for all of us, nurtured us when we were hurt.  She was the one who taught me magic, as well.”  Her lips flare a tad at that memory.  “She's always treated me and Luna different from the others.  Never spent as much time with them now, when I look back on it…  Luna said I look a lot like her, these days.”  Briefly, she raises her head, smiling at you for some reason.  “We've the same coat; I used to think she meant that.”

 

        Though you still haven't any clue how any of this involves you, you simply nod, beckoning for her to continue — if just to see her smile again.

 

        “Sometimes: when the others were out playing or flying, practicing their magic, she'd call me to her.”  She still holds her smile, though the glint in her eyes betrays her.  “She told me stories of these things she called ʻhumansʼ.”

 

        If she didn't had your attention yet, she definitely does now.

 

        “She told me all about how she'd seen them herself, about how they took care of us before I was there, and how they made us smart.  That we were like the other animals before they decided to…  Well, I don't really know what they did, but she just said that if it weren't for them, we'd still be like the pigs and the sheep are now.”  She draws an ambivalent smile, lopsided and halfhearted at best.  “I always told her I liked her silly stories, but she was so insistent that they were real…  I didn't know what to make out of it.  I was just a few hundred years old then, would've believed just about anything they'd tell me, but that?  It just seemed so surreal…”  Her eyes, brighter than ever before, rest on yours, though her expression quickly grows concerned when she sees you looking at her.  “What's wrong?”

 

        “A few hundred years old?”

 

        She nods in response, before carrying on — the aghast look on your face never registering with her, “So I asked her the same question I guesstimate to be on your mind as well: ʻWhere are they then?  These humans?ʼ”  Her vision glances to where yours was moments ago, the structures as foreign to you as they are to her.  And then she shrugged.  “ʻThey left, Tia-honey.ʼ  That's what she told me.  I've never once seen her cry, but that was the closest to tears she's ever been when I was around.  I d—”

 

        “What do you mean ʻthey leftʼ‽  The entirety of humanity doesn't just go up in smoke.”

 

        She stares at you remotely, unimpressed by your interruption.  “Apparently it does.  Not in smoke, though.”  

 

        She nods towards the back of the room, her horn increasing the light.  It runs much, much farther than you'd thought at first and the farther it goes, the higher it seems to grow as well.  Far off in the room you'd rather call a hangar at this point, things that — even with your lacking knowledge in the field — undoubtedly look like aircrafts.  Spacecrafts, maybe.

 

        “Mother said her human came to her one day, long ago, and said goodbye.  Then it went into its little machine and took to the skies.  One of those might be what she meant, don't you think so?”

 

        “I don't know; I have no idea what those things are.”  

 

        Her cold look becoming the foundation of a somber one, instead.  “…I see.”

 

        You want to admit to her that she was right, earlier.  To just call her out on her lies and leave.  But there'd be nowhere to go.  And though you fear you genuinely might've gone off to the deep end now…

 

        You don't think she's lying.  No matter how badly you want to believe that she is, this room's just breathes ʻEarthʼ.  You're not going to pretend you know what any of this stuff is, but somehow, these things look human in nature.  Maybe not ʻhumanʼ in the way you understand that word, but the way these technologies are crafted look too familiar to be foreign, too similar to just throw out the option altogether and discard the possibility.  

 

        Which only leaves you with the question: “Why would they do that?  Why just leave?”  

 

        She shrugs.  “I'm not sure.”  

 

        “No offense, Celestia, but this might be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”

 

        “For the longest time, I thought so too,” she says dimly.  “Mother was getting old then.  Truly old.  I figured her age was beginning to play tricks on her minds, that these so-called humans were just a figment of her imagination she'd come up with.  A way of coping with that which we all must see, eventually…”  Her brow falls, but rather than usual, stays there, settling itself into a hard look on the alicorn's face.  “To this day that remains to be one of my biggest regrets: ever doubting her.”  Her frown hardens, a quiet shake of her head doing little in the way of allaying it.  

 

        You hesitate to reach out to her for a moment, but decide against doing so, not quite entirely sure why.

