Luna sighed.

It was a sad sound, a sound that her sister, resting beside her, repeated.

The events of the past month or so had been chaotic and trying. Luna was still trying to put together the pieces, her heart broken. Rookwood had taken centuries of torment from her, but had left her with heartbreak. She sighed again, feeling tears, and leaned against her sister, who leaned back.

Violet had shown up the night after, confused, upset, and not remembering anything. There had been no answers from her, no explanation, nothing. Violet was sad, and her condition had reflected that, becoming somewhat more rotten, her skin tearing and sagging. Luna had done her best to comfort the undead foal, but Luna was in no real position to comfort anything. Violet would be here soon, it was late afternoon, the sun would set eventually.

There had been little left of Rookwood’s body, some burned remains, a few bones, and ashes that blew about in the wind. Luna had stood watch over his remains for hours, refusing to move, daring somepony to take her away. Very little had been left.

Word had spread quickly about what he had done, the young unicorn who was to be the Night Princess’ consort, the sacrifice made on her behalf. The entire city of Canterlot had grieved, and still grieved. Black wreaths hung on doors, black ribbons were tied everywhere.

Much of the city had flooded the palace grounds when Rookwood’s scant remains were committed to the earth, his funeral held at night so that Violet might attend, the little purple pegasus foal sobbing pitifully and literally falling apart from grief, feathers falling out, her skin tearing, blood oozing and trickling from her body, the smell of decay becoming overpowering.

“I can still feel him sister.” Luna said, her voice raspy.

“Every widow says that Luna.” Celestia replied, her own voice hoarse and crackling.

“I can hear his voice sometimes. Sometimes he seems so near.” Luna whispered, shuddering, pressing even more against her sister.

The two sisters fell back into silence.

Of all the things that had happened, of all the things that had transpired, the very worst was the fact that about a week after Rookwood’s fatal plunge, the nightmares began again, not as bad as before, but they had returned, and they were gaining strength.

Luna felt only bitterness knowing that Rookwood’s death had done nothing to stop Nightmare Moon. Luna’s own powers had weakened considerably. She still had influence over dreams, but realised now that her powers over nightmares had come from the vestiges of Nightmare Moon left inside of her. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and Luna felt weak and powerless now. Dreams and nightmares were not one in the same as Luna had learned. They were day and night, the sun and the moon, one full of light, the other darkness, and Luna had been pulled from the darkness and thrust into the light, Rookwood’s final parting gift.

“Sister, I do not think I can bear this.” Luna whimpered.

Luna felt a wing placed over her body, Celestia pulling her close. The warmth of Celestia’s body was comforting, the sounds of her breathing reassuring. The larger white alicorn’s body shook slightly, her muscles quivering as she shivered, raw emotion convulsing through her flesh.

“I felt this way when you were torn away from me.” Celestia said, nearly sobbing. “Only I had no one to comfort me. At least we have one another now, and you are truly free.”

Luna nodded, unable to reply.

The sun settled lower, the shadows growing long, and the haze of twilight distorted all the light and shadows. The drapes on Luna’s window were open now, for the first time in a long time, letting in the golden rays of the sun. It flooded the room, shining on everything, free to return to the room that had become as dark as the grave. The grave had been a prison, its occupant now free.

“Will you stay with me tonight sister?” Luna asked.

“As many nights as it takes sister.” Celestia replied, pressing the side of her face against Luna’s. “I will see you through this. I wish I knew how to make the hurt go away.”

“How… how long do you think he suffered… burning as he fell? Do you think he felt hitting the ground?” Luna asked, her body contorting from pain.

“I hope not,” replied Celestia, “he suffered so much already. Hopefully he bled out quickly from his throat being…” Celestia’s words faded into soft cries, and she lifted a kerchief to wipe her face.

The last of the sun began to bleed away from the room and the magical lights turned on, filling the room with a soft rosy light. Celestia and Luna both tensed slightly, waiting, knowing that soon, Violet would come and she would need comforting.

They did not have to wait long. Violet popped into existence, looking very confused for a moment, her eyes wide and scared, one eye still horrid and milky, still dead. She ran towards the bed, her whimpers starting almost immediately.

Luna lifted her into the bed, and Violet pressed against her, seeking warmth. Celestia wished she could comfort the foal, but Celestia’s touches found no purchase.

