A New Sun

by Ragnar

First published 7th of January, 2015

Maggie Wilson (26), on a smoke break from her dead end convenience store job in the California mountains, encounters the divine god-princess of a dead world. The princess asks for her help. Mag says yes.

Maggie Wilson (26), on a smoke break from her dead end convenience store job in the California mountains, encounters the divine god-princess of a dead world. The princess asks for her help. Mag says yes.

So how do you resurrect a dead world?

Featured on EQD.
Edited by Arcanist Ascendant.

Conversation One

Mag stubbed out the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray she'd brought with her into the woods, and didn't light another. The air was wet and the trees dripped and rustled in the breeze. The rain had stopped for now but would start again in a couple of hours, and this was the time to take a break, or so Mag had decided 20 minutes ago. Her boss wouldn't be coming back to the Quik Eats until Monday, so she was tempted to close for the weekend. There wasn't much traffic on route 371 this far up the mountain, especially at this time of year, so she could plausibly tell her boss no one had come while he was gone. As for the needs of customers, well, if someone needed wiper blades or an ancient hot dog then they could just break in, couldn't they?

She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her long winter jacket and studied the contents. Half the pack remained, but she didn't like menthol. She pocketed it again after a moment’s consideration, not bothering to take another cigarette, and continued down the dirt trail to the lake.

She thought about the cold front rolling in next week. She thought about going home and falling asleep in her bed, or perhaps on the floor if she couldn't be bothered to walk to her bedroom. She thought about television static and the sound of tires in snow, and wondered if she'd be less bored in the evenings if she got a cat, then decided not to get a cat because she wouldn’t be able to smoke in the house anymore, and because she wasn't sure she wanted another living being in her house, making noise and wanting things. Mag didn't want things, generally speaking, or nothing she was willing to put into words, and it made her house a peaceful, silent place. She also didn't want to clean out a catbox.

The lake was around the next bend in the trail. Some days she stood at the edge of the lake and watched the birds and bugs if they were out, and that was her plan this afternoon.

Today a soupy white fog covered the lake. Mag couldn't even see the other shore. The sky was partly cloudy at most and the lake had never been foggy in the day. The water was too still. Mag squatted next to the shore and decided to light another cigarette after all.

Now a tiny light glowed in the fog. Mag lit a cigarette and grimaced; she hated menthol. The light got bigger, or perhaps closer. Mag watched it. There weren't fireflies in this part of California, and this wasn't the season for them anyway. Perhaps it was someone with a lantern. But why a lantern in the daytime? Mag tried to put her plain red Bic back in her pocket and accidentally dropped it in the mud.

The light grew and changed. It was a warmer, rosier shade of white than the fog, and brighter than a lantern, so bright that Mag had to shade her eyes with her hand. It resolved into the most beautiful thing Mag had ever seen.

It walked across the water on four thin legs and burned with a corona of smokeless pastel flames.

It had light for skin and suns for eyes.

The water rippled with each step.

Mag fell backward and hid her eyes in the crook of her elbow. She couldn't breathe.

“I don't believe in... I don't believe in...” She couldn't finish the sentence. She uncovered her eyes.

The burning archangel, the goddess, the apocalypse of Mag's worldview stepped onshore and walked up to her. As it walked the light faded.

The fire shrank and became a horse's mane. Light turned into pearl fur and the suns burned down to pupils.

It half-fell into a resting position. Two white wings slackened open into the mud. It also had a long, straight horn—and a crown.

It opened its mouth and whispered, “Help them.” Quiet as the words were, they echoed oddly and shook pine needles from the trees. Then it—or she, judging by the voice—passed out.

Her head fell to the ground and Mag tried to catch it, but got poked by the horn. The angel-goddess's head splatted into the mud.

Mag crawled away, stood, stepped back, tripped over a rock, and dropped back to the ground. She stayed there and stared.

The creature seemed smaller now. Mag realized belatedly that the being looked as much like a horse as anything else. A unicorn? She had wings and a crown. The queen of unicorns?

She'd asked her to help “them.” Who? Mag peered into the mist, looking for someone else, and realized the fog was growing thinner. The opposite shore was visible now and looked the way it always did. They were alone.

Mag stood up again and took a few deep breaths.

“Help them,” muttered Mag. “Okay. Okay.” She leaned over the whatever-she-was. “How?” Whatever-she-was didn't answer. She looked too heavy to lift.

“Wake up,” Mag tried. Horse-Thing didn't move.

“Wake up, your majesty?” Nothing. Mag stepped back for a better look.

Her majesty was definitely horselike. Her mane had stopped moving but still looked slightly insubstantial, like a rainbow in a sprinkler, but with the thickness of skim milk. Her horn was the approximate length of Mag's forearm and hand. There was a stylized sun painted on her flank. These were all just details, however; what mattered was that she was the most unbearably beautiful thing Mag had ever seen. Mag wondered who she would have grown up to be if she'd seen this creature when she was younger.

She reached out and brushed the queen's ear with the tip of her fingers. The ear flicked and Mag pulled her hand back. Then she poked the ear again. The ear flicked again. Mag stuck her finger in the ear proper and the queen's eyes opened. Her majesty silently regarded Mag with one eye. Mag pulled her finger out of her ear.

“Sorry,” Mag murmured.

“Human?” Her voice was normal, now. She sounded like a cross between Galadriel and someone's mother.

“I go by 'Mag,' actually,” said Mag.

Her majesty stood up—the mud didn't stick to her fur—and looked around. “Earth, then.” She faced Mag. “Mag, my name is Princess Celestia.”

“A pleasure,” said Mag, sticking her hands in her pockets. They stood a few feet apart.

“There's no need to be intimidated,” said the creature.

“I'm not intimidated.”

“All right,” said her majesty gently. “Mag, I have a request.”

“It's not 'Take me to your leader,' is it?” said Mag.

Celestia's eyebrows went up. “It is. Have you dealt with this sort of thing before?” She looked behind her. “Is this lake a crossroads?”

“No and no. Probably.” She thought about it. “You know what? Maybe it is some kind of crossroads. I don't know anything anymore.”

Celestia gave her a pitying look. “Human, please relax. I can see this situation is making you uncomfortable, and for that I'm sorry, but I really do need your help.”

“I'm not uncomfortable,” said Mag. She started to step back, and stopped herself. “Anyway. What do you mean by 'leader?' Are you looking for more of a mayor, or the governor, or the president, or what?”

“I'm afraid I don't know his or her proper title,” said Celestia, “but I would prefer to meet with the leader of the humans if you can arrange it. Or perhaps you could simply point in the proper direction, if you'd prefer.” She blinked and her legs wobbled. “Or where I can find lodging. I've been walking through the fog between worlds for... quite some time, now.”

Mag shrugged. “Humans don't have a leader. We have the UN, I guess, the United Nations. As for lodging...” Mag tried to imagine the princess getting a hotel room and failed utterly. “Well, I guess there's, uh, my house?” Come to think of it, she couldn't imagine that either.

“Oh, I wouldn't want to impose.”

“Well, aren't we Ms. Manners,” said Mag.

Celestia wrinkled her immaculate white brow. “I'm afraid I don't follow.”

“Nothing, sorry. I just get sassy when I'm intimidated and uncomfortable.”

“Ah,” said Celestia.

Mag scuffed at the ground with her hiking boot. “Okay, listen. You are really, really, really, really weird. No offense meant.”

“None taken.”

“And kind of overwhelming. No offense.”

“I apologize.”

“You're forgiven.” Mag took a few deep breaths. “Right. Yeah, you're freaking me out, but I think I do want to help. I wasn't doing anything important anyway.”

Celestia bowed her head. “You have no idea how relieved I am.”

Mag led the princess back up the path.

“My world ended,” said Celestia.

And what could you possibly say to that? “Oh.”

“I was set to guard it and guide it, but all things end, I suppose. But why did I outlive it? Worlds have ended before, but its regent always goes with it. It's the way of things.” She looked up at the light of the setting sun cutting through the leaves of trees, then down at the dappled shadows. “Maybe it's not the end yet. Maybe this is something I can heal.”

“I don't know how I can help with that,” said Mag.

Celestia smiled. “You already are.”

It took a moment for Mag to recover from that smile. Every little thing Celestia did, every glance and every step, did that much more to crowd Mag out of her own head. “I don't even know what you're looking for,” she managed.

“Perhaps you'd feel better if I walked further away,” said Celestia.

“I'll get over it,” said Mag. “But seriously. What am I really going to do for someone like you?”

“You mentioned a couch I could use, to begin with. After that, I would like to know more about your UN.”

“We didn't talk about it in high school and I sort of dropped out of college,” said Mag, “but I can tell you it's a kind of, I don't know, council that sets up and sometimes enforces agreements between nations. If it's got a leader, he's probably elected.”

“Then that's not who I need to speak with first,” said Celestia. “It sounds like your regent prefers a light touch, or tends toward subtlety. We have until sundown tomorrow to contact them. If it takes longer, diplomacy is going to be a bit rocky.”

“Rocky?”

“A bit. How warlike would you say humans are?”

“We're a murdering pack of absolute bastards,” said Mag.

“Colorfully put. In that case, I'd rather we moved quickly. Your regent is likely to be very human indeed. Are you afraid of heights?”

“About as much as most,” said Mag. “Wait. Are you serious?”

“I'm afraid so. Which direction is your couch?”

“The same direction as my home. Go north over the straight road through town. Pass the huge wooden bear through the woods and look for the white house with the fewest pine trees, no lawn and no car in the driveway. That's my place.”

“What is a car?” said Celestia.

“You're going to see a lot of examples on the road. That should help.”

“Understood.” Celestia flared out her wings. “Climb aboard and hold onto my neck.”

Mag really wasn't up for this, but helping the princess was obviously more important than her feelings. She climbed aboard and focused on taking deep, slow, even breaths.

“Be brave,” said Celestia. She flapped her wings experimentally a few times, then launched straight up through the trees. Pine needles and cold winter air rushed past them and then Celestia burst out above the trees. She hovered in place for a moment, looking around for the road, then glided toward it.

“The air is very thin here,” said Celestia.

“What?” shouted Mag over the rushing wind. God, it was cold up here.

“There's the road. Goodness, is that what a car is? How interesting. And there's your town.”

Mag didn't enjoy the next few minutes in the slightest, but at least it went quickly. Celestia touched down in front of Mag's place, panting, and Mag rolled off Celestia's back and onto the ground.

“Cramp,” said Mag through gritted teeth. “Cramps. My world is cramps.”

“That,” said Celestia between gasps, “was a decision with quite a lot of downsides. For Heaven's sake, please give me somewhere soft to collapse.”

Mag tossed her house keys to Celestia without getting up from where she lay on the ground. Celestia caught them in a field of magic. Mag stared. “What was that?”

“Magic,” said Celestia.

“Okay, but what was that?”

“I'd be much happier to discuss pony biology in the future, as opposed to right now, when I'd be happiest to hear which of these keys opens your door.”

Mag staggered up her driveway, plucked the keys from Celestia's field (surprisingly easy, slightly tingly), picked out the correct one, and opened her door. She gestured for Celestia to follow her inside.

She preferred a clean house, and it was easiest to clean a house without much décor. She had no pictures or posters or flowers on her table. The walls were white and the carpet was beige. It was simplest this way.

“Thank you for inviting me,” said Celestia. She surveyed the front hallway. “You have a lovely home.”

“This way,” said Mag.

Celestia stopped when she saw Mag's living room, which was entirely bare except for the couch in the center of the room, which faced a large CRT television sitting on the floor against the opposite wall. Celestia, true to her word, walked up to the couch and collapsed into it. Mag realized at this point that she couldn't watch TV while Celestia slept and had nothing else to do for the night, so she sat down next to her TV and tried to knead the pain out of her arms and legs.

Oops. She'd forgotten to close the store. Oh, well.

Unicorn royalty slept softly on her couch. Mag felt numb. She usually did, around this time of day, but this was different. Tomorrow she was going to do something that mattered. She'd promised and she knew she wouldn't flake this time, because she didn't dare, not because her majesty seemed like the “Off with her head” kind of royalty but because making a unicorn sad was one thing she didn't want on her conscience. This was why she preferred to never get involved with anything important; yesterday there was a broken slushie machine and nothing on TV; today there was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful Mrs. Ed and an ominous deadline.

The princess's world had ended, so she'd walked until she found a new one. How long had it been since she'd rested? What did it feel like to lose everything you'd ever loved? Even in her sleep she looked tired.

The heater had been on all day, so it wasn't as cold as it could be. Nevertheless, Mag went to get two blankets out of the plastic tote at the foot of her bed, one with a Powerpuff Girls pattern and the other a hazy shade of seafoam green. She unfurled the Powerpuff Girls blanket over Celestia's still form and kept the green one for herself, curling up again next to the television. She realized she'd never had a house guest before.

“I'm sorry for being afraid,” she didn't say, and slowly fell asleep.

Author's Notes:

I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but it's fun so far. I hope I can keep this going.

e: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQZCOx3RdF8

Conversation Two

Princess Celestia stood groggily in more or less the center of Mag's kitchen. Mag was relieved to see that Celestia could get bedhead, though she wondered how that worked, exactly. Yes, she'd ridden on Celestia's back and could theoretically have taken the opportunity to run her fingers through her mane for the sake of science, but she'd been preoccupied.

“I don't know how you like your coffee, so I put a bit of milk in yours.”

Celestia floated the mug of coffee out of Mag's grip. “Thank you.”

Mag poured herself a cup of coffee as well, black, and sipped at it. “The toilet and shower are through the door across from the living room. You know what a shower is, right?”