 

        “She called me to her one day, I thought she was going to tell me another story.  We lied down in the grass and she asked me if I knew what I wanted my cutiemark to be.  I didn't understand what she meant.  You get a cutiemark in something you're good at; you can't just pick one.  That's what I told her too…”  

 

        Her self-imposed regret, and its concomitant aimless anger, fades noticeably as she looks down on her own flanks.  Her tone softer again, “She said that I needed to look deep down and that I'd see what I wanted to do.  Then she told me to go play with the others because she wanted to take a nap.  She took lots of naps at that time…  She asked me to look over the others, see to it that they didn't hurt themselves” — She grins — “and to be on my best behavior, in case the humans'd come back.  When the sun was setting, I gathered all the others and brought them back.”  Her grin fades swiftly at that, her wings limply falling at her side, the ethereal dance of her mane reaching its final steps.  “I wanted to tell her I'd done a good job, that nopony got hurt…”

 

        Now, that impulse of resistance drifts off somewhere beyond your grasp; you take a seat next to her again, and place your hand on her back, again.  In a way, you're embarrassed that this is all you seem to be able to do, but to Celestia, it doesn't seem to matter much.  “I'm sorry.”

 

        She shakes her head.  “She went as peaceful as is possible, I believe.  I've given it its rightful place, now.  Loss is part of live — proportional, it seems.  A long life, lots of loss…”  She shifts, leaning against you and her wing, too, sneaks its way around you again.  Her breathing comes slow before she quietly says, “I still miss her a lot.  But I've lived through many beautiful times, as well.  I've come to be very grateful for what I've been given.”

 

        A silence sinks as your hand lazily roams across her coat; Celestia voicing her approval with soft, barely audible hums.  For the time being, you'd rather not think about what she's said, though there's one thing you've yet to figure out.

 

        “So what does your cutiemark mean?”  The notion of just how ridiculous that question sounds flashes through your mind, though it dims quickly again as she straightens herself, her wing still tight around your body.

 

        “The sun… symbolizes strength.”  She stares down at the table, her eyes vacantly scanning the scrolls splayed out there.  “It brings light and warmth; in a certain way, guidance as well.  When Mother passed, I did as she asked.  I looked out for the others, kept them safe.  And I've been on my best behavior, Anon.”  Quieter, she adds, “Though recently I've had to rethink what it means, too.  Its meaning's grown far more literal than it was ever meant to be, I think.”

 

        “How?”

 

        Her expression hardens back, at first, as she speaks, “Few thousand years ago, a… malicious creature, a spirit of sorts claimed rulership over this world.  We've little knowledge as to what it is, or where it stems from.  The extents of its powers, however, grossly overshadow mine.  My attempts at defeating it yielded little result.  This thing — Discord, it calls itself — saw this world as a plaything.  Not once did the consequences of his actions come to mind.”  She clenches her jaw, skin pulling taut.  “Entire cities, suspended upside-down; clouds turned into cotton candy; trees into lollipops;…  The nonsensical amuses him like nothing else.  His reign lasted quite a while, I fear.  I lost many of my kin, then.”  It proves too hard to keep her glare, eyes squinting as in disbelief.  “I do not believe he is a violent creature by nature, but it's shown to be spiteful when provoked…  Very spiteful.  Needless to say, struggle began to fester among my subjects — dividing them into their own groups.  Eventually,Luna claimed she had a way of defeating him.”

 

        A terse answer doesn't seem to be anything you might be getting today, and you can hardly say it surprises you.  You sink into her embrace a bit, the softness of her feathers you'd felt earlier seemingly only growing larger and, though near-impossible to tell from this angle, you'd swear something red-hot festers underneath her cheeks.

 

        “My strength fell short, and Luna's delicacy in the realm of magic, while impressive in itself, too, had little effect on the monster.  Combined, and with the aid of one of Luna's discoveries, we managed to… halt it.  It's somewhat similar to the place we are at right now, actually.”  Her gaze roams along the roof of the structure, the lights suspended from a ceiling, black as molasses.  “We suspended it in time — effectively petrifying it.  I will show it to you, sometime soon.”

 

        At your aptly raising brow, she explains, “His statue stands in our royal gardens, these days.  We like to keep a close eye on it.”  Bewilderment flashes across her visage.  “Where was I—  Ah yes!  My cutiemark…”  Her wing unfolds, slight shivers running down your back from the sudden chill, as she shifts a bit back.

 

        With a sigh, she continues, “Though its grip on the world is no longer, the effects have yet to wear off.  Ponykind found peace among itself again, earlier feuds quickly forgotten, but…  Discord's reign has disrupted this world on a scale I doubt I could portray well…  He made the world gravely imbalanced, in a way.  I have to help maintain the planet's orbit, for the time being.  I'm firm of the belief that nature'll restore itself in due time, but for now, it needs our guidance, our help.  Until it is ready to take care of itself again.  The pegasi maintain the weather, earthponies help plants grow where they ought to on their own…  Only one spot remains to act as it were,” — Her eyes narrowing on you —  “the Everfree forest, not too far from where you appeared…”

 

        “Hold up a bit.”  She smoothes her expression with a deep breath and nods, as if she'd been waiting for you to say exactly that all day long.  “Something…  Discord?” — She nods again — “Discord, okay, Discord screwed over your kingdom something good.”