“How are you Violet?” Luna inquired, grateful for a distraction,

“I miss him.” Violet said sadly.

“We all do.” Luna said, her voice cracking on the last word. “I can still feel him sometimes. And hear him.”

“I do too.” Violet said. “I can hear him in the dark.”

Celestia cringed, her expression pained.

“Maybe if we turned the lights off, later tonight we could hear him together.” Violet suggested.

Violet’s words pushed Luna over the edge, causing her to cry bitterly, burying her face into a pillow and screaming.

“Violet, be careful what you say.” Celestia said, her tone soft and worried.

“I’m sorry.” Violet replied. “I didn’t mean it.” Violet pressed her face into Luna’s side, her own body hitching somewhat, her little wings fluttering a few feathers falling lose, blood dribbling from the pinholes where her feathers had been.

The dawn had brought warmth but no cheer. Violet had vanished, the night had been long, and there had been little rest for either sister. They sat at their breakfast table, pondering the empty spot at the table, Luna staring dully down at her plate.

“You must eat sister.” Celestia said in encouraging tones.

Luna grunted and began to mechanically eat, chewing slowly and methodically, her eyes glazed over and dull. Her teal eyes were bloodshot. She stared ahead, oftentimes not blinking for an exceptionally long time.

“There is still the foal. At least that was preserved.” Celestia commented, her own words felt like glass tearing at her throat. She knew just how trite they sounded, and had said them anyway.

“It is a most difficult thing being a suicidal immortal.” Luna muttered, her mouth full.

Celestia recoiled, her breath in her nose.

“Rookwood was a stupid lovesick idiot.” Luna said angrily. Her expression softened, and then flooded with regret. “Stupid stupid idiot. Why did he let go? Why did allow this to happen? We could have fought her together. This all seems so pointless and foolish. He’s gone, and she’s still around somewhere, licking her wounds,” Luna sagged. “I didn’t even know she was inside of my head still. I thought she was hiding within the dreamscape. Or maybe she re-entered my head at some point. I just don’t know.”

Celestia watched as Luna became animated slightly, drinking her morning eggnog. She guzzled it, pausing for a moment, sitting there with her muzzle covered in nog. And then she finished off the enormous tankard and slammed it down upon the table.

“Why did he have to be so damn noble?” Luna demanded.

“Sister, he loved you. Do not be angry.” Celestia responded.

“I have a right to be angry. He carelessly threw his life away. I could have dealt with this, given time. I have all the time in the world. He had so little time, and he took this upon his shoulders and then threw what little time he had away, damn him.” Luna snarled.

“You really loved him.” Celestia stated.

“You are damn right I did. And now I find myself hating him. HATING!” Luna said angrily.

Celestia flinched, nearly dropping her fork and her tea.

“Love is stupid and pointless.” Luna growled.

Luna feared she was going mad. She was laying in her tub, soaking, her breath heaving, fear coursing through her body. She could have sworn she had heard Rookwood’s voice near her ear. These moments kept happening. Celestia kept assuring her that it was normal, everypony that grieved heard the voices of their loved ones or felt them in the dark of night.

But Luna felt haunted. The candles in the bathroom had blinked out, a few at a time, filling the room with darkness, and then she had heard it. Her name. A long hissing whisper. She had flooded the room with light, her horn blazing, terrified and scared out of her wits. There was nothing there of course.

Alone, in her bed, in the dark, by herself, Luna could feel Rookwood. There were moments when she awoke and she could swear that she had felt his lips brush up against her cheek. Or heard her name. Grief was doing terrible things to her mind.

Luna had nearly pissed her own bathwater.

Violet poked her head into the bathroom, looking around, eyeing Luna.

“I heard him again.” Luna confessed.

“Do you want to hear him again?” Violet inquired.

“Yes.” Luna said, worrying that she was slipping into madness.

“Sit with me in the dark and we might hear him again. Last night I heard him singing to me in my bed as I tried to sleep.” Violet replied.

Luna whimpered, realising she was indulging in a mad fantasy, and realising she didn’t care. She needed to hear his voice, wanted to hear his voice so badly. and if she had to slip into madness to hear him once again, so be it.

“The dark still scares me.” Luna confessed. “All that time with Rookwood as he faded, being with him in the dark, even that did not cure me of my fear. I fear it now more than ever.”