“I'm familiar with the idea, yes,” said Celestia.

“Ooh, you're sarcastic in the morning. Are you hungry?”

Celestia took a hearty gulp of her coffee and stood still for a moment with her eyes closed. Then she said, “I beg your pardon. Yes, I'm hungry. How is the local pine? It smells a bit piquant for a morning meal, but perhaps something bracing would help.” Celestia looked out the kitchen window. “Oh. It snowed.”

“You eat pine?”

Celestia scratched her chin. “Frozen pine really does sound like a bit much, now that you mention it. But I take it you don't eat pine, frozen or otherwise.”

“Never tried it,” said Mag. “I doubt I can digest it. I have some leftover SpagettiOs I was planning to get rid of, but I can make a can of chicken noodle.”

“What are SpagettiOs?” said Celestia.

“Pasta in tomato soup, basically,” said Mag.

“And what is 'chicken noodle?'”

Mag pinched the bridge of her nose. “Right, I should have thought of that. Listen, my species is omnivorous. I'm guessing you aren't. Is that all right?”

“So long as your prey or herd animals are treated with dignity and as much kindness as is reasonable, yes,” said Celestia.

Mag cleared her throat. “Um. Sure. Basically.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. “I see,” said Celestia. “I'd prefer not to know the details, but if I find myself addressing your United Nations, I may have a few polite observations to make.”

“No chicken noodle for you, then. Got it.” Mag opened her cupboard and found it to be mostly empty. “Problem is, I don't have anything else. Maybe I should go to the grocery store. How about this: describe a complete meal for a typical horse princess and I'll see what I can do.”

“You mean pony princess, but you're very generous.” Celestia drained what was left in her mug. “Let me see if I remember the human diet enough to predict the contents of its marketplaces—yes, I think so. Would you like to share a breakfast of bread, olives and wine?”

“How European,” said Mag.

“Where is Europea?”

“Europe? Up and to the right across the ocean, on American maps at least.” Mag closed her cupboard door. “Yeah, sounds decent. I'll be back in about 45 minutes.”

“If I may offer an alternate suggestion,” said Celestia, placing her mug in the sink, “you could wait 10 minutes while I bathe and then I could come with you. I'd like to see how your world has changed since I last visited.”

“Is that a good idea? You're a lot to take, you know. There's also the fact that you're alien royalty, and look the part.”

Celestia's horn shimmered. She blurred around the edges and turned into a human.

Now she was a willowy woman with dark black skin and delicate features, wearing some kind of cream dress that would have looked more in place on the streets of ancient Greece, or at least Disney's Hercules. Her hair was a mess of tight, unruly black curls.

Mag stared at her. “I have questions.”

“I bet I have more questions than you,” said Celestia. “Let's discuss it after I take a shower.” She nodded to Mag and walked out.

“Wait,” said Mag. “You can't wear that.”

Celestia poked her head back through the kitchen doorframe. “Why not?”

“One, it's like 20 degrees out and your outfit has short sleeves. Two, people stopped dressing like that 2,000 years ago.”

“I don't get cold and I'm used to standing out, but I have no objections to blending in,” said Celestia. “If you give me an example of modern winter dress I can change the glamour to suit.”

“I'll google around while you take a shower,” said Mag.

“I'm going to do it quickly so I can find out what on earth it means to 'google around.'”

Eleven minutes later, Mag caught the smell of her own shampoo as Celestia peered over her shoulder.

“Is this device called a google?” said Celestia. She'd changed back to her normal appearance. She was also completely dry in spite of the fact that Mag had forgotten to give her a towel or tell her where they were.

“It's called a computer.” Mag pointed at the tower by her foot. “That's the part doing all the work.” She gestured at the screen. “This shows the work, and these two things down here let me control it all.” She pointed at the metal shelf over her bed. “The black box up there is the router. That receives the internet signal and sends it over to the computer tower down here, and the tower sends...” Mag happened to glance at Celestia and trailed off.

“It's complicated,” Mag summed up.

“If I asked for more details, would I understand the answer?” said Celestia.

Mag snorted. “I hope you don't ask, because you've just heard everything I know.”

“Human invention has come far,” said Celestia. “I can feel the signal that travels from the router to the tower, but I can't read the code. The tower decodes this signal, then?”

“Yeah,” said Mag. “Hey, are you saying you've been to Earth before?”

“Yes, a long time ago.”

“How long ago?”

Celestia thought about it. “Well, it was just a day trip, so I don't think I could say for sure, but I recall much discussion in the city forum on the recent Roman conquest over the city of Carthage.”

Mag typed “roman conquenst of Carthage” into the address bar. Celestia watched her fingers with fascination as she did so. Mag pointed at the screen.

Celestia smiled. “Ah, I see. It says 'Google' at the top left. You've just 'googled' something.” Her eyes traveled down the page. “And I see it corrected your spelling without being asked. That's not entirely polite.”

Mag shrugged. “It does it automatically. It's not trying to be rude; it's just a computer.”

Celestia looked back and forth between the screen, the tower, the keyboard, the router and Mag. “Let me see if I'm following you. Together these objects form an encyclopedia and a dictionary operating by immensely complex, mysterious means, and you have nothing to say in its favor but 'It's just a computer.' Are miracles so commonplace in your life that you've lost interest in them, or are you trying to impress me by pretending to be bored with the wonders of your world?”

“Probably both,” said Mag.

“And it receives this information through the air in your house, emitted from an equally inscrutable black box sitting calmly on a shelf in your bedroom.”

“That's right,” said Mag.

Celestia sighed. “And apparently it can also display human winter fashions.”

“Well, according to this, you're at least 2,200 years old, so I guess we're even,” said Mag.

“2,200 years,” mused Celestia. “Yes, I suppose it's been a while.”

“How old are you?” said Mag.

“Old enough that your question has less meaning than you think, but I would call myself young,” said Celestia.

“Compared to what? Continents?”

“Well, worlds,” said Celestia. “I am as old as Equis, and Equis died young.”

Celestia sat down on the floor and stared at her hooves, and neither she nor Mag said anything for a while. Mag performed a Google image search of winter fashion and browsed for a few minutes. After a while, Celestia looked up and watched the screen beside her.

“These all look terrible,” Mag finally said.

“Do you think so? I think they're all very elegant. Look there.” She pointed with a hoof at one model wearing a white long coat and matching knitted cap.

“She looks like a tube,” said Mag.

“But an elegant tube,” said Celestia. “I'm going to try it.” She stepped away from Mag's chair and changed once again into a tall black woman, now wearing the long coat and cap. Celestia twirled, stumbled, and caught herself.

Mag looked her up and down. “Well, fine, that's not bad, but you still need shoes, socks, pants, a shirt and a purse. Let me look them up. Also, don't fall over.”

“Human legs are deceptively complicated,” said Celestia.

Shoes turned out to be more difficult. Celestia quickly found a boot style she liked, but it had high heels, which she couldn't manage to take two steps in, and the uppers didn't fit properly when she changed the soles into flats. Eventually, Mag managed to find a similar boot online without the heels. Socks were easy. Celestia's shirt mostly wouldn't be visible under the coat, so Mag just pointed out a simple cinnamon top with long sleeves.

The pants were a sticking point.

“I think you're joking,” said Celestia.

“Not in the the slightest,” said Mag.

Celestia crinkled her brow at the computer screen. “No, I'm fairly certain you're joking.”

“Do I strike you as a person who tells jokes, Your Majesty?”

“I would rather you called me 'Celestia,' under the circumstances. And I am a politician—I know a poker face when I see one.”

“But I would never lie to a unicorn,” said Mag. “What's the problem? Is it the color?”

“It's a bit bright, yes,” said Celestia.

“Oh, I'm sure you could change it. Personally, I think they'd look good in a dark shade of plum.”

“I could do that,” said Celestia.

“Good, I'm glad we worked that out together.” Mag rotated her computer chair to face Celestia and folded her arms. “Well?”

“No, I think we'll keep looking for more pants,” said Celestia.

“Is it the cut?”

“No,” said Celestia.

“Does the fabric look uncomfortable?”

“I wouldn't say so, no,” said Celestia.

Mag spread her hands. “Then what could possibly be the problem?”

“The fact that the pants say 'juicy' across the back in sequined bubble letters,” said Celestia.

“If the sequins look scratchy, you could always replace them with glitter,” said Mag.

“I think I'll just wear the same bottoms you're wearing,” said Celestia.

“Jeans? With that coat?” scoffed Mag.

“Well, yes, unless you have a third idea,” said Celestia.

“Jeans are out of the question,” said Mag. “The back pockets would get in the way of butt words, and I wouldn't dream of sending someone outside without butt words to go with such a lovely coat.”

Celestia folded her arms to mirror Mag's. “Do you have pants that say 'juicy' on the back?”

“Tons,” said Mag. “Piles of them.”

“Show me.”

“I'm already dressed for the day and I don't want to get up. Here, we'll compromise. How do you feel about leopard print?”

Celestia rolled her eyes. A pair of slim black jeans popped into existence between her boots and coat.

“Boring,” said Mag. “Okay, well, I already found your purse. A purse is a little bag for carrying things in, by the way, and most women have one when they go shopping.”

“I know; we have purses in Equestria,” said Celestia, “but I don't think I can imitate that. It doesn't correspond to any part of my real form.”

“Oh, is that how it works? Well, it's not compulsory.”

Celestia glanced at the screen one more time. “Is your purse a plush shark as well?”

“Nah, it's just this,” said Mag, pulling her gray cloth handbag toward her from the other end of the desk. “Let me get some shoes on and we'll go. Of course, the upshot of all this is that you're horribly overdressed for a grocery store run.”

The clouds had all gone away before dawn and now the sky was a solid cobalt blue. It hadn't snowed more than a couple of inches and now it was all turning to dirty slush. It would be a cold walk to the store. Mag walked with her hands in her jacket pockets and her eyes on the ground in front of her, watching for ice. Celestia looked at everything else; the trees, the asphalt of the road they walked alongside, the fog of her breath, the guard rail, a passing bird. She walked with her thin, ungloved hands folded in front of her.

“I found an unopened pack of Marlboros with a lighter sitting on top outside of a liquor store when I was 17, ran off with it, smoked my way through it over the course of the month, bought another when I turned 18, and made a habit out of it.” She absentmindedly fiddled with her jacket pocket. It had been a while since her last cigarette. Did she still hate menthol more than she needed a smoke? Yes, still.

“Very well,” said Celestia. “Your turn.”

"Hm," said Mag. “What are the limits on the shapeshifting?”

“Let's see. I can only hold it for a couple of hours at most, and it's technically not so much a change in shape as it is a form of illusion that fools both sapient creatures and inanimate objects. It doesn't work on animals, and the rare person will suspect me of something without knowing why.”

“You made that face yourself?”

“In a way,” said Celestia, fiddling with her nose. “I picked the dark skin so as to look foreign, which would help me talk my way out of social mishaps. Other than that, the shape is based on my true self. For instance, I am tall with a narrow face, so my disguise is tall with a narrow face. This is made of cartilage, yes?”

This sounded promising. “Yes. But if you can change the color and the clothes then you can change anything about yourself, right?”

“I haven't experimented much and I suspect there are limitations I'm not yet aware of, but possibly,” said Celestia. “I'll try something right now.” She shifted again.

“Whoa, check for witnesses first,” said Mag, looking over her shoulder.

“I'll be revealing my nature to your species sooner or later, you know.” Celestia's voice had changed. She stopped and looked Mag in the eye, smiling faintly. Now she looked more or less like Mag—but taller, and with a narrower face. Her skin was also darker than Mag's, with higher cheekbones and softer eyes.

“Huh,” said Mag.

“You don't look as surprised as I'd hoped. Did it not work?” said Celestia.

“Kinda,” said Mag. “You look more like me, but a bit different. Prettier, for one.”

“Oh, Mag, you're already as beautiful as you can be, which is to say very much so,” said Celestia, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Mag rolled her eyes. “Thanks, mom, but you're laying it on a little thick.”

Celestia gave her an unsatisfied look and changed back to her earlier human form.

“Your turn,” said Mag.

Celestia thought. “I have one. There's a substance your people seem to use often. Your computer is encased in it, as is the device that made coffee, and your jacket seems to be woven out of it. What is it?”

“Oh, plastic?”

“Say again?”

“It's called 'plastic,'” said Mag. “It's made out of petroleum, I think. We drill oil out of the ground and do something to it, and then it changes to plastic. It can be any color including clear, it can be soft or hard, water doesn't hurt it, and I think it's really cheap to make things out of. You're going to see it all over the place.”

“Doubtless named for its malleability. Fascinating,” said Celestia. “Your turn.”

“Yeah, I've got one,” said Mag immediately. “Do your subjects all look like you? Because I don't know if I could handle that, to be honest.”

“Not quite like me,” said Celestia. “For instance, most ponies are the height of my withers, or your navel. I could sketch a few of my friends if you liked.”

“Yeah, I'll want to see that,” said Mag.

“My sister, of course, looks a bit more like me. I'll sketch her as well.”

“Your sister?”

“Mm-hm. Princess Luna,” said Celestia.

“What is she like?”

Celestia touched Mag's shoulder again. “You know, Mag, I really appreciate that you're referring to the people of my world in the present tense.”

“You'll see them again,” said Mag.

“Thank you,” said Celestia quietly.

“But really, what is your sister like?”

The road bent to the left. The downward grade leveled off.