 

        “Most of this world,” she adds.

 

        “That part, I got.”  Your eyes drift down her flanks again.  “But you have to keep the Earth in orbit?  You, on your own?”

 

        She shakes her head lively, her mane wafting again.  “Oh goodness, no!”

 

        “Right, that sounded ridi—”

 

        “Luna helps me, of course.”

 

        When silence falls this time around, it's not nearly the same as it was before.  Incomprehension plastered all over your face and tone, you stammer, “You and her?  You're what's keeping everything up and running?”

 

        More nodding.  “For the time being.”

 

        You sigh and throw in a quick shake of your head for good measure.  Head sinking into your hands at it all, staring at the floor.  “And this place where I showed up, is still fine?  The way it's supposed to be?”

 

        “Yes.”

       

        Something brings you to stare at her, almost accusatory, welling within you — you'd like to call it anger, but you know you'd be wrong if you did.  “So what does that mean?  It's got to mean something, right?”

 

        Apologetically, she raises her shoulders.  “I've nothing but guesses.  There's a team of highly schooled unicorns looking over the area, but until they come back…”  She never finishes.

 

        You brush a hand through your hair, and breathe another weary sigh, one of many — and undoubtedly, more than that too — to come.  “What the hell happened to this world…”

 

        One thing manifests itself at the perimeter of your mind, however.  If, somehow, by whatever means, what she's saying manages to be true, you're an incredibly lucky man to be on Celestia's good side.

 

        She comes to look at the scrolls on the table, then at you.  “Strange.  I brought you here in the hopes you'd be able to answer my questions.  Now, instead…”

 

        “Look, I've yet to decide whether I believe any of this or not, but there's one thing I can tell you for sure: hardly any of these things were around on Earth when I was.  I'd like to help you, I honestly do but—”

 

        She shakes her head slowly.  “Please, do not feel as you owe me anything.  The opposite lies much closer to the truth…”

 

        You're too far to care about that comment, too confused, too disheveled.  Shivers roll down your spine again and you sorely miss having her wing wrapped around you.  It might not have been much, but at least that small gesture of comforting had its effect.  Now, all of this,…

 

        Where did ʻtaking your pet out for a walk in the woodsʼ go wrong?

 

        And then there's the fact that you still haven't gotten an answer.  You honestly doubt you should ask — maybe it's her age, that makes her so… dismissive towards it all, so eager to just shrug it all of — maybe this passes for ʻnormalʼ to her — but when you thought this world was crazy before, you'd no idea of just how terrifyingly right you were.  

 

        But what good is knowing half a truth?  Even if it isn't a truth, it's all you've got to go by.  And again, the notion that staying on her good side is one of your biggest concerns right now flashes through your mind.  

 

        “So…  This stuff, where's it all come from?”

 

        She sighs when she hears the defeat in your tone.  “After Mother passed,” she says, “I did as she asked, took over her role in the herd.  Though Luna still helped me whenever I asked her, which, if I'm honest, was rather often.  There were some comments here and there about how I wouldn't be able to uphold my responsibilities if it weren't for her, though they were scant and quickly hushed.”  

 

        Her head tilts to the side for a moment, her wafting mane tickling your cheek again.  “Not that they were wrong.  Still, we guided the others and we prospered.  Our herd grew larger, too large for the field even.  So we, Luna and I, went to go look for a new field, a bigger one.  We decided on flying east for our search.  At first we found nothing but dense forest, the same way we were enclosed at our own field, but after traveling for a few weeks we found ruins.  Just weeks, Anon, and we'd never seen them before…  Never had the need to go very far, but still…”

 

        She doesn't say anything for a while, hints of a frown back on her face.  Whether it was aimed at herself, or at your unresponsive state, you'd no idea.

 

        “Unlike anything we'd seen before,” she says. “And we both knew what they were, right away, even if we didn't want to admit it to each other.  We'd words there, about what to do.  There was plenty of space for all of us, and many more…”  She turns to you, though quickly averts her gaze again, back towards the dark end of the room.  “If we tore down the ruins.  We argued about flying elsewhere.”

