Twilight Sparkle shuddered from uneasiness. She still did not understand why the Princess of the night had set up a private meeting here, in one of the seediest dives of all Equestria, established right in the middle of the disreputable slum of Manehattan. She glanced around. The gloomy room was full of sleazes, some hunching over frayed and wobbly tables, engrossed in talks or in card games, some seated by the counter, knocking back glasses of multicolored booze, eagerly churned out by the dark-coated bartender. In a remote shadowy corner, a green-coated mare–a procuress?–was, in exchange of a few bits, dispatching shabby stallions, pointing alternately at two different stairs that led to the upper stories. The air was clammy, saturated with the strong, pungent odors of sweat, alcohol and smoke, barely breathable; but, strangely, except for a low humming, the place was quite calm: everypony was whispering.

She turned back her attention to the Princess. Both were sitting at an isolated table, next to a window through which they could watch the rain lashing down on the grassy cobbles of the street. Luna had come swaddled in a dark blue cowl that covered all of her body, cutie mark included; she had visibly left her collar home, and she was taking great care to keep her wings as close to her body as she could, in an attempt to remain incognita. Nopony seemed to have noticed the unusual length of her horn, only partially covered by the long hood she was wearing.

“You’re not feeling fine, are you?” asked Luna with a slight smirk, taking a sip out of her glass of cider brandy.

“Really not,” confirmed Twilight. “It’s not the kind of place I’m used to frequenting on a regular basis. I’m still wondering why it was so urgent to meet you here.”

“Unwind,” replied Luna. “The first of these hoodlums to brush a single hair of your mane, I put right away in Tartarus for the rest of his life. I’m sorry if it renders you unwell, but I had to find a place where nopony could expect to find me, to say the least.”

“I think you’ve succeeded in this,” tittered Twilight. She swigged from her glass of shandy.

“To the brass tacks now,” Luna carried on. “Bluntly put, I think Celestia has become schizophrenic.”

“What!?!” blurted Twilight aloud. She immediately rallied, but too late: the ponies at the neighboring tables interrupted their conversation to take a inquisitive gander at her; however, they quickly whirled their heads back and resumed their own business.

“Shhh!” said Luna. “Don’t make too much noise. May I recall you this matter calls for the utmost discretion.”

“Sorry,” apologized Twilight, blushing. “I couldn’t help. But how?”

“It began a while ago,” explained Luna, “when I felt something was wrong with the Moon, but could not put my hoof on it. It went on for a while, until we received an urgent communication from the Royal observatory. They had observed a slight variation in the motion of the satellite, as if it was slowly closing on Equestria. I thought, at that time, that it was just a temporary glitch in the orbital motion. Such things had already happened in the past, and they had settled down spontaneously within a fortnight. So I just acknowledged the letter, cast it aside, and minded other important businesses.

“But, three weeks later, the head of the observatory came in person to meet us: ‘Bad news, your Majesties,’ he said, alarmed. ‘The Moon has not resumed its old orbit. On the contrary, it is falling towards Equestria at an accelerated rate. If it carries on at this pace, in less than six hundreds days, that is to say two years circa, it will collide with us. Worse, we have calculated that if nothing is done within a hundred-and-fifty day period, there will be no means to shift the Moon back to its rightful course. And well before that ultimate doom, Equestria will be shaken by major catastrophes as the Moon approaches: tidal waves, earthquakes, and who knows what other major disturbances.’

“Hopefully, this was not something completely unknown to us: the same phenomenon had already shown up a long time ago. We had then charged Starswirl The Bearded with the mission to find a way to fix things. And he had figured out a powerful spell, for Celestia’s eyes only, that would channel the intrinsic energy of the Sun and convert it into kinetic energy that, once used to boost the Moon, would put it back into its erstwhile course. Celestia had cast it, and everything had worked… like a charm, so to speak. The Moon had been pushed back to where it should never have left, and life had resumed as if nothing had ever happened.