“How to describe my sister,” Celestia said. “We rule together, I the day and she the night. Physically, she is taller than our subjects but shorter than I. The tip of her horn comes up to the top of my head. Her coat is a dark blue and her cutie mark is of the moon—on one flank it waxes, and on the other it wanes. She walks the dreams of our subjects, offering guidance and comfort where she can, and where she can't help, she stays by their side in some capacity so they don't have to be alone. Luna also raises and lowers the moon.”

“What do you mean, raise and lower the moon?” said Mag.

“Just that,” said Celestia. “She uses her magic to move the moon along its correct path.”

Mag stopped and faced Celestia. “What.”

Celestia stopped as well. “Is something the matter?”

“You mean that literally. Your sister moves the moon around. How big is the moon? Is it small or something?”

“I couldn't give you the exact dimensions, but during my... tenure as the moon's custodian,” and for a moment a haunted, faraway look flitted across Celestia's face, “I judged our moon to be about 2,000 miles in diameter and eight quintillion tons in weight, where a mile is 5,280 feet and a ton is 2,000 pounds, a foot is this distance,” she held her hands a foot apart, “and a pound is... well, it's a bit less than one twelfth of a gallon of water, and a gallon is 231 cubic inches, an inch being one twelfth of a foot. Is something the matter?”

“So you two can move moons around. Eight bazillion tons, 2,000 miles across, no big deal.”

“You seem uncomfortable again,” said Celestia.

“Sorry, but that's terrifying. I trust you, but, uh, maybe you should gloss over that one when you're talking to the world leaders.” Mag shook her head and went back to walking. “You can move the moon,” she muttered. “The actual moon.”

“And the sun, which is 866,738 miles across,” said Celestia.

“Oh come on!” said Mag, throwing her hands up and walking faster.

Celestia walked more briskly for a moment to catch up. “I suppose I have my next question, then. How do your sun and moon move? Do you humans have some sort of device? I wouldn't be surprised, considering your people's immense inventiveness and, if I may say so, what seems to be a tendency to hubris.”

“The moon orbits us and we orbit the sun,” said Mag.

“You orbit the sun? How strange. But what are the motive forces?”

“Gravity,” said Mag. She was no astronomer, but she knew the basics.

“I don't quite follow,” said Celestia. She stopped. “One moment,” said Celestia, and closed her eyes. Her eyebrows lifted steadily higher over the next few seconds. “Your planet is repeatedly almost falling into the sun, and your moon is falling to Earth?”

“I guess,” said Mag.

“And no part of this fills you with existential dread,” said Celestia.

“Nah,” said Mag.

“But surely that plays havoc with your climate.”

“Nope, it just makes winter and summer.”

“The seasons work autonomously as well.”

“Yours don't?”

“No, we do it ourselves. Everyone helps. The pegasi influence the effects of the sun by moving the clouds and guide the migrations of birds, while the unicorns and earth ponies handle everything else closer to the ground, such as clearing snow or tucking in the animals that hibernate.”

“Okay, your world is adorable,” said Mag. “It's also cool that you've got pegasi. But what's an earth pony?”

“Is that your question?”

“No, that's an interjection,” said Mag.

“I find it interesting that you've heard of unicorns and pegasi,” said Celestia. “An earth pony has neither wings nor horn, but is gifted with talents relating to life and growth.”

“Cool,” said Mag.

“Your turn.”

Mag hesitated. She'd have to broach this one tactfully, and tact had never been her strong suit. She just wasn't good at being considerate. The vocabulary of her social skills consisted of blunt honesty, silence, and occasionally lying like a rug; telling the truth in a kind way was probably the best way to get through life, she had to admit, but she was neither kind nor honest by nature. There was a reason she lived alone.

Oh, well. “What happened to your world?”

Celestia gave a desolate smile. “I should tell you as much as I can for the sake of the mission, I suppose." She gathered herself, then began her story. "It was very abrupt. I was squeezing lemon juice into a mug of tea in the evening after a long day of meetings, every single one of them regarding a nicety of the most recent minotaur-griffin trade agreement and its impact on cacao seed prices—which is more interesting than it sounds, I promise you—”

“Minotaurs and griffins. Of course.”

“Hush, please,” said Celestia. “Yes, minotaurs and griffins. We can discuss them some other time. Now, as I said, it was abrupt. It began with a terrible wrenching sensation. I looked out the window and saw the moon fade away. The torches dimmed and went out. I set down my tea and went out to the balcony, and I saw all the lights of Canterlot flicker and die. The wind slowed and stopped. The usual susurrus of my living city went silent. I heard a crackling sound from inside, and saw that my tea had frozen over.

“The stars went out one by one and I had to use my magic to feel the world around me. I felt the stone of the walls and floors go smooth and lose their texture, and as they did my carpet sank into the floor. The walls dissolved into mounds, like sand. I tried to shine a light to see, but the only thing left was flat, uninflected gray, and the balcony overlooked nothing but black. The only thing left was a mirror. I shined my light brighter, bright enough to see for miles and blind anypony who might look at me, hoping someone, somewhere would see. I heard no one. There was nothing left, only gray floor, a balcony, the black, great piles of sand—and mirrors.

“The mirrors had survived, standing in place where they used to lean or hang from walls, sometimes even in midair above a pile of sand, and that's when I worked out what had happened. Reflections are the edges of worlds, you see. A healthy world sees itself, is self aware in a manner of speaking. When you look at a mirror, at the edge of the world, you should see nothing but the world reflected back on itself. A world is a seamless whole where every edge simply loops back around like a chain with its two ends connected, or perhaps like the inside of a sphere. Do you understand?”

“Honestly? No,” said Mag.

“It's all rather abstract,” said Celestia. “Suffice to say a mirror should reflect the world, barring a magical effect of some kind, and the mirror of my bedroom did not. It had turned into a frame of solid black, just like the view from my balcony. My world was dying. It could mean nothing else.

“I took off from the balcony and searched for survivors. I found none, only silence and emptiness. I didn't even find the ground; the dark simply went down and down, forever so far as I know. I looked back and saw that my castle had gone, but I could still see the mirrors, now standing on nothing. Then I noticed that gravity and air had disappeared along with everything else. There was nothing left but mirrors, empty space, and me.

“I have no words to describe how I felt. I couldn't speak, couldn't weep. I perched on the frame of a mirror and sat still like a gargoyle. Mag, did you know there is no limit to how good or bad a person can feel? Every century I discover a new height of happiness I had never seen before, and when I stood there at that point and looked at the last night of my world, I found a depth of grief that...” she faltered. “In my life I have lost many loved ones. I carry the memory of...”

Celestia went silent. For the third time in 24 hours, Mag floundered for something to say and found nothing.

“I was there for some time,” said Celestia at last. “Then I thought about it. I still lived. Why? Equis is all that I am, but it had gone dark and I'm still here. Looking after my world is my entire purpose. If it dies then I am nothing, in the most literal possible sense. Therefore there was some irregularity, and, anyway, surely the death of a world is more gradual than that. I decided that, while I lived, so did Equis in some manner. Perhaps I really am all that's left. Perhaps my loved ones will live on in my heart and memories and nowhere else. But I believe there is some possibility that I can salvage something of it, and I will not accept its loss until I've explored every possible remedy. There are unknown quantities at work here that must be examined. I can ask questions. And, once I've learned what happened, I will bring all the resources of a goddess to bear.”

Celestia spoke calmly, without bravado. Since this morning Mag had noticed it was easier to be around her, maybe because Mag was acclimating to Celestia's presence, maybe because Celestia was acclimating to Earth, but now that same numinous weight was back, crushing, suffocating.

“What do you call a fish with no eyes?” Mag choked out.

Celestia blinked. “I don't—”

“Fsh,” said Mag. “What kind of tea is hard to swallow?”

“Th—”

“Reali-tea. What's the difference between you riding a bicycle in a ballgown and me riding a tricycle in shorts and a t-shirt? A-ttire. Why did the scarecrow get promoted? Bec—”

“Because she was outstanding in her field,” said Celestia.

Mag took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out. “Right. Take note: bad jokes help with that thing you do.”

The corner of Celestia's mouth twitched. “Duly noted. Well done.”

“Yeah, that was clever of me. Hey, look. It's the big wooden bear. We're in town.”

Celestia looked up at the bear. It stood nearly as tall as the pine trees littered through town. Mag had no idea where it had come from or who had made it.

“I like this bear,” said Celestia. “Does it serve a purpose, or is it there for the sake of art?”

“I think it's just kind of there,” said Mag.

“Well then it's doing an excellent job,” said Celestia. She smiled up at it and then at Mag, and Mag wondered how real the smile was.

Author's Notes:

The goal is at least 2500ish words every week. Weekly deadline for now is Tuesday night, but I may change it to Fridays or something, depending on how things go when classes start.

Conversation Three

The local grocery store wasn't much bigger than where Mag worked. It carried fresh fruits and vegetables, canned goods, milk, eggs, and other basic food staples, along with junk food, cheap alcohol, cigarettes, candy, chewing tobacco, and an aisle in the back devoted to inedibles, mostly camping gear and cleaning products.

Mag walked in. “I am starving and I need a smoke. Let's just eat on the curb.”

Celestia followed, shutting the door behind her. “Do you walk to this store often?”

“No, only when I fly home on a magical pony queen and leave my car at work like a moron.” Mag pulled a basket from the stack, and put her purse inside it. “Now then. Shopping list: olives. Wine. Bread. Cigarettes. You get those, and I guess I'll get food for the week.”

Celestia nodded and took her own basket.

Mag had never shopped vegetarian before. Perhaps it was the size of the store, but vegetarian meals seemed to require a certain amount of actual cooking, rather than microwaves. You could nuke beans and the like, yes, but pasta and rice required work, and Mag normally preferred to save that sort of thing for special occasions. She supposed visiting royalty counted as a special occasion. But there was no vegetarian spaghetti sauce. She wouldn't have to make her own, would she? Mag pulled out her phone to look up recipes, feeling unpleasantly domestic. Surely there were simple sauce recipes.

Mag tapped the first recipe she saw that said “fast” in the title and frowned. What on earth was a shallot?

She kept searching until she found something reasonable, at least in comparison to the others, which all seemed to involve lots of preparation time, arcane ingredients, or both. Bottle of oil, jar of garlic, one onion, can of tomatoes, salt, pepper, Italian spices, bag of hard pasta. She grabbed another pot as well, as it appeared you couldn't cook elaborate meals with only one unless you wanted to cook each component of the meal one at a time.

She was just reading the back of a can of all-bean chili when Mag heard Celestia's delicate footsteps behind her.

“Problem?” said Mag.

“Mag,” said Celestia.

“Hold on.”

Celestia waited while Mag finished reading. She put the can back (beef for flavoring) and turned to see Celestia holding up a flashlight.

“Mag, look. A Mag-Light.”

Mag snort-laughed. A startled grunt sounded from the other end of the store and the manager looked around the corner to stare at the two of them. The old man saw Mag's shadow of a smile and stared.

“What?” said Mag.

He broke eye contact, shrugged, and walked away.

She looked at Celestia and saw that she'd raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Spock?”

“Did he offend you?”

“Not really.”

“But enough that you stared him down,” said Celestia.

“If he'd be less nosy when I'm trying to shop, we'd get along fine.” Mag picked out two cans of pinto beans and walked to the dairy aisle.

Celestia trailed after her. “Has he been a problem before?”

“Not exactly. Although he's asked me questions before, 'What's your name' and all that, and I'm not really up for a conversation after work, you know?”

“I see,” said Celestia.

“I don't really want to carry a thing of milk, so that one can wait until after we get my car. Maybe we can swing by here again. Am I buying that flashlight? I may as well.” Mag plucked it out of Celestia's hands and put it in her basket. She noticed Celestia had nothing in her own basket. She further noticed that Celestia was still giving her a look.

“What?” said Mag.

“When I said 'I see,' I had assumed you'd have something more to say,” said Celestia.

“Like what? And what about the rest of the groceries?”

“Hm?” Celestia glanced down at her basket. “Oh. I apologize; I was distracted. I noticed most of the foods available here are very tightly packaged, perhaps because they must be shipped great distances—I know they must be because many of these products can't be easily grown in this climate. I also noticed how ornate the packaging is, and how each product has enough fine print to resemble a legal document. Most of the packages have elaborate labels on them, all very carefully designed. I was just beginning to consider possible connections between the complexity of human food packaging and the tendency for humans to wear clothes at all times, as if humans were packaging themselves or as if you were clothing your foodstuffs, when I noticed this interesting device with your name on it. Then I brought it to you to see what you'd say.”

“Oh,” said Mag. “Did you see any bread or olives?”

Celestia continued as if she hadn't heard. “You also asked, 'Like what?' This surprised me, as most people, when I say 'I see' in that way, tend to stop whatever they're doing and reconsider their actions.”

“What actions?”

“In this case? Evading smalltalk,” said Celestia.

“Is that seriously a big deal?” Mag headed for the canned goods aisle in search of olives.

“Yes,” said Celestia without elaborating.

Mag found herself getting annoyed. “Smalltalk? Why would I? What's in it for me?”

“You'd like to bargain, then?” Celestia smiled as if she'd won. “Very well. I can't claim to be any great cook, but I've learned to make a few recipes you may enjoy, and I see the ingredients to several of them on these shelves. I'll make one of them tonight if you go and have a civil conversation with the shopkeep.”