 

        Your hand accidentally brushes over the tip of wing and she hiccups a soft giggle, shifting again in her cushions.  “And we argued about Mother's tales.  We made a decision that would solve both our problems — we'd see how things looked from the inside and if there was so much of a trace that whomever the owners were'd come back, we'd leave and go elsewhere…”  She throws you a knowing look.  “We saved what we could before leveling it in its entirety.  Now, Canterlot stands there.  Our kingdom's growth has more or less followed the same pattern since.  We kept growing until we found other tribes eventually, though they don't seem to wonder where the structures they inhabit come from, nor who put them there.  They just don't know.  Eventually, we began building again as well.  Luna and I have tried to restore things as they were, though we lack the resources and knowledge the humans seemed to have.”

 

        “But… why did you and your sister put everything in here?  Why hide it?”

 

        “Ever since Luna and I found those ruins, we knew Mother's stories were true.  All of them.”  She looks around the room, her sight being drawn by items at random, coming to a final rest on you.  “The ones who created us, left, Anon.  What are we to make of that?  What other conclusion have we to draw than one simple fact?”  

 

        The usual softness in her voice now nearly gone, “We were not good enough.  They tried to create us as their equals, give us thought and reasoning, but we fell short. I remain hopeful, that each new life born into my kingdom might be the one they deem good enough, the one that brings them back just like She said.  But I don't want to tell all the others that they're not.  That they're just not good enough in the eyes of their makers.  I've made sacrifices for the happiness of my subjects, so that they, in return, would not have to make them.  Ignorance blinds them, but they awake in the morning with no reason not to smile and when they go to bed at night, their dreams are of joy only.  I'm willing to pay whatever price comes for that.”

 

        Her eyes on yours, unblinking and determinate beyond anything else.  “If they knew — truly knew — what you are…  They'd have so many questions…”

 

        You can still barely wrap your mind around it; your vision borderline swimming, sluggishly sinking, though it's no use.  The room still'd be here if you opened your eyes and there was no way to change that.  “That's why you brought me here?  You thought I…”

 

        “I'd hoped all of this'd help you remember.  That you'd forgotten, somehow.”  She tries to smile at you, but it's clear to see she can't bring herself to do it sincerely.  “…That maybe you were one of them.”

 

        “I'm sorry, Celestia.  Even if all you're saying is true, it weren't my people who did it.  Not when I was around, at least.”

 

        She meekly nods.  “I'd still love to hear your tales of home, if you'd be willing…  But I know now that you aren't the one I'm waiting for.  It wouldn't be right to hold you here against your will.  I know you wish to return home.  And I promised you I would help you with that, so I shall.”  

 

        “And I know you won't have any of it, but really: thank you.  I don't know what I'd be doing right now if you hadn't come to me.”

 

        Barely more than a whisper, “Something wonderful, no doubt.”  Then louder, “That's why I wanted to make sure nobody'd seen you so far.  Now, the few who've seen you think you're a foreigner, a diplomat perhaps.  But they do not think of you as a god, yet.”

 

        It all just grows and grows, the day's events, piling up to a certain extent before it culminates — there, it either has to break or just fade into nothing.  Just as you were willing to maybe consider what she said to be true, she throws this at you.

 

        At this point, it breaks.  It's so definitely, definitely breaking.  “What did you just say?”  There's more than just an edge to it, accusatory beyond insult.  She says nothing, does nothing.  Simply looks at you from the side of the table, her expression neatly folded in its default kindness, unperplexed by this world (if by anything at all).  “I am not a god.”  Again, non-response.  And that's the haunting part of it: the fact that she just doesn't budge at all — as if the words you say just don't register, as if they're not even there.  “Celestia, I'm just a man, there's nothing special about me.  I'm not a god.”

 

        Then she shifts in her cushions, looks towards the back of the room and says, “Perhaps they were not capable of dealing with what they'd done,” — and turning back to you — “creating life…  But even if they didn't see themselves worthy, my Mother, she always spoke of them so highly, I couldn't help but wonder what it must've been like, to be cared for by one of them.”  She smiles, gently, and does just that.  “I've spent my life wondering if there really were such magnificent creatures… that made us.  Made me.  And now I know there are.”  Her head tilts, blush spreading like wildfire.  “And you're every bit as magnificent as I'd hoped you'd be.”

 

        The words are stuck in your throat, struggling to get them out, and you shake your head, repeating, “I'm not a god.”