“Darkness is the only place to find Rookwood.” Violet whispered as she sat down on her haunches near the tub, eyeing the water fearfully.

“He deserves better.” Luna said, nearly choking.

“It was his choice.” Violet said in an odd voice. “He earned the right to make the choice that he did. He drank deep of the darkness, stood at the door, and knocked. And the darkness welcomed him in as one of its own.”

“What?” Luna replied, feeling panic and fear burn her lungs.

Violet blinked. “Huh?”

Luna rose out of her bathwater, sitting up, staring at the purple foal, contemplating the foal’s nature, wondering what secrets she hid. Violet knew things. Luna remembered all too well seeing Violet that night, in her mind, in the dreamscape, and then, finally, at the window, announcing Rookwood’s death, announcing when it began, the choices made, and then the final terrible end. She found herself wanting to shake the foal violently, demanding answers, but that would do no good. Violet had suffered enough. Luna felt ashamed even thinking about it.

“Violet, you’re looking a little rough. How about tonight, we sit in the library and I read you a story?” Luna inquired.

“Mr. Bun?” Violet replied.

Luna’s breath came out sharply, a feeling of dizziness overtaking her for a moment. “If it makes you happy we can read about Mr. Bun.” Luna answered.

“The one where Mrs. Bun has cute little bunny babies?” Violet said, bouncing in place.

“Violet, be careful. You’ll split open and tear. I don’t seem to have you holding together like Rookwood did.” Luna warned.

“Love sustains this body.” Violet said cryptically, her voice changing slightly.

Luna regarded the foal once again, her teal eyes locking on to the foal’s single purple eye. She sat there for a few moments, thoughtful, reflective, curious about the foal’s words. And then she rose up out of her bathwater and began her night.

The library had been repaired. The window had been fixed. The books had been all put back into place. It was chilly in the library, no fire burned in the grate tonight. The room was dim. Luna sat, reclining on her side, sprawled on a sofa, reading a book to Violet. At least, that was what her physical body was doing. The rest of her prowled the dreamscape, bringing moral guidance and pleasant dreams to those in slumber. A part of her was beginning to realise that her connections to dreams and dreamers were actually stronger now, free from the nightmare taint. It was difficult to bring pleasant dreams to a foal when part of you brought darkness wherever you went.

Luna heard the flutter of the guard’s wings and their guttural grunts as they moved about the library, watching over her, worried and waiting for Nightmare Moon’s return. Some were in armor, others off duty and in the library, huddled close to small lamps and candles, having an enjoyable read, or at least pretending to, worried for their Mistress and desiring to stay close.

Luna felt a cold creeping chill settle into her bones as she watched the page of the book turn itself, and felt a faint trailing touch along her side, ending at her cutie mark, something touching the darkness around the moon. Luna turned and looked, her eyes wide and staring, her guard becoming aware of something in the darkness.

Luna looked all around, her eyes darting, wide open, her ears perked, her horn glowing.

Luna looked one last time at the spot where she felt a touch. His touch. Only Rookwood would be such a tease. Her eyes settled on her mark, her breathing becoming rapid as she did so.

It had changed.

The blackness around the moon had softened, becoming a gentle purple blue, and it was filled now with even more stars, sources of light in the ever present darkness. The moon on her backside seemed to glow with a faint light. Luna blinked, fearing she was going mad. Cutie marks didn’t glow, and yet there definitely seemed to be a faint silver light shining from the moon. It not only illuminated the night in her mark, but seemed to be spilling out into the world as well.

“Violet…” Luna murmured.

“I see it.” Violet whispered.

Luna realised she could see her own breath. The room was freezing.

“Rookwood?” Luna begged, her voice pleading.

The darkness held no reply.

Author's Notes:

Some author's notes...

A rook is classic psychopomp, as are ravens, crows, etc, the corvid family in general. Rookwood's name, like most ponies, is a reflection of his inner nature and fraught with meaning.

Violet is not a bird, but she has wings, and is the colour of mourning for many cultures. Classically speaking, some horses were also psychopomps, like the pookah. Should be noted that pookahs also appeared as rabbits during their dealings with the dead.

Just some food for thought.

I've left a lot of imagery behind all through out the story, leaving clues, like a trail of breadcrumbs. I have no idea how much of it was noticed, how much might have been missed, but I thought I would leave this here for folk to read and then have a think about it.