One of the unusual choices Berrow makes, particularly in the final book, is to provide detailed and unique descriptions of every single death that occurs in her novel. No two ends are the same, and even lowly, unnamed soldiers' deaths are as vividly described as Twilight's is on the final page.

In places, Berrow takes this to extremes. When Princess Skyla detonates her nega-bomb, Berrow dedicates the next 86 pages to listing every single pony killed by the spell and the exact mechanism of their deaths. Some commentators have compared her in this sense to the ancient poet Homer, whose Illiad is written in the same manner (though on a lesser scale).

This particular scene describes Luna's death. Berrow, perhaps understanding that the reader needs a lighter moment after so many pages of horror, chooses to give Luna what might be called a gentle ending, filled with hope.  -Cold in Gardez

Celestia crawls toward her dying sister on the last day of the world

Book 3, Chapter 84, pp. 2,876-2,877

Celestia heard the flames before she felt them.

They crackled weakly, barely heard above the lonely whine of the wind through the broken rocks beneath her. For long moments the sounds died away entirely, and she wondered if they were truly gone, or if her senses had finally fled.

She opened her right eye. The left was smashed shut and likely would never open again. Pieces of the boulder that had closed it lay in fragments all around, and she let out a mirthless chuckle at the sight of them – Luna always said she had a hard head. This just proved it.

The mourning wind returned, and with it the sound of the fire. With terrible effort she pried her head away from the earth, ignoring the lances of pain that tore their way from her skull down her spine with each twitch of her muscles. The bones in her neck ground together like broken gears. It was a miracle she could even move.

“Luna?” Her sister’s name came out a jumble of vowels. She worked her jaw a few times and spit out an apple’s worth of blood. Something that might have been a tooth glittered in the red mess. She didn’t give it a second glance.

“Luna?” she called again, her voice stronger. Only the wind and the sound of the flames answered.

Years ago, millennia ago, ages ago, they had played as foals in the Everfree. Luna, ever the smaller, would crowd her slender form among the trees in the gardens, between their elegant trunks, and hide there within the fragrant herbs. She would giggle, and Celestia would hunt for her, and pretend she could not see the indigo feathers protruding like flowers from the brush. And then, when Celestia’s back was turned and she at last announced her surrender, Luna would pounce upon her back, and they would roll through the soft grass together, laughingly as only sisters who undaunting faced forever at each others’ sides could. They laughed, and did it again the next day, through the eternal summers of their youths.

“Luna?” Her voice broke upon her sister’s name, and the grey world around her blurred through her tears.

She had to move. The fires creeping along the bare rock grew closer with every moment. They were not normal flames, and would not stop when they touched her divine form. They would eat it, just as they at everything else they touched. So, ignoring the pain, she ground her forehooves into the loose scree and dragged herself down the slope.

Time passed – hours, perhaps? She could no longer say. The cloud-veiled sun no longer moved across the heavens. Somewhere, far away, the battle still raged. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the clash of armies over the wind and the flames. Ponies, it seemed, yet lived.

At last her journey ended at the base of the hill, barely a dozen yards from where she began. Behind her, a trail of disordered rocks and blood marked the short passage. She looked back at it and coughed out a bitter laugh. A fitting, final march for the ruler of the world.

“Tia?” A weak, ragged voice sounded above the wind. It was the most beautiful thing Celestia had ever heard. She dug her hooves into the rocks again and pulled herself toward a shadowed outcropping. There, in the depths beneath the rocks, hiding from the sun, slumped a broken indigo form.

“Luna?” She pressed her snout against her sister’s shoulder, leaving a dark smear on that beautiful coat. “Luna, I’m here.”

“Tia… did it work?” Her sister’s voice rattled in her throat. Celestia’s heart bled at the sound.

“Yes, we…” She paused to lick her dry lips. “It worked, Luna. We won.”

“That’s good… That’s good.” For a long moment there was only silence. Luna’s chest rose and fell, rose, then fell, and stayed still.

Celestia laid her head upon Luna’s wings, still as soft as she remembered them, and wept.