“So we endeavored to ferret out this particular formula out of the oodles of scrolls left behind by the great unicorn and stored in the eponymous wing of Canterlot’s royal library. But we failed to locate it. Worse, we found instead, in Starswirl’s private diary, a short handwritten note stating definitely that we wouldn’t be able to find it: ‘I have taught Celestia the necessary spell,’ the Bearded had jotted, ‘but I won’t squander time to write it down, since it is obviously a phenomenon that will never reproduce itself. Besides, the selfsame spell, carelessly cast, could kick the Moon out of orbit. It is therefore best left unwritten, to be known only by Celestia and myself.’ And that was it. Celestia, needless to say after all this time, had forgotten the exact wording of the enchantment: we were dashing headlong towards a major disaster.

“After we mulled over this predicament for a while, it appeared there was a single way out: ask Starswirl himself for the wording. But, as you know, Starswirl has been dead for a long time. However, Celestia was positive his soul had not left the circles of the world; in that case–”

“How come?” put Twilight in.

“I’m afraid,” responded Luna, “that neither me nor Celestia can answer this question. If we would, you would suffer dreadful consequences, my dear Twilight. So, for this time, better leave your curiosity unquenched. I’m deeply sorry, but please take my word for it.

“Anyway, let’s carry on. In that case we could use a mysterious device to connect with him: the psyphotic lamp. The psyphotic lamp is an appliance reserved for alicorn exclusive use. It emits a ray of psyphota, strange physical particles which cleave the body-spirit association. As a result, the spirit is lifted up to the unknown part of this world, where souls that have not yet departed linger, while the body remains grounded; better still, if you concentrate on the person you want to meet at the moment the beam hits you, then the psyphotic beam will somehow directly link your spirit with the one of the person you were focusing on, so you can talk with him or her.

“But, as you can figure, it is a very perilous device, and its use is dangerous in many ways. First of all, it is restricted to a single usage per soul per alicorn; in other words, the same alicorn cannot employ it twice to talk to the same deceased; a single talk, and for a very limited time, is allowed. Next, it is a flaky device, and may fail. Most of the time, the connection does not establish itself, there is no contact at all. This is the mildest of all failures, as you can just try again anytime later. It can also happen that the dead you want to meet has passed for too long a time, and what remains of his or her soul is too weak to react psychically, so you can talk to him or her but will never get any answer. If that happen, then you can give up any hope, but end up unscathed.”

She paused, and sipped some more brandy out of her glass. Sighing, she resumed. “Now, there is a third, dreary possible failure. The psyphotic beam somehow disturbs the intricate and delicate balance between our world and the loftier planes where the souls dwell; that’s precisely why the contact must be kept as short as possible. And even then, the pressure can be too strong when certain conditions arise that we have no control over. In that case, Nature tries to restore the balance by unleashing what is called ‘an ethereal vortex’, a massive eddy that suddenly breaks out, gathers strength in a few seconds and reaches down to the body of the alicorn. If nothing is done on the spot, the body is sucked in by the vortex–physically this time–abducted and trapped in the upper planes. And while an alicorn is immune to such an experience, a rescue can take centuries.

“So, aware of all these risks, we nevertheless decided to take the plunge, given the seriousness of the situation. Celestia would not give in on her trying first, despite my repeated pleas, so we set all the necessary stuff up, and proceeded. And, alas, my worst fears came true: an ethereal vortex broke out and almost engulfed her; hopefully, I managed to catch her by one of her hind legs just before she disappeared, but we landed so roughly on the pavement below that I fainted for an unknown period of time. When I recovered, I felt that Celestia’s spirit had not returned to her body, so I immediately cast a safeguard spell to recall it from the ethereal planes above. It worked, and though Celestia came back shaken and worn out, she was apparently whole.