 

        “There are ponies here,” she says, “that think of me and my sister as gods as well.  We do what we can not to distance ourselves from them, but some cling to their ideologies so adamantly…”  Her lips set into a thin line before she speaks again, “Maybe not, Anon.  But as long as you stand on Equestrian soil, I will see you as one.  And treat you as one.”

 

        “But I had nothing to do with this.”  You motion to the contents of the room.  “I don't even know what over half of this stuff is!”

 

        She remains as she was, quietly smiling, not in the slightest bit perturbed by your objections.  “This day has both worn us out, Anon.  Perhaps we should return to the castle.  You can rest there and we can discuss thing further, tomorrow.”

 

        You want the anger from before to well back up in you so you could yell and prove your own right, but even now, you know there's no way you could convince her to think otherwise.  Not by yelling.  And you're just too tired to yell.

 

        Sleep.  And Ashy.  Those two sound a whole lot more appealing than yelling right now.

 

        Not-quite defeated, but not too far from it either, “Sure…”

 

        She gets up on all fours again and stretches, joints popping with stiffness.  You fare no better, back slightly aching from the poor seating, bringing you to wonder just how long you've been here.  Then, just like before, she lies herself down on the floor, silently looking at you — gently, if somewhat hesitantly, smiling.

 

        “…Heck, why not?” comes your answer this time around.  “Hardly the craziest thing I did today.”  

 

 

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        “That wasn't as bad as the last time.”  In the mirror in the corner, you can see how she's positively beaming at your compliment.  “Still not something I'd do for fun, though,” you admit as she lowers herself to the floor.  Her wings were a bit awkward to get around when you sat on her first, though she claimed it wasn't any problem.  

 

        It doesn't escape you just how strange it would have been if someone — or somepony, as their language seems to have turned it into — would have seen the two of you in a position like that.  Celestia, much like the rest of this world, remains to be an enigma to you; if what she said is true, then it's undoubtedly haunting just how powerful she truly is, far beyond her mere title of royalty — but the way she acts, even the way she looks at you now, a grin spread ear to ear, is nothing like that at all.

 

        “I fear I'm just not adroit as Luna is,” she says.  “She could take you there again, if you want to, and you would hardly know it.  Far more delicate in it all than I am, I've to admit.”  She shrugs and sets off towards the door.  There's almost a bounce in her gait, a perkiness radiating in the way she moves and everything about her just screams ʻexhilaratedʼ right now.  “Different teachers tend to beckon different results.  Are you coming?”  

 

        You find your brow to be furrowing at that as, once again, you follow the princess.  “I thought you were sisters?  Didn't you have the same teacher?”

 

        “Our bond isn't one by blood,” she says, and that's all she says the entire walk.

 

        Which partly lies in the fact that you only have to move to the other end of the hallway this time.  Right up until a door in a dark lacquered merlot.  A throwaway glance over your shoulder shows Celestia's bedroom door being a thoroughly bleached white, its original color — and structure for that matter — entirely dissipated in what, in all likeliness, will've been thousands of years of use.

 

        Celestia turns towards you and quietly says, “Not to speak ill of her, but do forgive Luna if she comes of a tad… strange at first.  She's been away for quite some time” — Her muzzle scrunching at that — “and has been having some trouble adjusting to the way things are these days again.”  With an upbeat smile, she notes, “Though perhaps it might strike a bond.”

 

        Your question comes non-vocal, though she simply shakes her head this time.  “It isn't my place to tell you that.”  Then her horn envelopes the handle and she strides in before you can squeeze in an actual question.  “I'm sorry for the wait, Luna.”

 

        The polar opposite of Celestia's room, that's a given.  Scant lighting in her room and a smell that reminds you of freshly mown grass for some reason.  Her bed, far smaller, is bedecked with dark, thin veils and atop of it—  “ʻNon!”

 

        Ashy jumps from her seat, rushing towards you, yipping your name over again.

 

        A voice, older than Celestia's, comes from the dark and you can barely discern the outlines of another alicorn, dark-blue in coat, staring at you through contemplative, tired eyes, “Sister?”

 

        “Luna, I would like you to meet Anon, Equestria's first and only human in…  Well, quite some time, wouldn't you agree?”

 

        She strides out of her dark corner, and now, standing beside her sister, she falls about a head short, bringing you uncertainty about who'd be the older of the two.  Though the entire concept of age becomes somewhat negligible if they've lived for as long as they supposedly have.