A vegetarian dinner made in Mag's kitchen with Mag's things wasn't as appealing as Celestia seemed to believe. Mag wasn't a vegetarian, wasn't wild about people touching her things, and would probably be in the kitchen right alongside Celestia, at first just to hang around awkwardly but, inevitably, to help cook, defeating the purpose of the deal. The only reason Mag didn't immediately refuse was because she didn't actually know how to say “no” to Celestia, and if she did manage to refuse, what then? Celestia might strike up a conversation of her own with the store manager and then draw Mag in anyway—Celestia was wily like that. Or she might let it pass, then be primly angry about it and give Mag the silent treatment. Or she might just leave. Would she be upset enough to leave? She'd only just arrived.

Mag glowered, but handed her basket to Celestia and said, “I'll get cigarettes and wine, and I'll talk to him for a bit. A little bit. You can handle the olives and bread, right?”

“Certainly,” said Celestia. “And Mag? Relax.”

“Come get me if there's a problem,” said Mag, trudging to the register.

“Hi,” she said.

“Good morning,” said the man. “Pall Mall, right?”

“Yeah, and your finest box of wine,” said Mag.

The man laughed. He was pushing 60 and bald as an egg. “Finest box. I like that. Well, I've got Franzia. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” said Mag.

The man palmed a pack of Pall Malls, set it on the glass counter, leaned over, grabbed the box in both hands, and set it next to the pack. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, my friend should be along with some groceries.”

“Hey, you know, earlier, that was the first time I've heard you laugh,” he said.

“It's a grocery store, dude,” said Mag. “Not that funny by nature. Wait. Do people laugh in here a lot?”

“Sometimes,” said the man. “They'll smile, anyway. All I'm saying is, I've never seen you without an annoyed look on your face, and then suddenly you're shopping in the morning with a beautiful woman who can make you laugh.” He gave her a sly look. “I met my husband in this grocery store, you know. It's a charmed place.” Then he looked self conscious. “Not that it's any of my business.”

“Wow, okay. First of all, I know something you don't know,” said Mag.

“What's that?”

“The real answer to that question is hilarious, but for now let's just say she's not my type.”

“Ah, I see. Fair enough.” He scratched his jaw with the heel of his hand and looked embarrassed. “Listen, I don't mean to—”

“Don't worry about it,” said Mag.

Celestia set her basket down next to the box of Franzia. “Good morning! I'm with her.”

“Good morning,” said the manager, clearly relieved. “We were just talking about you.”

“We were?” said Mag.

“Nothing too horrible, I hope,” said Celestia.

“Naw,” said the manager.

“Regardless, introductions are in order. Mag?”

“What?” said Mag.

“Introductions.”

“Sure. Uh, manager guy, what's your name?”

“Jorge,” said the man. “I run this little place. You need anything, I've got the best prices in town—no disrespect meant to any local convenience stores, of course, ha ha ha!”

“Ha ha,” said Mag. “Jorge, this is Celeste. Celeste, this is Jorge. My name is Mag. I'm behind the counter at the convenience store down the road, the one that doesn't sell gas but does have a broken slushy machine.” I have no social skills. I'm actively dying of hunger and I need a cigarette. I will eat you and smoke your bones if you don't let us get out of here soon. “Celeste is...”

Celestia interrupted. “Celeste is short for 'Celestia,' and I represent a foreign nation seeking international aid. Unfortunately I can't tell you much else for political, practical and personal reasons, but I can say I'm a friend of Mag's and I'm currently staying with her.”

Jorge gawked for a moment, closed his mouth with an effort, and turned to Mag. “Well, that wasn't my first guess.”

“Yeah, your first guess was that she was my new girlfriend,” said Mag, watching Celestia's face.

Celestia smiled wryly. “I don't think I'm her type.”

Jorge nodded. “Yeah, she said the same thing.”

Mag pulled her wallet out of her purse, glanced at Celestia's now surprisingly full basket, and put three 20s on the box of wine. Jorge seemed to take the hint and started to manually input prices into the register. Celestia leaned over to study the bills, then noticed the plastic Humane Society donation box, picked it up, read the text, flipped it over and read the back. Jorge stopped to watch her from under his eyelashes.

Celestia sighed, kissed the coin slot, set the box back down and walked out, shutting the door with care.

Jorge handed Mag her change and loaded the cans, tubs, and bottles into paper bags. “That country she says she represents. She's not really a diplomat, right? She has to be in charge.”

“Honestly? Yep,” said Mag. “Don't tell nobody.”

“No one would believe me. What country is she from?”

“Can't tell you and you wouldn't have heard of it anyway. Hey, can I borrow one of these baskets? I had to walk here because I left—”

“Left your car at work,” said Jorge. “Do you want me to drive you two over to your store? It's too cold to be walking.”

The last thing Mag wanted to do at this moment was spend more time with another human being, even one who'd turned out to be more or less inoffensive, but she didn't have any good reason to refuse. Now what?

Mag looked at the door to make sure Celestia wasn't listening in and said, “Celeste wanted to look around town a bit, so I was planning to walk us over to where my car is. That way she can take in the sights.” There. Barely even a lie.

“No? You sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

“All right, well, good luck and have a nice day. I hope everything works out for your friend.”

“So do I, and thanks,” said Mag. Then she stopped. “Seriously. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I don't know,” said Mag. “I just felt like saying it.”

“Huh. Well, you're welcome.” Jorge waved. Mag walked out, closed the door behind her, and then realized you were supposed to wave back. She considered going back in to wave but decided not to. She'd barely gotten away.

Celestia was standing in a handicap parking space examining the sign. A nearby homeless man sat against the wall with a bottle in a crumpled paper bag, watching her. Mag maneuvered her basket of groceries to the crook of her arm and fished the receipt out of her change from the twenties, then handed the change to the homeless man along with the half a pack of menthols. She walked up to Celestia and lit a cigarette. She drew deeply and breathed the smoke out slowly, savoring the bite of the tobacco and the way the cold turned her smoke so thick.

She took another slow drag, let it out and said, “So. That kiss you gave the donation box. Did that do anything?”

“Almost nothing,” said Celestia.

“Almost nothing,” said Mag.

“Almost nothing,” confirmed Celestia.

“But not nothing.”

Celestia watched the plume of smoke and said, “You know, I'm increasingly tempted to present myself to your governments immediately. As I examine your world, I become more interested in doing what I can to help.”

“You'd be less dependent on me, at least,” said Mag. “Make a flashy entrance on the world stage and you'd be everyone's darling, at least until you start talking about changing things. I could see them giving you a limo and driver, and a monthly allowance. Not that I mind buying you things. Can I drive your limo?”

“What is a limo?” said Celestia.

“It's a car for rich people. Someone drives you where you want to go while you drink champagne in the back seat.”

Celestia gave Mag an appraising look. “What is your work history?”

Mag took the cigarette out of her mouth and tapped ash into the snow. “Are we being serious?”

“Yes,” said Celestia. “I know little about you, but I'm beginning to suspect I know more than most, and as the local Mag expert I judge you to be a woman of potential. What are your ambitions, Mag?”

“I don't really have any. I just wanted to coast through life, honestly.”

“Many have lived worthwhile lives with no goal but to be happy,” said Celestia.

“Right,” said Mag.

Celestia took Mag's hands. “Mag?”

“Yeah?”

Celestia leaned forward and said, “If you like your life as it is, why are you so unhappy?”

Mag took her hands back with as much tact as she could manage. “Unhappy?”

Celestia let go of Mag's hands but didn't move away. “Yes, I'd say so. I... know people, you see. I understand them. It may be a power given to me for the sake of fulfilling my responsibilities, or maybe it's a skill I've picked up by caring very much for very many people over a very long time. I've spoken with you and listened to the things you've said, and I've to a few conclusions. You are not shaped like my people, and as a human, you think differently and see the world differently than nearly anyone I've ever met. But you have the same look in your eyes that my sister once did, and our mutual friend Jorge wonders why you never laugh, and so do I.” Celestia lifted her chin and her tone grew imperious. “Write a resume. Submit it to me. I need to know more about your work history and existing skills, but I have a job opening and I want you to fill it.”

“Uh, wow,” said Mag. “What's the job? Not limo driving?”

“The human world is endlessly intricate and you understand it. I am also not used to working without help, frankly. I need both a guide and an aide-de-camp. We can put your restlessness to work, and as you work you can think on what you really want out of life.”

“I'd have to quit my other job, of course,” said Mag thoughtfully.

“If you do then my advice is to be polite, give adequate notice, and don't cut ties,” said Celestia.

“Because you won't be here forever and I'll need my old job back?”

“Because it's the proper way to do things,” said Celestia, wagging a finger playfully.

“What's an aide-de-camp?”

“You're asking questions. Good. An aide-de-camp is a personal assistant for a political or military figure. Different aides will have different responsibilities according to whom they assist. In your case, you would keep track of my schedule and contacts, prepare me for social events, and solve all the little problems that could undermine my efforts if not addressed by a competent person. You would arrange for meals, and for appropriate clothes for both of us. You'd maintain cordial working relationships, note the emphasis, with the servants and representatives of the mighty, and you yourself would be my representative when I'm not available. You'd follow me as I go about my day, especially at parties and the like, and take notes on future engagements or any promises I make. You may also have to read my mind sometimes, which is to say anticipating my wishes and acting accordingly. I wouldn't worry about that part, however, as you already do that very well, such as when you knew I would prefer to see more of the town than be taken directly to our next stop.”

Mag flushed. “You caught that, then.”

“I have excellent hearing,” said Celestia.

“So that was all right, then, the thing I said?”

“Arguably,” said Celestia, “but be careful. When my aide speaks, she speaks for me whether she intends to or not. I once had an aide who accidentally started a war because she thought she was speaking off the record, off the clock and purely on her own behalf, when in fact there is no such thing. Don't lie under any circumstances. Don't mislead unless lives are in immediate danger and you are perfectly certain I can't deal with the problem myself.”

Mag raised a finger. “Another question. What if it's a choice between lying and starting a war?”

“Tell the truth, fetch me, and let me talk them out of it.”

“And another. You realize this is the one job in the whole world I'm the least qualified for?”

“Just trust me,” said Celestia.

Celestia was turning out to be a smiler. Mag supposed it was a kind of political defense mechanism. People saw the smile and believed she was in control, that nothing was wrong. This time, Celestia was giving Mag the smile of a stage magician asking her volunteer to lie down in a box.

Mag had always wanted to be sawn in half. “Sure, but only because I'd like to see what a human tailor does when you ask one to fit a pony princess for a pants suit. You did say I'm in charge of wardrobe, right?”

Celestia's smile widened. “We can talk about that later. For now, I need your resume. Oh, and an application for dual citizenship as soon as Equestria is recognized as a sovereign nation, with the help of an attorney if possible. Your country allows this, yes?”

“America? Yeah, I think so. So I'm going to be an Equestrian?”

“America is a graceful name for a country. And yes, if you'd like. It's not completely necessary, but I think it could be very helpful.”

“If this turns into Dances With Wolves then I'm going to go home and stay there. Just saying. Also: I'm hungry and we're doing nothing about it. Let's eat on the curb and see if that homeless guy wants any olives.”

Celestia looked confused. “'Homeless guy?'”

“That guy,” said Mag, pointing. The man was still watching them. “Hey, dude. Want some bread, olives and boxed wine? We'll all have to drink right out of the box without touching the spigot, but we can make it work if we believe in ourselves enough. The other problem, though, is that I don't have a can opener for these olives. Maybe Jorge does. Let me... what? What is it?”

Celestia had grasped Mag's hand, and this time Mag didn't think she could have pried Celestia loose without a crowbar and a gob of lotion. The smile was gone and now Celestia wore a mask of calm. She approached the homeless man, pulling Mag behind her.

“My name is Princess Celestia, regent of Equis.” Her voice didn't shake, but her hand did. “What is your proper title, cousin?”

The homeless man got up. He was easily taller than Celestia, with a craggy face and wiry gray beard.

“Eldest,” he said, in a voice like sharkskin.

Author's Notes:

This fic is turning out to have so much dialogue that I'm just going to start naming the chapters "Conversation One," "Conversation Two," etc. so people know what they're getting into. This is a talky fic, a very talky fic indeed.

Conversation Four

Celestia gave the eldest her sunniest, gentlest smile. “I'm happy you found me. I had intended to begin searching for you after breakfast, but I could see no simple way to contact you and I've heard nothing of any palace or fortress you might maintain, so I wasn't certain how to go about finding you.”

The eldest returned the smile, or showed his teeth at least. “I'll walk over there,” he pointed at the mouth of an alley about 30 or 40 yards away, “and you two can talk amongst yourselves for as long as you need. Then you'll follow me if you want to discuss what you're doing in my world, and why one of my subjects is following you around like a duckling.”

Then he walked away. Celestia watched him like a cat watching a stranger.

“So,” Mag said.

“Your regent,” said Celestia. She let go of Mag's hand.

Mag massaged her fingers. Celestia had an impressive grip. “So why can't I feel him the way I feel you?”

“You can't feel him because you've always felt him,” said Celestia. “He guided the history of your species, and every single one of you have been influenced by him in countless ways. I don't know his powers or his methods, but I can tell you that, as regent, it is he who decided what it means to be human, what it feels like from day to day.”

The eldest had reached the alley. He leaned against the wall and lit one of the cigarettes Mag had given him, looking as if he was prepared to wait forever.

“Is that right,” Mag said under her breath.

“You've lived your whole life in the shadow of his hand.” Celestia shuddered. “Skies above, his aura. It feels like delirium and cold winds.”

“'Aura.' That's another word for the thing you do? Or you both do, I guess.”

“I think humans can feel my presence in the same way I feel his, yes,” said Celestia. “I wouldn't expect a species without magic to perceive auras, but I suppose encountering a foreign regent must be like finding a patch of snow in the desert, even to a creature who has never touched the aether and doesn't understand what it is she's feeling.”