“However, since that failed experiment, some uncanny events took place. First, a maid has been assaulted in the kitchens, something unheard of in the royal castle; stranger still, the trail left over by the culprit leaded to… well, a secret place that is known only to my sister and me, not to mention that the victim has described the committer as ‘a huge white pony’. Next, I had an unexpected and somewhat harsh–to put it politely–skirmish with Celestia, which out of the blue became not only curt but openly hostile, for no reason whatsoever. When we met again at noon, she was the complete opposite: she swore she had never had any argument with me in the morning, but when I suggested she could be lying, she burst into tears and nearly melted in my legs. I send her back in her bedroom, telling her I would come right after. Which I did, to find that place in a jumble I cannot describe; an explicit graffito had been drawn on the wall, the bed was a total wreck, as if it had been carelessly used to… hum… satisfy a natural need, you see? And she was obviously in the midst of a brandy binge, judging by the bottle she was drinking and the various splotches on the rugs. I left her, and have spent the afternoon thinking over this odd affair.

“I tried to make sense of all this, and here is what I concluded: I am pretty positive Celestia committed the misdeed in the kitchens; at the same time, it’s obvious she didn’t put up an act when she told me she’d never abused me and then broke down. The only way to reconcile those opposite behaviors into a single person is to posit that she suffers from a fit of split personality. Then I decided I needed you, and sent a letter summoning you here.”

Twilight was starring at the Princess in bewilderment. “I can hardly believe it,” she finally commented, once the flow of information had begun to sink in. “But in what way can I be helpful?”

“The psyphotic beam is somewhat mysterious, even for us. I want you to check in the royal library and collect all the data you find about this device. Everything, up to the most minute detail: who invented it; the reports on its former uses, if any; side or collateral effects known, and so on. Obviously, I have no time to do this, and I know of your knack for libraries, so I’m sure you’ll find something relevant in a jiffy.” She drank her glass up, and grinned. “Did you notice? I’ve made of lot of progress in mastering the modern language lately, haven’t I?”

“Indeed,” confirmed Twilight. “I suppose I’m to begin my research tomorrow morning as soon as the library opens.”

“The sooner we can pinpoint the cause of this weird conduct, the better, yes. I really count on you,” insisted Luna. “Meanwhile, I have ordered the royal physician to carry out a complete run of physical examinations. I’ll get the first results tomorrow morning.”

“I won’t disappoint you.”

“I’m positive you will not,” said Luna with another smile. “Let’s go now. I must return to Canterlot to tend to various boring tasks and other scutwork, and you must have some rest to feel as brisk as possible tomorrow morning! Unless this place has aroused some unspeakable lust in you…”

Twilight did not answer, but her cheeks flushed. Luna tittered, rummaged in one pocket, drew out some bits that she threw on table. Beckoning the tender, she and Twilight rose, and headed for the exit. They paused on the threshold, enjoying the crisp nocturnal freshness, a relief after those long minutes in the polluted atmosphere within; the shower had died away, and the air was full of the scent of wet earth. Then they set out, pacing quietly towards the center of the city.

Suddenly, Luna shoved Twilight into an obscure patch of shadow and stepped aside close to her. “Look who’s coming,” she whispered so softly that it was almost inaudible. Twilight beheld, passing by without even noticing their presence, a shabby, grimy white unicorn, that trotted down the street before entering in the squalid bar they had left a moment ago.

“Who was that?” inquired Twilight, once the pony had disappeared into the building.

“You didn’t recognize her?” answered Luna. She mused a brief instant. “Well it was Celestia, of course!”

“What?! But she didn’t resemble her! She didn’t have wings, to begin with, and she was way smaller… and dirty!” protested Twilight.

“She must have cast a spell to alter her guise,” explained Luna. “But we have eyes that can pierce through this kind of deception. To me, masqueraded as she was, she still radiated a faint radiance, something only the body of my sister does.”

“How come she did not recognize you, then?” asked Twilight.

“Fortunately, I wear this cowl,” sighed Luna. “Besides, I don’t radiate light, as I am not connected to the Sun. My own glimmering is dark blue, almost invisible, even by night.”

“What the hay is she planning to do in such a dump?”

“I don’t want to know. By Equestria, I really don’t. Let’s go back home now,” ordered Luna.

Although she could have teleported directly into her private bedroom, Luna elected to fly back, enjoying the peace of night, and taking advantage of the half-an-hour trip to ponder further. She was deeply concerned, and the unexpected appearance of her sister in that lowlifes’ den was nowhere near to comfort her. What was going on in Celestia’s brain? Did she really suffer a sudden fit of schizophrenia? She was at a loss to find out a rational explanation for her erratic behavior, a common thread that would link all the events together.