 

        Her mouth opens, as if she were to speak, but simply remains to hang open limply.  She stares at you, taking a cautious step forward and suddenly, the hallway seems to appear even brighter than before, and a lot more appealing as well.  There was something very intimidating about her and if the repeated nudging of Ashy's head against your leg isn't just another plea for attention, your little pet once more seems to be in agreement with you.

 

        She snaps her head towards Celestia, sharply asking, “How‽  I spent decades upon decades and you—”

 

        “Oh heavens no, Luna, I didn't bring him here,” she says.  “He just…  He…”

 

        “Just kind of fell out of the sky, really,” you complete.

 

        She seems to disregard you, asking Celestia even sharper, “Where?”

 

        “Near the Everfree,” Celestia says, her voice little short of a laugh.  “The old Apple farm, surely you remember the place?”

 

        “Why did you not alert me?”  Her frown, too, is so, so much more intimidating than her sister's as she takes a step closer, though Celestia herself doesn't seem to care overly much for it now, her demeanor impossible to break right now.

 

        “Because I needed you to watch over Ashy.”  Pink eyes flashing towards her, watching you tussle through her mane.  “What did Ardent have to say?”

 

        Luna dismissively shakes her head, her mane drifting back and forth in bouncing waves.  “She's fine, fine as can be.  ʻA paragon of health,ʼ his exact words were.”  Whereas Celestia seemed to smile on default, Luna's expression of choice appeared to be a heavy frown.  “You should've—”

 

        “I've a team of unicorns there already, Luna.  If there's anything to be found, they'll find it.”

 

        She almost seemed insulted at that.  “Your scholars no doubt?”  Celestia nods.  “Bookworms!” she accuses.  “What do they know of magic?  I can't believe this.”

 

        She turns towards you, her voice abruptly shifting in a tone even softer than her sister's, “Please, these chambers are yours to use as you wish.  There's so much I want to ask you,” — Head snapping towards the window, clear sight of the moon — “please don't leave, but I have to go.”

 

        You'd seen a lot this day.  Too much, you'd like to argue, though you weren't really in the mood to go back over this day's happenings — not now, at least.  Preferably never, though you knew that particular hope to be in jest.

 

        But, for whatever reason it was, watching an alicorn shift into a simple waft of ebony smoke right in front of your own eyes would be the sight you'd never get out of your head again.  

       

        Then fleeing out through a crevice in between both halves of the window, fading into the night sky, gone.

 

        You, too, seem to be falling in patterns, shaking your head.  

 

        Celestia snaps you out of it, speaking up, “I've to admit, that was fairly uncommon, even by her standards.”

 

        In disbelief, “She just—  Poof, into smoke…  Her horn didn't even glow.”  Looking down at your side, Ashy as chipper as ever, not in the slightest caring for the display of magic she just witnessed.

 

        Celestia's smile turns into a grin as she shrugs.  “As I said: delicate…  It's somewhat of a game to her, I think.”  She turns towards the bookshelf behind her, the desk littered with opened books and scrolls in various states of being filled with illegible scribbles.  “Not my forte.  Doubt it'll ever be either.”  She draws a sharp breath, followed moments later by the churning of her stomach, causing her to giggle bashfully, her blush aglow in the dark.  “I do believe, however, that I have earned myself some cake, no?”

 

        Turning back towards the door, she asks the both of you, “Would you care for some food?”

 

        “No, thanks.  In all honesty, I just want to lie down and go to bed.”  The dim room's only assured you of the fact that you're utterly and entirely spent.  “I know it probably won't happen, but maybe when I wake up I'll just be lying in the forest with my head against a tree or something.”  

 

        A hurt look flashes across Celestia's features, but is quick to disappear as you step over to her and rub her snout.  “For what it's worth though, Celestia, you're hands-down the nicest hallucination I could've wished for.”  As you're caressing the alicorn's snout, Ashy nuzzles herself against your waist.  Nodding at your pet, you add, “And I'm sure she'd be saying the same if she knew how to.”

 

        Ashy stops vying for your attention, raising her muzzle at Celestia.  The princess lowers her head as well, breaking contact with you, bringing her nose less than a hand away from her smaller, greyer counterpart.  “Then that's good enough for me,” she says as she raises her head again.  

 

        “ʻLestia!”

 

        You snap your head down at a break-neck speed, feeling your heart pounding in your ears and if Celestia's slack-jawed expression in the corner of your eyes is anything to go by, she isn't off much better.  “D-did she just—”

 

        “—say my name?”  

 

 

        And here you thought this day was finally dealt with.

 

 

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