“Huh. Well, your aura reminds me of Broadway music, or possibly a children's choir, if you were wondering.”

“I know. I've been told it's a bit cloying.” A look of concentration crossed Celestia's face. After some thought, she said, “Two aliens are sitting in a bar. One alien says, “Blorp, bloop, blee noog warble.' The second says, 'Goodness, I think you've had quite enough.”

Mag nodded. “Very corny. Good job. Did it help?”

“No,” said Celestia sourly. She squared her shoulders. “I suppose we'd better just follow him.”

Mag shrugged. “Fine with me. If it makes you feel any better, you're probably just as hard for him to take as he is for you.”

“I would just as soon seem harmless, but I'll keep that in mind,” said Celestia. “And I don't suppose I could convince you to stay behind while I talk with him?”

“Are you kidding?”

“He's an exceedingly dangerous being,” said Celestia. “He smells of madness, and I'm not certain how much value he would attach to an individual subject even if he is sane. I've spoken with regents who would harm one of theirs to make a minor rhetorical point, or because it didn't occur to them not to, or because they were hungry.”

“I'm not going anywhere. If you want to get into politics then this isn't going to be the last dangerous person we talk to, so I may as well get some practice in.” Not waiting for an answer, Mag walked toward the alley.

Celestia caught up. “As you wish. I'll do what I can to protect you. I would suggest you stay silent, but I get the feeling you already have other plans.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“You're wearing your poker face again.”

Most of the snow had melted by this time—this was California, after all—but little drifts of dirty snow still lay in certain shadows the morning sun couldn't reach. The eldest's alley was narrow, about six feet wide, so direct light hadn't touched it yet. Snow lined the bottoms of both walls, and the pile of wet trash stuck to the fence at the back of the alley was still frozen.

The eldest glanced at Mag and Celestia and stepped into the alley without looking back, apparently trusting them to follow him. They did.

He led them to the end of the alley and to a metal door to one side. The door had no handle. The eldest laid his hand where the handle would be, flexed his hand, and pulled. There was the sound of wrenching metal and the door opened as if his hand were a magnet. Inside was a flat plane of wood. The eldest shoved it with both hands and it tipped over, revealing itself to be a rotten pressboard bookcase. Behind the bookcase was an empty room lit by a broken window covered in bars. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling were all made of discolored concrete. Five large concrete blocks had been scattered in one corner, each the size of a park bench, and there was a pile of bricks next to the door, possibly an ex-fireplace. The room was otherwise bare, and colder than a meat locker.

The eldest stepped over the bookcase, walked to the corner, and sat on one of the concrete blocks with his back to the wall. “Today,” he rasped, “this room will be my court. We won't be disturbed. Princess, you're here as a supplicant, yes?”

“Yes,” said Celestia. She sat down on another block seven feet away. Mag followed suit.

“Uncomfortable?” said the eldest.

“Not terribly,” said Celestia.

“I mean your disguise,” said the Eldest. “You're dressed up as one of mine, but you aren't. Go on and make yourself comfortable.”

Celestia changed again. Mag was ready this time, watching carefully. The shift was almost instant, but this time she saw a transitional stage with wings, arms, forelegs, and back legs, shining and many-limbed like a Hindu deity.

She fluttered her wings a bit and shifted into a cat's sitting position. Now her eyes were level with the eldest's.

“Better?” said the Eldest.

“Much. It's not a difficult spell, but it does begin to feel constraining after a while,” said Celestia.

“Good. Welcome to my court. You are Princess Celestia, and you are Margaret Taylor Wilson. Don't look startled, girl; you're mine and I know everything about you. As for myself, I am eldest of the humans, wandering king, builder of cities. My name is none of your business.” He held out the paper sack with the bottle. “No toasts.”

Celestia took it, sipped lightly from it, wiped her lips, and passed it to Mag. Mag sipped as well, and choked.

“What the hell is this? It tastes like Wild Turkey and Nyquil.” She swallowed with some difficulty and handed it back to him.

“That's because it's Wild Turkey and Nyquil,” said the eldest. He drained the bottle and tossed it over his shoulder. It broke against the wall behind him. “Introductions and shared drink, as per the old rules. We can begin.”

Celestia nodded graciously. “Thank you for hearing me. I am—”

“Sorry, sorry, one thing,” said Mag. She stood up. Celestia gave her a warning glance, but stood up alongside her. The eldest stood up as well. Mag's forehead came up to his Adam's apple.

“Just as you like,” said the eldest. He gazed down at her with his calm, hard eyes.

“Cool. You're the regent of Earth?”

“That's right.”

“Guard and guide of the humans since the beginning of the species?”

“King and builder,” growled the eldest.

“But basically yes?”

“King and builder.”

“But basically yes.”

“Speak your piece,” said the eldest.

“I just wanted to make sure, first,” said Mag, and swung her fist in an uppercut.

The eldest stepped back with a smirk. Mag swung again. He ducked a few inches to the right.

“Mag!” barked Celestia.

The eldest caught her fist. She wrested it back, but didn't swing again.

“I get that a lot,” said the eldest to Celestia. “Something on your mind, my little girl?”

“History,” Mag hissed.

“Oh, one of those talks,” said the eldest, rolling his eyes.

“The trans-Atlantic slave trade. The Trail of Tears. JFK. The first world war. Jeffrey Dahmer. Stalin. The Holocaust, for Christ's sake.” Mag poked him in the chest. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Everywhere,” said the eldest. “Sit down before you do something stupider.”

“Stop patronizing me and answer my question."

“I did. You think I'm going to give you a full accounting of my life up to this point? I don't owe you an explanation.”

Celestia interposed herself between the two humans. They stepped back, glaring at each other.

“I think we should discuss this in a different way,” said Celestia.

“Oh, but this is the human way,” said Mag.

“Melodrama?” said the eldest.

“Fighting.”

“Mag, eldest, please sit down,” said Celestia.

Mag ground her teeth, but sat down. So did the eldest, then Celestia.

“Thank you.” Celestia laid a hoof on Mag's arm. Mag felt smooth metal warmed by body heat—a horseshoe. “Mag, you are asking what sounds like a very valid question, but I can't condone violence. You call it the human way, but I've met many people from warrior cultures, and your actions just now wouldn't have fit in among any of them. Going out without a weapon and then attacking a larger opponent unarmed? I would call this the behavior of a normally peaceful person acting out of anger, not a trained warrior expressing herself in culturally appropriate ways.”

“You were also trying to talk about something important when I changed the subject,” said Mag, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sorry.”

“You do have the right,” said Celestia, frowning at the eldest. “As for you, old one, if you don't like to be asked impertinent questions, why would you teach them to be so curious and so angry? And I, too, wish to hear your answers to her questions, because the answers may change how I approach this hearing. I'm going to step back and let her speak first. Mag, would you like to try again?”

“Hold,” said the eldest. “Princess, you asked a rhetorical question just now and I'm going to answer it. It's simple. I taught them anger and curiosity by pretending not to exist, so of course I'm not going to want to answer questions.”

“You let people kill each other because you don't want them to know you exist?” said Mag.

The eldest sneered. “What do you want me to do? Go public? You think all the wars are going to stop if I go on the news and tell people to knock it off?”

“Well...”

“Are you seriously suggesting you can't stop a war?” said Celestia, genuinely surprised.

“I don't stop wars,” said the eldest.

Celestia looked at him as if he'd just eaten a child. “For ponies' sake, why not?”

The eldest took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt away. He'd smoked it down to the filter. “Because I mostly can't. Oh, I can prevent them. I prevent wars all the time. If you all built a monument for every battle I've prevented, you'd run out of space for anything else." He lifted Mag's pack of menthols to his lips, sucked one out, struck a match on a concrete block, and lit up behind a cupped hand. “Can't prevent all of them, of course. Doesn't matter what I do—sometimes someone picks the wrong place and time to mention God or communism or whatever the fuck, and then it's off to kill and die. And I'm not a wizard. I can't walk onto a battlefield and stop time, and if I could, they'd just start dying again after I left. Sometimes humans kill. It's something we do.”

“What can you do?” said Celestia. “What are your powers?”

“Rude question. What are yours?” the eldest said.

“Words and reasoning,” said Celestia.

“And personal illusions, traveling between planes of existence, flight, complete control over the aether on a cosmic scale, a solid operatic soprano, 'excellent hearing,' playing string instruments with your hooves, horn lasers, flower arranging, immortality... the list goes on and on, doesn't it?”

“Those are some of my lesser tools, but yes. And you?”

“We can't all be sun gods,” said the eldest. “Me, I see everything. The past, the future, the world.” He pointed at Mag. “Her great-great-great-great grand-niece's social security number is going to be 114-27-5890.” He gestured to the both of them. “You two talked about how the Equestrian sun orbits Equis.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “The guy who owns this room on paper isn't going to notice the bag of broken glass until after he sells the building in a few years. Other than that, I can heal any wound I get, I know a few little tricks, and I've got two hands. You ever heard of chaos theory?”

“No,” said Celestia.

“Yeah,” said Mag.

“I forget how it works,” said the eldest, “but the idea is that a butterfly flapping its wings in South America can make hurricanes on the other side of the world. I know when and where every metaphorical hurricane butterfly is, so I go around smashing them.”

Celestia brightened with understanding. “Infinitesimal variables can come together to have a massive impact. You can foresee the results of all the variables, so, with enough planning, you're able to change the course of history.”

The eldest turned back to Mag. “So you get it, then? You all complained about the cold war, but it could have been a real war. You're welcome. You're mad about the Holocaust, but it could have been worse. They could have won. You're welcome. Trail of Tears? You should be grateful there are any Indians left. And this species would have died of plague a hundred times over in prehistoric times if it weren't for me. Just shut up.”

“Eldest,” said Celestia in a strange voice, “where is your brother?”

The eldest said nothing.

“You're a sibling,” said the Celestia. “This world was never made to be ruled by just one person, was it? It works, but it's lopsided and warped, like a house missing some of its supports. And there's an emptiness to you, a ragged hole in the shape of a loved one. You had a brother and now he's gone. Where is he?”

He smiled bitterly. “Am I my brother's keeper?”

Mag jumped backward off her seat, stumbled back, swallowed. “Are you saying you murdered him?”

The eldest shrugged.

“Oh, cousin, what have you done?” whispered Celestia.

“I smashed a butterfly,” said the eldest. "An important part of my job is controlling the variables in human history. My brother would have been the biggest variable, and there was only one way I could control him. It was almost the first thing I did in life. Do you know, killing a god is a lot easier when you can see every possible future? You just have to look for a future where he's dead, then see how that future came about, then make it happen.” His eyes narrowed. “What's wrong, princess? Never had to make a tough call before? Or maybe that story sounds familiar to you. You had a sister, didn't you?”

“Be careful what you say next, eldest,” said Celestia in a deadly soft voice.

Mag felt nauseous. “The oldest human, the guy who decided what it means to be human, kicked things off with a murder. That was our defining moment. It makes sense.”

“This is another reason I never explain myself,” said the eldest. “Listen to me. Live a couple of decades or walk a few miles, look around, and you'll see that right and wrong have changed a little. Walk further or live longer and even more changes. You want to know what life would be like if my brother were alive? It'd be incomprehensible to you as you are now. You'd be horrified. You wouldn't even call it civilization, and you wouldn't want to call them humans. The princess would have appeared on the lakeshore, climbed up the hill, met a few of us, and walked right back to the lake to search for a different world. I know this. I stood in that tall grass for the first time at my brother's side, looked at him, and saw. I saw all the futures of humanity, ladies, and this timeline is the only one I could stomach.”

“What, you're the good twin?” said Mag, attempting to process all this in terms she could understand.

“Hell no. I'm the murderer. He was the magical one, all glorious and perfect. His head was full of hopes and dreams, and then I strangled them out of him. Get off my back about this, but don't whitewash it, either. You know I can't enter a home? Our aether laid a punishment on me for what I did. I killed my family, so I can never have another, at least not like that. I can only wander.”

Mag's head whirled. She could just barely tolerate the idea of a flying unicorn princess, or pretend to, anyway. And this mad god fit nicely with what she knew of the world, or so she would have said if someone had described him to her a week ago as a purely hypothetical being. What she couldn't do was reconcile the idea of these two beings existing in the same multiverse. Mag sat down on the floor and pressed her hands to her eyes.

The eldest chuckled. “Let's move on before the mortal has a breakdown.”

“I have two things to say, first,” said Celestia.

“Go ahead,” said the eldest.

“One. I won't go into detail, but if you can see the future then you know I'm not bluffing when I say that, if you don't apologize to me for that comment about my sister, and to Mag for your cruelty, you won't like what follows.”

“Fine, fine,” said the eldest. “I'm sorry, Princess Celestia, for comparing the two of us. I was only saying we both know what it means to make terrible personal sacrifices for our people. Ms. Wilson, I could have dealt with your question in a kinder way, but I didn't, and for that I'm sorry. There, princess. Good enough?”

“For now,” said Celestia. “Two. In all the futures, was there a world where humanity would see your brother's murder as laudable?”

“Of course. If you can describe a world, it was a possibility at one point. Do you realize how many futures there are at any given time? In a chess game—one of the simplest worlds I've ever come across—there are 400 possible different board configurations after both players make their first move of the game. After they go a second time, it's about 200,000. After the third turn, the number is 121 million. Now imagine a board game as complicated as your world or mine, played over the course of eons. That board game is the game I'm playing every day.” He chuckled again. “Can you see why I decided to play both black and white, all those years ago? Me, I think maybe this is the world where I did the right thing. Who knows? And who cares? What's done is done. Did I answer your question?”