She alighted nimbly on her private platform, trotted right away into her office, and could not withhold a deep sigh when she saw the pile of dossiers that was waiting for her examination. With the recent events, she had to give up almost any kind of administrative routine, and the number of pending affairs had, naturally, rocketed. Catching up would require at least one or two restless nights, a really bleak perspective, given the weariness that already weighed down the Princess. She would need more than one glass of cordial in the next hours.

Mustering her courage, she sat, grasped the first file, and opened it. It was a drab diplomatic exchange with the foreign minister of Saddle Arabia about some obscure border rectification in a remote mountainous area. “Great stars above,” she thought, “do I really have to be put through this? Sometimes I envy the blithe life of the other ponies.” She mechanically leafed through the letters and the appended charts, magically seized an official sheet of paper out of a ream on which she hastily scrawled a meaningless response, signed and stamped with the royal seal, then slid her mail into the file that she closed. “One less,” she whispered victoriously.

She could not focus. The image of her sister was niggling at the back of her mind. She stood up, cast a spell to dampen the clop of her hooves, slinked out of her apartments and padded silently along the corridors towards Celestia’s bedroom. She halted before the door, wavering for an instant. Then she made up her mind: with a pale glow of her horn, she nudged the door slightly open, and peeked though the narrow slit. Sprawling on her bed, Celestia was peacefully asleep; Luna could see her chest ebb and flow, in perfect unison with her calm and deep respiration. Unexpectedly, she felt enraptured by this vision, mundane as it was. She smiled and could not help her eyes become moist; she had felt it all the day long, but the concern, the various incidents, the stress and the need for haste had repelled it in the background; now, with the stillness of the night, it was coming back at full blast: never, since the defeat of Nightmare Moon, had she been so keenly conscious of the profound love she bore for her sister.

After staying put for a long moment, she gingerly closed the door and made her way back to her office, deliberately casting aside all the questions raised by the quasi simultaneous presence of Celestia in two places so distant.

The next morning at dawn, after lowering the Moon, she dashed to the lab to inquire about the results of the tests. She was welcomed by the chief biologist, who gently told her to come back an hour later: a nurse had just collected a new sample of Celestia’s blood, and he was personally analyzing it in the hope of detecting significant trends in various physiological constants. Disappointed, Luna walked off, spent as much time as she could putting away her breakfast–though she did not feel hungry at all–tried to squander some extra minutes talking to the gardener about the upcoming changes in the royal greenhouse, and, in last resort, meandered through the royal library looking for Twilight Sparkle, whom she found busy perusing an old book on spiritism. It was about fifty minutes since she had left the lab, but, unable to contain her impatience anymore, she decided to go back.

She was once more tended by the biologist in chief, who let her into his office. Hippiatros, the royal physician, was already there. He stood up and bobbed a curtsy as Luna entered into the small, neat room. “Your Highness, I made it my business to invite Hippiatros,” explained the biologist, “because what we have to broach is not especially pleasant. I have analyzed the two samples, one dating back yesternight, and one collected this morning, by Princess Celestia’s wake-up. The blood composition, red, white cells and platelets seems alright. I don’t see any sign of illness or infection, and—”

“Please,” entreated Luna, “go straight to the point. What bothers me is not what is right, but rather what is wrong.”

The biologist stooped, and Hippiatros carried on. “There is an unexplainable unbalance in the hormonal levels. Princess, you must understand that a living body is a delicate and intricate combination of self-regulatory systems, some of which operate through the release in the blood stream of special molecules, that we call hormones. The concentration of hormones is normally tightly controlled by feedback mechanisms implying various organs, especially the brain. In the case of Princess Celestia, at least one of these mechanisms seems to have shut down, leading to an unrestrained gush of one particular hormone called ampiphilin, that somehow affects mood, resulting in unexpected and irrepressible fits of anger or, on the contrary, depression. The blood sample taken yesterday night already revealed a dangerously high level of ampiphilin, but this level has almost doubled during the night. Princess Celestia is literally sitting on a volcano.”