“To my satisfaction,” said Celestia.

“Then make your other request,” said the eldest with a languid, magisterial wave.

“Yes, I'd like to leave your company as soon as possible.”

“Then get to the point.”

Celestia sat up straighter. “I want to submit a request for safe passage and temporary residence in your world, along with any refugees I may find who would normally be under my protection. If you're willing, I would also like permission to bargain and treat with your people, helping wherever I may. I will neither make nor request any oath of fealty. I will offer no threat to your sovereignty. I—”

“Boilerplate, boilerplate,” said the eldest. “The standard refugee arrangement. Request granted. But what about your little friend? Protect her and order her around, if you like, but she's not yours.”

Mag took her hands off her eyes. “I'm not yours either, you bastard.” Celestia grinned back at her.

“You're my responsibility,” said the eldest. “That's what the word 'mine' means.”

Mag could have the rest of her philosophical crisis later. “Then I can't possibly be yours, because I'm my responsibility. I make my own decisions. Yeah, you created the world as it is. You're pretty much God. You even created me, sort of, because you made a bunch of choices about how history should go and now here I am. The only real limit on your power over the world is human nature, and you created that too, didn't you? But you know what?” She leaned against Celestia, laid a hand on her back, and rested a cheek on her neck. “Hail Satan.”

The eldest threw his head back and laughed. “Well, just call it a contract between the two of you and it'll be covered under the part of the agreement about bargaining with humans. But princess, don't ever forget that even if I gave her to you and declared you her regent, she'd still be a human. She always will be, and if you try to change that, you'll break her.” He cracked his knuckles and neck, stood, stretched his back, rolled his shoulders. Celestia stepped off her own block.

“We done here?” said the eldest.

“I'd say so,” said Celestia.

“Hopefully forever,” said Mag.

“Good. Thanks for the cigarettes,” said the eldest. “Oh, and Mag? Someone robbed your store last night because you left the door unlocked. I didn't do it.” Then he left.

Mag and Celestia stared at the door for a while. Mag covered her eyes with her hand again. Celestia folded a wing around her shoulders, and Mag pressed her face into Celestia's side.

Author's Notes:

I rewrote this chapter several times and it still looks like this.

Conversation Five

Celestia held the dustpan in place with magic as Mag swept Funyuns into it. The thieves had trashed the place.

“I would think you'd be angrier,” said Celestia. She had assumed her human disguise again.

“One thing I've learned about this job is that people turn feral the moment they walk into a convenience store,” said Mag. “If I started shouting every time someone acted like an animal in here, I'd never stop.”

Celestia emptied the dustpan into the plastic trash bin next to her. “Has this place ever been robbed before?”

“Not while I've been working here, but I think it's happened at least once. Okay, I think this aisle is good. What's in the next one?”

Celestia peered around around the corner of the next aisle. “Quite a lot of melted ice cream. It's mostly dried now.”

“Okay, time for the mop. Isn't that also the aisle they dumped the oil in?”

Celestia took another look. “Yes, over on the other end. Shall we use a towel for that part?”

“Could you do that, please? There are paper towels under the counter.”

“Of course,” said Celestia. She walked over to the lake of car oil at the end of aisle three while rummaging blindly with her magic through the shelves beneath the register. She found the roll of paper towels—a particularly large and thick brand of paper towels Mag regularly ordered from an industrial supply website because, as Mag had told Celestia, customers were animals—floated them over, and pulled off a sheet. Mag walked out the back door to get hot water from the bathroom, remembered that the thieves had stolen the keys to every door in the building including the bathrooms, and instead moved to the spigot against the back wall. She mixed up a bucket of soapy water, grabbed the mop, and went back in.

“Could you also pass me my putty knife?” said Mag. After another rummage, Celestia floated it over.

“Thanks.” Mag dipped the putty knife in the soapy water and got to scraping up ice cream. Celestia finished sopping up the oil and began gathering the empty wrappers strewn everywhere.

Mag remembered something. “Oh, you know what happened that was sort of like this? That time a pack of coyotes got in at night. They ate everything, puked it back up, and left. Less actual property damage and they didn't run off with my keys, but on the other hand, I had to clean it up by myself. Thanks, by the way.”

“I'm hardly going to stand around and watch someone else clean up a mess like this all on her own,” said Celestia, picking up shards of glass from the broken freezer door.

“You're royalty, though,” said Mag.

“Yes, this is novel for me. I've helped with disaster relief before, righting fallen trees and performing large scale counterspells and moving boulders from roads, that sort of thing, but I don't often clean a floor.”

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

“I thought it would be insensitive to say so, but yes,” said Celestia. She picked up and threw away the empty ice cream tubs all over the floor, and hummed a tune as she did it.

Mag shook her head. Celestia was wonderful, beautiful, as unquenchable as the sun, and as perfect as Mary Poppins, and Mag, to her own surprise, appreciated the company. But at the same time, Mag was beginning to understand why the ugly stepsisters hated Cinderella.

“Did you say coyotes?” said Celestia.

“Yeah, coyotes.”

“It's interesting. We had that species of animal in Equestria,” said Celestia.

“Why are our worlds so similar? Same language, same animals. Is it like that with all the worlds?”

“Most worlds have a number of things in common with each other, but not usually to this extent, no. I had to search for quite some time to find a world with so many similarities. Are you going to use that mop?”

“Right after I finish scraping up this ice cream,” said Mag. “You were looking for a world like yours, then?”

“I had hoped to find a world with inhabitants who understood magic on the same level my people do, so that they might help me determine what has happened to my world. Unfortunately your people seem to be mostly blind to the aether, and, so far as I've seen, you don't even detect it. On the other hoof, your grasp of nearly every other science beggars belief, so I'm expecting to find great help here. More importantly, I made a new friend.” She smiled and winked at Mag. “Yes, on the whole, this is a good place to set up.”

“What do you need to set up?”

“If you're just going to sit there, couldn't you let me use the mop?” said Celestia.

“I'm gonna use it as soon as I finish scraping,” said Mag. “If you want to clean up the rest of the oil, you could just use paper towels and dish soap. That might work better anyway.”

“We'll see, I suppose,” said Celestia. “To answer your question, I need to set up a laboratory. I'll know more about what I need by the end of today.”

“Why, what happens at the end of today?”

“There are some things I'd like to check in Equestria. Now that I've had time to rest and think, I've realized there are certain samples I need to collect, certain tests I need to run.”

“We're going dimension-hopping?” said Mag. “Cool!”

“'We?'” said Celestia. She deposited one last soapwater-and-oil-soaked paper towel in the trash, wet a cloth towel in a bucket of clean water, and rinsed the soap from the floor.

Mag braced herself for an argument. “Yeah, 'we.' You want me to sit around and wait for you while you go places no human has ever been?”

Celestia set the “wet floor” sign down where the oil had been and cast around for the next thing to clean. “That's what I'd planned, yes.”

“I have a better plan, and the plan is that you take me with you. And before you tell me it's dangerous, would you say it's more dangerous than the eldest? Because I survived that meeting just fine, and he even scares you.”

“If I had known then what I know now about your eldest, I would have pushed much harder for you to stay behind,” Celestia said sternly.

“And you didn't, and it was horrible, and I'm just dandy all the same,” said Mag. “Come on. Do you really want to fight about this? I don't. I'm not one to complain, and I want you to understand that I don't blame you for any of this, but honestly? Hanging out with you is the one and only good thing about my day so far. Even breakfast sucked, and I was looking forward to that.”

“I certainly can't say much for that wine, at least,” said Celestia. “Well, how about this? For the rest of today, you'll teach me about the human world, and then I'll make the Equestria trip tomorrow instead. The first part of today has been difficult, but we can make something of the rest of it.”

Mag tossed the putty knife into mop bucket and got up. “I'm going to stop being subtle. I was always awful at it anyway. I can't let you go back to Equestria alone because of what it was like for you last time you were there. I realize we just met, but having anyone with you while you're in there would be better than having nobody, right? I'm coming with you.”

And now Mag had embarrassed herself. She bent and fished around in the mop bucket for the putty knife, mostly for something to do other than maintain eye contact. You weren't supposed to come out and say that kind of thing, were you?

Mag glanced up at Celestia and saw a touched expression. “I... wasn't looking forward to that part.”

“Glad we settled that,” said Mag, and mopped the aisle. Her other reason for wanting to come was that she was feeling clingy, but there was no need to mention that.

Cleaning the store had taken hours. Celestia and her magic were an immense help, especially when it turned out that she could lock and unlock doors without a key, and, to Mag's amazement, could even fix the broken glass of the freezer door. Now the only problems were the empty register, the stock shortage, and the fact that, while magic could take the place of keys in the short term, sooner or later they would need the real thing. Mag couldn't decide whether it would be better to call a locksmith before or after her boss came back. She would also probably have to call her boss to tell him about all this, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was talk to someone with a legitimate reason to be angry with her.

Mag snapped the register shut. “I changed my mind. I am mad. Messing up some podunk mountain snack shack is childish, but hey, cleaning up after jerks is half my job. Robbing a convenience store is so mundane that I'm a tiny bit disappointed I wasn't there for it, so I could live the cliché and maybe get some pity points from my boss. But running off with the keys? They're threatening to do the same again sometime. What am I supposed to do, camp out in here until we get the locks changed?”

“I wonder if we could catch the thieves,” Celestia said.

“I don't even want to look at them,” said Mag.

“We could take the keys and perhaps the money back, and I wouldn't mind the chance to give them a talking-to,” said Celestia. “We could also call your local constabulary. You have one, I presume?”

“They wouldn't be able to do anything, and anyway, they'd want to catch the thieves, and what if they do? The thieves are probably teenagers. They'd go to juvie, and I wouldn't wish that on anybody. I know what I'm talking about; I spent a couple weeks there.”

“Juvie?” said Celestia.

“Juvenile hall. Jail for kids. And before you ask, no, I'm not a hardened criminal. It was just some stupid teenager stuff.”

“I trust you,” said Celestia. “It confuses and disturbs me that a child can go to jail for a crime that only merits a two week sentence, though. Surely there's a more appropriate punishment.”

Mag stripped open a Slim Jim. “It was going to be 24 hours, but I got in a couple of fights. Does that make it better or worse?”

“I think I don't know enough about your criminal justice system to comment,” said Celestia. “Do you mind if I ask what you did?”

“Ten years ago, I borrowed my parents' car without their permission. They reported it as stolen because they wanted to teach me a lesson. I got pulled over for coming to a rolling stop. The cop found out what happened and took me to the station, I got in a shouting match with the cop, then again with my mom over the phone, and then with my dad in person. Some other cop put his hand on my shoulder from behind and I turned around and decked him—I know, I know—and they sent me to juvie for the night to be 'scared straight.' Want some Doritos?”

“Some what?” said Celestia. Mag tossed her a small bag. “Oh, I see. Thank you. And judging by the empty wrappers we threw away, it opens like—ah, yes.” Celestia crunched a chip and motioned for Mag to continue.

Mag rang up the chips and Slim Jim, but she couldn't make change because there wasn't any in the register, so she wrote herself a sticky note about it and stuck it to the counter. “Anyway, there was this other girl in juvie that hated me on sight. No idea why. That escalated because neither of us knew how to back down, so, long story short, my stay got extended. It wasn't fun, but it could have been worse.”

Celestia nodded sympathetically and ate another chip.

“You aren't appalled at my dark past?”

“That isn't a dark past; that's a difficult adolescence. Goodness, these are salty. May I have something to drink?”

Mag tossed her a water bottle. Celestia opened it without difficulty—apparently they had twist tops in Equestria—and drank a third of it in one go. She set the bottle down on the floor and frowned at her Dorito-dust-stained hand. Mag tossed her the roll of paper towels.

“Thank you,” said Celestia. “As I was saying, I've never come across a culture in which adolescence is easy, and some individuals have it harder than others depending on personality and circumstances.”

“Yeah, well, I was an independent-minded and opinionated teenage girl in an authoritarian family,” said Mag. “They had me memorize every bible verse related to obedience when I was a little kid. I had to wear dresses, never pants, and I was supposed to call my parents 'sir' and 'ma'am.' There were a lot more rules, but maybe you get the picture. At some point I started testing boundaries. Little things. Sarcasm, lying, sitting without crossing my legs. They got mad, I got mad, they punished me, I retaliated, they punished me more, I pushed harder, so did they. We fought every day over every little thing. After a couple of years of this, it got to the point where the cops had to come over a couple times a week to pull us apart, and I loved that, because sometimes it meant I could spend the night in a cell rather than at home. Some of the best rest I got back then was behind bars. Eventually I turned 18, moved to the other side of the country without giving them an address, and just generally cut them out of my life. Oh, for—stop looking all sad. That was the best decision I've ever made.”

“But family—”

“No,” Mag said firmly. “You don't know how ugly it got. You don't know how it felt. Trust me. By the time I left, they were every bit as done with me as I was with them. I think they moved out right after I did, to make sure I couldn't ever come back. This is not one of those stories that ends in a tearful reunion where everyone forgives everyone else. God, will you stop looking at me like that?”

Celestia looked away, but her eyes didn't change.

“Sorry,” said Mag.

Celestia sighed. “I have seen families like that. There are few things I loathe more than the estrangement of a family member, but I understand that sometimes there's no other option.” She looked at Mag again. “You heard what the eldest said to me about my sister, I believe.”

“I remember,” Mag said.

“First, I'd like to say that both my actions and my motivations were completely different from his. The eldest's comparison doesn't apply in the slightest.”

Mag threw the Slim Jim wrapper at the trash can and missed. “You don't even have to say it. I could tell that that was just him being horrible. God, he's so horrible. What is wrong with that guy?”

The wrapper floated the rest of the way into the trash. “Madness, or something like it. The eldest sees everything—the past, the present, all possible futures, and every inch of your entire world in each of those contexts. We all take our cues from our environment, and the eldest's environment as he sees it bears little resemblance to what you or I would recognize as reality. I asked him if there was an alternate world where the murder of his brother was moral, and he said yes. What other strange worlds does he have in his head? Which world does his moral compass come from? What would such a man even value?”

“I don't know if you could call him crazy,” said Mag. “I've met people with brain problems before. You know, people who hear voices and believe weird things. Schizophrenic, that's the word. They weren't like him. Mostly they just seemed scared, and I walked away wishing they didn't have to feel like that. The eldest wasn't scared. He was a di—a jerk the entire time, and on purpose. He liked it when we got mad and he laughed when I freaked out. He was—you know what, no. I'm done thinking about him. It's just too horrible. What were you saying about your sister?”

“Let's walk down to the lake as I talk,” said Celestia. “I would like to use it again to travel the worlds, as it's easier to use a reflective surface I've passed through before. The trip to Equestria shouldn't take too long now that I know where this world is in relation to mine, so, with luck, we'll be back by lunch. Are you ready to go, or would you like to rest a bit more?”

“I'm ready.” Mag picked up her purse and walked around the counter.

“It's beautiful here,” said Celestia, looking up at the sun through the pine needles.

“Yeah, I like the mountains better than the city. I lived in LA a couple months and it was terrible.”

“LA?”

“Los Angeles. A huge city about a hundred miles to the west. It's full of smog and people and there's nowhere to park.”

Celestia gazed west. “A pessimistic answer, but I'd like to see one of your cities.”

“You were going to tell a story,” Mag reminded her.

“Yes, while we walk. Shall we?”

Mag led Celestia down a steep dirt path. At first it was just wide enough for one person, so that Celestia had to follow behind Mag, but it opened up and leveled out after a couple of twists in the trail, letting them walk side by side.

“Can anyone see us, do you think?” said Celestia.

“Well, this trail isn't exactly remote, but I can't see any houses, and I don't think there are that many people who would know about a rough little path that goes from the edge of the less popular side of the lake to the back of a convenience store.”

Celestia let the disguise slip away and breathed deep. “Much better.”

It was strangely easy to forget that Celestia was a pony. As a human she was merely regal, only slightly uncanny, barely angelic at all. There was always that same sense of pressure, but Mag was learning how to deal with it. But then, just when you got used to being around her, she changed back into a glorious pony princess.

“I've stalled long enough. I owe you a story.” Celestia settled into a steady, thoughtful walking pace, the better to think and talk. “I wish I could say it started with the parasite, but really, it started because she was alone. Luna is—was—is the princess of the night. She plays other roles as well, but what's important is that she always performed them at night, and our ponies have always slept through the night. They're afraid of the dark, and the dark is what she is. There was no one for her to talk to and no one to vent at. And I did nothing, because I didn't understand what I was seeing in her. People should not be alone in life, Mag.” She gave Mag a meaningful glance.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Good. Where was I? Right. Now, there is a kind of creature that preys on sentient beings. There's no proper name for it, but it's essentially a conceptual parasite. Each one is different, with different methods of predation and consumption. The one I am speaking of now, which some call Nightmare, preyed on loneliness by fostering jealousy and then making an offer of power in exchange for a say in the host's decisions. After convincing the host she had no one to care for and the only recourse was to punish the world, the parasite would make its sales pitch. If the host accepted the deal, she would find herself steadily growing in magical strength while losing progressively more control over her actions. Eventually she would have all the power in the world, and all the volition of a marionette.”

“'She,' you keep saying. Did it only prey on women?” said Mag.

“I'm not sure. I never allowed it to spread. I only say 'she' because its host was my sister.”

Mag winced. She could see where this was going. “What did you have to do?”

“I couldn't separate them, and someone like Luna is capable of immense destruction even without the parasite. I wanted to search for a way to cure her, but she forced my hoof by not allowing the sun to rise. I fought her, and imprisoned both her and the parasite inside the moon for a thousand years in the hope that I could come up with a plan before her return.”

“And did you? Come up with a plan, I mean?”

“I did. There are greater powers than I, and she and I used to have limited access to one of them, or perhaps I should say six of them. The elements of harmony, they're called. Have you heard the expression 'Omnia vincit amor?'”

Mag scratched the back of her neck in thought. “'Everything,' uh, something, 'love?' Is that 'Love conquers all?' I've heard that. I think someone wrote that in Ancient Greece.”

“That may be where I came across it,” said Celestia.

“I always liked 'Love is as strong as death' better. Love is cool and all, but since when does love beat death? Everything dies. Death always wins. It's like playing rock-paper-scissors-black hole.”

“Perhaps,” said Celestia.

“You used love to beat the demon?”

“I wouldn't use the word 'demon,'” said Celestia. “It's too dignified. It gives the parasite credit that it doesn't deserve. But yes, you could say that. I passed the elements of harmony into the care of six loving ponies. Individually the elements represented virtues, and the ponies lived lives devoted to, well, not always to the demonstration of that virtue, but certainly lives devoted to contemplating what it meant to be generous or kind or loyal. Together the elements and their ponies were a force of harmony and friendship. The elements are the nearest thing to the pure physical embodiment of love I've ever come across, and their power is limitless. They defeated Luna and the Nightmare at the height of their strength, and, when the six new bearers wielded the elements, they destroyed the Nightmare entirely. So, yes, I would say the 'demon' was defeated with love.”

“The demon that wasn't a demon,” said Mag.

“Just so.”

“What were the virtues? Which ones did you get, when you and Luna found them? Or could you both use all six if you wanted?”

“They divided themselves between us,” said Celestia. “ As for my elements, it hardly matters now, I suppose, but I had the elements of kindness, laughter, and generosity. She got loyalty, honesty, and magic. Neither of us really exemplified any of those traits, in hindsight, but I also think our ability to live those ideals was less important than the role they've played in our respective lives, just like the new bearers.” Celestia's face twisted with loss. “A student of mine became the element of magic. She would send me weekly letters on what she had recently learned about friendship, and those letters taught me to love them all. Skies and scars, I miss them so much.”

Mag laid her hand on Celestia's back. “What are their names?”

“Rarity, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy. Twilight Sparkle.” Then Celestia said suspiciously, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing, they're wonderful names,” said Mag. She should have known what to expect, really. This was not a good time to laugh. This was not a good time to laugh. It was vitally important that she not laugh.

“Oh, get it out of your system before you hurt yourself.”

Mag gave up and cackled. “I'm sorry! I can't help it. Your world is pure cane sugar. 'Good morning, Fluttershy!' 'Top of the mornin' to you, Twilight Sparkle.'” The laughter faded and all she was left with was confusion. “What I don't get is how something like your world can be real. In your world, ponies control the weather by pushing clouds around with what, flying steam shovels? Meanwhile, in my world, we have the plague.”

“Don't forget that we also had things like the Nightmare,” said Celestia. “You have computers. You have this forest. And, for all your studied cynicism, you're still willing to concede that love is as strong as death. Where did you learn that, if not in a worthwhile world?”

“You're getting preachier by the second. The lake is close, by the way.”

“I can smell the water,” said Celestia.

“I come down here on my lunch hour once or twice a week. The lake has a good smell to it.”

Celestia smiled. “It does, doesn't it?”

The lake came into view, with its bottle green water and tall grass growing along the shore. It was nearing noon. There were no clouds, and the reflection of the sun burned gold on the water.

“I'm sorry,” said Mag. “I wish I hadn't laughed at your friends' names.”

Celestia turned her nose up theatrically. “It's a nice day, so I'll forgive you if you admit that 'Mag' is a sillier name than the ones you laughed at.”

Mag crossed her arms. “Never. 'Mag' is a completely reasonable name, unlike 'Princess Celestia,' the strangest nonfictional name I've ever heard.”

"Insolence. But I need your help, so this bulrush shall take the punishment in your stead." Celestia bit the head off a nearby cattail crunched it vindictively.

Mag rolled her eyes. "Consider me chastised."

Author's Notes:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHOHi5ueo0A

Conversation Six

Watching someone open a path between dimensions should have been interesting. It wasn't.

Mag sat on the grass a few feet from the back with her forearms resting on her knees. “How long does this usually take again?”

Celestia stood in the water up to a little above her fetlocks, staring intently down at her own reflection. “As I've said twice already, it takes as long as it takes.”

Mag dug through her purse for something to do. “I'm more looking for a status update, here.”

“The status is that I haven't seen a frayed edge yet, and my friend keeps distracting me. The status was the same last time you asked how long this is going to take, and the status will be the same the next time you ask.”

“Frayed edge?”

“No reflection is perfect. Look for the tiny inconsistencies between the reflection and the world it reflects, and you've found the frayed edge.” Celestia had relaxed as she spoke. She seemed to like teaching.

Mag pointed. “The water is rippling and it makes you look goofy. There, an inconsistency.”

“Inconsistencies, not imperfections in the reflective surface. A hair of my mane in the wrong place. A cloud that's too far to the southeast. A faint light or distant face. Have you ever seen something strange in a mirror out of the corner of your eye? That was the frayed edge of reality.”

“Because I'd entered... The Twilight Zone,” said Mag dramatically. “Do they have TV in Equestria? No, probably not, because you didn't compare my computer to a television. But do you have film? Moving pictures?”

“Projected moving pictures,” said Celestia. She hadn't blinked since she'd started.

“Cool,” said Mag. “I should show you Youtube when we get back. We can do a Twilight Zone marathon. Hey, have you considered trying to surprise your reflection by doing something it wouldn't expect?”

“Yes. Most dimension travelers try that at some point. It doesn't work, unfortuna—there!” Celestia plunged her head into the water. The water didn't splash, and the waves of the lake passed through her neck as if it weren't there.

“Weird. What now?”

Celestia flicked her tail.

“What's that mean?”

Celestia flicked her tail again, more insistently.

Mag got up. “You want me to follow you? Sure.” She stepped offshore and her shoes filled up with near-freezing water. “Blah! You couldn't have mentioned how cold this was?”

Celestia flicked her tail once again.

“Okay, how about this? If I'm doing the thing you want me to do, flick your tail up. If not, then to the side.”

Celestia flicked her tail diagonally.

“That means I sort of am and sort of aren't, right?”

Celestia flicked her tail up.

“Can I get another hint?”

Celestia whipped Mag lightly on the leg with her tail.

“Oh, come on. I'm the one with wet socks. I'll catch my death in this.”

Celestia, still holding her head in place, sidestepped clockwise until her tail was next to Mag's hand.

“Grab your tail?” Mag did.

Now Celestia stepped forward and Mag followed her into deeper, colder water. Celestia's white back tilted as if she were going sharply downhill and then disappeared under the water. Mag took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

The cold was hellish. Mag wondered for a few painful moments whether Celestia was who she said she was, or if Mag had in fact fallen for the schemes of a kelpie with extremely circuitous hunting methods. Then there was light, followed by the vertigo that naturally came with gravity suddenly moving 90 degrees. Mag fell into warm grass and curled into a ball around her waterlogged purse.

“C-c-cold,” said Mag.

Celestia stood above her. “I beg your pardon for not warning you. I also wish I'd told you what to do next after I saw the edge, but we worked it out, so things turned out all right. Here, this should help.” Celestia's horn glowed.

Water crawled across Mag's skin and out of her clothes, pooling around her. Mag pulled herself halfway up, staggered a few feet away from the water, and dropped back down into a ball.

“Still cold?” Celestia's horn glowed again and the air warmed around them.

Eventually Mag uncurled herself and opened her eyes.

She lay on a grassy hill under an overcast sky of goldenrod clouds. Door-sized standing mirrors littered the hill, one every few yards in every direction, all of them unassumingly reflecting the grass and sky. Every mirror was framed and every frame was different. Celestia lay next to her on her belly, watching and waiting. A slow, dry breeze drifted down the hill.

“Better?” said Celestia.

“My phone is probably done for and I just soaked most of a pack of cigarettes, but other than that, yeah,” said Mag. She examined the mirror they'd come through and was disappointed to discover that for the most part it was just a mirror. It reflected Mag back at herself (brown hair in a ponytail, thin lips, slouching a bit) standing in the grass, with Celestia behind. Her reflection did nothing untoward so far as Mag could see, blinking as she blinked and shifting as she shifted.

The frame of the mirror was a point of interest, at least. Persons unknown had carved words and phrases into the wood in a variety of languages. Mag recognized some of the languages, but some were more alien. Some were impossible. One, a chain of interlocking hexagons with each link filled with blobby shapes, seemed to have altered slightly every time Mag glanced back at it. One was in French. None were in English.

Mag looked at Celestia in the mirror. “Where do these come from? What do they mean?”

“Travelers will sometimes leave notes on mirrors for each other. Small pieces of advice. Attempts to characterize the inhabitants.” Celestia pointed at the hexagons. “'The people of thirst.'” Then, at the French sentence. “'Enter in peace, but at arms.'” At a vertical column of shallow, serpentine scratches. “'The hollow lords.'” At a pair of pictograms so old that the breeze had eroded them as smooth as if they'd been sanded. “'Save them.'”