“Is there anything that can be done to counteract this phenomenon?” asked Luna.

“Unless we pinpoint the cause, and find out what exactly is building up in the Princess’ body, I am afraid not. And there is worse…” He broke off, somber. The biologist lugged his chair back, stood up and apologized. “I beg forgiveness your Highness, but I can’t stand this anymore. I just can’t. Pardon me.” He shuffled to the door and left.

“What is it?” said Luna, with a tinge of panic in her voice.

Hippiatros resumed. “Alicorns are certainly way more robust than all other ponies. Yet, as with every living thing, there is a limit to their resistance. At very high concentrations, ampiphilin is known to interfere with heart function, inhibiting the ionic cell exchanges that keep the cardiac sinus beating on…”

“So what?” rasped Luna, as if she had already guessed the unescapable conclusion.

“Your Highness, at the current rate of increase, if nothing is done within twenty-four hours, your sister will most certainly die.” Hippiatros lowered his eyes.

“But how? And why? A sickness? Something else?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Barring this staggering oddity, everything is normal. No sickness, no infection, no injury. Nothing. It’s unique and has never been recorded before. No known treatment. By Celestia, I’d give up my own life to get even the tiniest clue!” He banged a hoof on the table and a hush fell. “Twenty-four hours,” he finally repeated. “That’s all I can give us to solve this riddle. I am sorry…”

“How can I possibly announce this to her?” wondered Luna. “I must needs to figure out a way.”

She was about to knock at Celestia’s bedroom door when a guard warned her that her sister was having her breakfast at the private lunchroom. Luna therefore changed course and trod glumly along the passages until she reached the entrance of the small refectory. She walked in. Celestia had slumped on the table, in the middle of the earthenware; the big tea pot had spilled her contents all over the tablecloth. She seemed unconscious; her multicolored fluffy mane was shifting, as always, but slowly, almost reluctantly. Luna rushed to her sister and shook her gently. “’Tia, ’Tia!” she called softly. “Can you hear me?” The while alicorn opened an eye, and a slight smile appeared on her face. “Lu’,” she whispered, “I’m so glad to see you. Rising the Sun worn me out…” Her eye shut again. There was a long pause. “No more magic. No pain, just… fatigue. Need… rest…”

“’TIA!” shouted Luna madly. But the white alicorn did not react. Quick, quick, I must take her to the sickbay. She levitated the inert body of her sister and hurried out of the room.

She was about halfway when her attention was attracted by a dull ruckus coming from behind a closed door, which appeared to be a guard’s office. Moans, and a voice… I know that voice, she thought. But… Talking dirty behind a door? What devilry is that? Carefully, she put down the body of her sister on the large moquette that was spread all over the passage, tiptoed silently. “…Hmmm…” was whimpering the voice beyond, “now that’s what I like, you horny hunk…” Luna flung the door open.

In front of her, on the floor, a sturdy guard was lying, his body stiff, paralyzed. Straddling over him in an obscene position, Celestia was shamelessly enjoying his erected penis. The crash of the door made her wheel, and she saw Luna standing on the threshold. She froze.

“Who… Who are you?” asked Luna, petrified.

“Shhhhhhhit!” replied Celestia, suddenly catching a glimpse of the unmoving body of the other Celestia, recumbent on the carpet. She stood on all fours, freeing the guard whose body rolled over: he was dead. Her horn glowed faintly, then fizzled, as if her magic ability was suddenly failing. She retreated one step back. “Don’t touch me!” she growled. “Shove off, you little snot, you boring runt killjoy!” She concentrated once more, and her body gradually disappeared, dissolving slowly into nothingness. She was gone.

Five minutes later, the emergency alarm started to blare in all the castle. “Attention all personnel, this is Princess Luna!” roared the voice of Luna. “An intruder has entered the castle. She has taken the guise of Princess Celestia. She must be captured. She is dangerous. Shoot if you are assaulted. Report any visual contact immediately to me. Dispatch!” Next Chapter: Together we are one Estimated time remaining: 16 Minutes