Mag traced those last words with her finger. They were the oldest message there.

Celestia approached. “This is the Valley of Mirrors. There are other places a reflection might lead to, but most lead here. It's the safest In-Between I know of for mortal travelers, but don't let your guard down. I only mean it's safer than, say, the Gray Sea or the Walled Path, and that isn't a difficult hurdle.”

“What should I look out for?”

“Other travelers, or things you don't understand.”

“I don't understand anything here,” said Mag.

“Then stay close and keep asking questions,” said Celestia.

Mag moved in close. “What's at the bottom of the valley?”

“A lake,” said Celestia.

“Does the lake have a reflection?”

“Yes, and the world it leads to is used as a kind of quarantine zone for dangerous artifacts,” said Celestia.

“Let me guess. No touchy?”

The corner of Celestia's mouth twitched. “Yes, no touchy. In fact, let that be your mantra so long as we're out of your world. When in doubt, no touchy.”

“Cool. So, just to confirm, I'm completely and utterly out of my depth here, right?”

“You have no idea,” said Celestia. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, I'm starting to think we shouldn't screw around,” said Mag.

“Then you're paying attention. Now that you're ready, we're going to teleport.”

Mag stepped back. “What?”

“Equestria is a great distance away, and we didn't bring food, drink, or supplies of any kind. Walking isn't feasible.”

“Teleporting??”

“It's perfectly safe,” said Celestia.

“How do you know? How does it work?”

“I know it's safe because some ponies can teleport if they work hard enough at it, and nopony has ever been hurt in transit,” said Celestia. “As for how it works, understanding it even in layman's terms would require you to have more senses than you seem to. Simply put, it's magic. I'll cast a spell that takes us from one location to another without our having to pass through the intervening space.”

“Okay, but how does it work? Does it break us down into particles, whizz us off to where we're going, and then put us back together?”

“No, it leaves the teleporting object or person intact. It's painless and instantaneous. There are no risks.”

“I don't—” then Mag realized what Celestia had just said and nearly collapsed with laughter. “'Nopony?' Seriously?”

Celestia frowned. “Is there a problem?”

Mag covered her grin with her hand. “No, no problem. Just another sugar rush. Hey, you know what? I feel all right about this now. Do your thing.”

First they were somewhere, and then they were somewhere else. It was as simple as that.

“My world,” said Celestia. She did not sound enthused.

This part of the valley looked more or less the same, right down to the positioning of the nearby mirrors, except for two things. Firstly, the slope of the hill had pitched a few degrees. Secondly, the mirror they now stood in front of didn't reflect the valley. Instead it showed an endless, starless night. The wooden frame was carved with new and different messages. This time, one was in English: “The beloved.” Mag didn't ask about the rest.

“After I cast a few spells on you, this will likely be the least dangerous part of the trip. There is nothing left to hurt you, after all.” Celestia tried to smile and failed. “This one will let you breathe.” Her horn glowed and something like a yellowish soap bubble appeared around Mag's head. “This will protect against the lack of air pressure, which, believe me, is far more important than it sounds.” The glow continued. Something almost but not quite like cloth wrapped itself snugly around Mag's hands and clothes.

“A space suit?” said Mag, looking at the cloth closely.

“A fan of speculative fiction, I see,” said Celestia.

Mag smirked. “Guess again. Humans have gone to space a bunch of times. We've even landed on the moon.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “You're joking again.”

“We have video evidence. I'll show you later.”

Celestia studied Mag's face. Her other eyebrow lifted to make a matching pair with the first. “You're serious.”

“Ha! Yeah, it's awesome. We totally went to the moon, hopped around a bit, planted a flag, drove a little golf cart thing, tossed a ball back and forth, and went back home. When we all finally kill each other and there's nothing left but the roaches, there'll still be that flag on the moon.”

Celestia rested a hoof on her cheek. “My word.” She said it with no irony at all.

“It happened because my country got into a space race with another country called the USSR because of a rivalry about economic principles. It's a long story.”

“And now I want to see a few of your history books,” said Celestia. She glanced at the black mirror. The light died in her eyes again.

Mag clapped her hands. “Come on. We get this over with, we go home, you run your tests, and then it's movie night.”

Celestia bowed her head and clenched her eyes shut. Mag hesitated, then laid a hand on Celestia's neck.

“This isn't going to take that long, right?” said Mag.

“No,” said Celestia quietly.

“And it'll help you get them back?”

“Possibly,” said Celestia.

“Well... whenever you're ready,” said Mag.

Celestia opened her eyes. She looked paler than usual, if that was possible, but determined. “Yes, of course it's possible. This has to be done. I have one more spell, and then, I'm sorry, but you'd better climb on my back again.”

Some tiny, starved little part of Mag's soul, the part that wanted seventeen kittens and wished it could fly, kept insisting that riding on Celestia's back was the bestest thing to ever happen to her and she should take every opportunity to repeat the experience. The rest of her dreaded it. Celestia was too small to ride comfortably, wasn't wearing a saddle, and didn't have anything Mag could really hang onto. If there was a way to do it that didn't end in pain, Mag hadn't found it.

“That's fine,” sighed Mag.

“Or I could try riding on your shoulders,” said Celestia.

“You joke, but I'll bet it'd be about as pleasant either way.”

“We can experiment later. Now, as you said, let's get this over with. The last spell changes how gravity affects you. Here you are.”

Celestia's horn flared one more time. Mag didn't feel any different until she lifted her arm, at which point she floated slowly upward.

Mag flailed. “Ah! What? Save me!”

Celestia grabbed Mag with her magic, sat her down on her back, and held her in place. “Your science hasn't found a way to do that, I take it. It's a small safety measure, in case you slip away from me. Now gravity will pull you to the nearest object as if that object were solid ground, regardless of that object's size, and, instead of pulling you harder as you get closer, it'll do the reverse. There should also be an effect that slows you down as you approach something, so you shouldn't be able to accelerate enough to harm yourself even if you somehow end up a thousand miles away from the nearest object.”

“You're surprisingly well prepared.”

“I once had another student who was fascinated with the idea of space. Starswirl extensively studied the nature of gravity and how magic interacted with it. He never made it to space, but he truly believed somepony would someday, and he did reams upon reams of original spellwork to ensure that ponykind was prepared.”

“And so you are,” said Mag.

“Yes. One more thing: we unfortunately won't be able to speak without air.”

“I know,” said Mag. “Do you think I can leave my purse here?”

“Without it being stolen, do you mean? I wouldn't worry. Travelers aren't so common, and they would likely be too cautious to touch an unfamiliar object in this place.”

Mag leaned over as well as she could from Celestia's back and let go of her purse. The gravity spell hadn't affected it, so it dropped to the ground. “No big deal if it rains, since it's already full of lake water. Okay, I'm good.”

“Then off we go.”

Celestia stepped into the mirror.

It wasn't like space. There were no stars and no light of any kind except from Celestia's horn, and the light fell on nothing. It was so quiet that Mag could hear her own rushing blood. Now Mag understood. This was the corpse of a universe.

Mag realized Celestia hadn't moved. She floated in place, wings and legs slack. Mag couldn't say anything to her, so she leaned forward and hugged her as best she could, the bubble around Mag's head distorting enough to let Mag lay her brow in Celestia's mane. Celestia seemed to understand and raised her head, flapping her wings once. Where were they going? Celestia had said something about samples, but hadn't given any further details.

Celestia's horn went out, and there was nothing to the world but the warmth of Celestia's fur.

Now Celestia had gone and Mag floated alone in the cold black nothing. She touched the head-bubble and found it to be intact. The spells were holding. When had Celestia left? Mag must have fallen asleep.

She supposed she should be afraid, but it was so peaceful now. For the first time in nearly a day the pressure in Mag's head was gone. She hadn't realized how heavy it had gotten. Now Celestia was gone and there was no one but herself. There was nothing left to worry about. No responsibilities, no one to speak to her, no one to upset or disappoint, nothing to clean because this was the cleanest place in all the worlds. When had she last felt this calm? Tuesday night in the town jail a few days after her 17th birthday. No, one of the guards had tried to strike up a conversation that night and wouldn't go away, and then someone in the drunk tank had moaned the entire night. At home on the weekend with nowhere to be? No, there was always, always something that needed doing, just one more thing, and then another. Had it been... never?

How would Celestia find her? In fact, how had Celestia lost her? Maybe the dark had eaten Celestia just as it had eaten her world. If that had happened, would her spells still work?

But it was possible Celestia was gone. Mag wondered why this didn't upset her. She could admit, at least in the privacy of her own mind at the center of death's empty heart, that she had loved Celestia on sight. Celestia was everything she didn't believe in. She was meaning and purpose, understanding, selflessness. There was that set of touchingly unrealistic moral principles that, so far as Mag knew, she had held throughout all her interminable life. Yes, it was only reasonable that she had faded away and would never come back. The only puzzle was how someone—ha, “somepony”—could last so long, how the real world could tolerate someone like that. And Mag would die here, of course. It was probably her own fault. But Celestia wasn't there to grieve over it, so it wasn't so bad.

“Who goes there?”

Mag flinched.

“You have wandered far from your proper place, mortal.”

Mag looked around, but saw no lights. “Where are you and how are you talking?” And what had she been thinking a moment ago? Suddenly it seemed so pointlessly maudlin. And surely Celestia was all right. Right?

I am nowhere, anymore.

“Really? Because if I can hear you, and the only thing I can hear is my thoughts, then it seems like you're in my head. That's not nowhere.”

“It matters not. Now identify yourself. What manner of creature are you, and why do you trespass here?”

“My name is Mag.” Acting on a hunch, she added, “I'm here with your sister.”

Ah, yes. Now there was a new aura pressing close. It wasn't so unlike Celestia's, with that same sense of silent song. This one made her think of music boxes. There were differences, however. Celestia's aura was overwhelming; her sister's was hypnotic and comparatively subtle. What was her name again?

“DO NOT MOCK ME. My sister and all my world has gone. I swear upon the memory of the stars that I will fill thee with a lifetime of waking nightmares if—”

“No, seriously,” said Mag. “She's fine. I don't know where she is right this second, but I think she's somewhere in Equestria collecting samples. She's going to die of happiness when she sees you.”

A pause. My sister is truly alive?

“Yeah, can you find her somehow? And bring me with you. She probably wants me back, and I want to see her face when you guys meet.”

“Truly? My sister is alive?”

“Yep,” said Mag.

"Truly??"

“Yeah, can you find her?”

There was no answer.

“Don't forget me,” said Mag.

“Alive,” said Celestia's sister damply. "She's alive? She's alive! She's alive!! And the others?"

“We're, uh, well, we're working on that one,” said Mag.

“Would that I could help you. There is nothing left of me but a dream, and you and I wouldn't even be able to speak if I hadn't caused you to sleep. Yet you've changed the flavor of my confinement with this news of my sister, and for that I thank you. You say your name is Mag? I shall remember it.”

“What, you're giving up? Let's work this out. We can get you out of here, I'll bet. Can you hitch a ride in my brain somehow?”

“Yes, I believe I could, but what then? Will you carry me around in your head for the rest of your life? I myself have been possessed in the past, and I have no wish to visit that experience on any other being, however willing.”

“You think I'm going to leave you here? Dude, it's fine. You want me to wake up and tell your sister I found you and then didn't do anything about it? What do you think she'd say?”

“She would tell you that you chose correctly, and that she is overjoyed to learn that I still live in some poor capacity. She will no doubt find a safe place for you, then come to visit me.”

Mag crossed her arms. “I've been arguing with gods all day and I've won every time so far. Give up and hop into my brain.”

“I'll not play into the self-annihilating impulses of some petulant human. I need simply wait for you to awaken, and our disagreement shall end.”

“Oh, you know what I am?”

“Yes, I now recall that my sister once told me of a distant world housing a species of plains apes in the rough shape of chimpanzees, but elongated in the same way the giraffe is an elongated goat. Warriors, she called you, and slavers. She praised your invention and adaptability but ultimately advised a policy of avoidance. Now I see your mind, and, in all candor, I have as little wish to dwell in the dreams of a human as I do to impose myself on the psyche of another.”

“You can read my mind?”

“Read it? We are in it. All that you see here is what you brought with you.”

Mag looked around. “Yeah, well, I can't see anything, unless that's what you're getting at, in which case that's an impressively dramatic thing to say. But I'm still right.”

“Let us say you are. what do you propose to do about it?” said the princess, amused.

“Bicker about it until you agree.”

“Then do continue making your argument. I shall simply wait in silence until—”

Mag woke up. She lay in the tall grass again under the yellow clouds, and Celestia was shaking her.

“Mag! Mag! What happened?”

“Your sister is still alive,” Mag muttered. God, it was bright here.

Celestia gasped. “You're all right. Oh, thank goodness, you're all right. I don't know what I would have done if I'd led you to your death. What did you say?”

Mag's mouth opened without her permission and said, “I'm alive, sister.” It was her own voice, but the intonations and pronunciations were different.

Celestia's face was a picture.

“Ooh, I win after all,” said Mag in her own voice. “What's up, other princess? Did you change your mind?”

Now the other princess spoke in her head. “No, but it appears I never had a choice in the matter. You have indeed won, but only by default. And it now occurs to me that, though I am an unwilling guest, it is wrong to hijack the use of your voice without your permission. Human, may I speak with my sister for a little while?”

Of course, Mag thought to the princess.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” said the other princess in Mag's head.

“Oh, I thought you'd be able to hear my thoughts,” said Mag. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Having someone else use Mag's mouth was by far the strangest thing she had ever felt. “I am all right, sister, and I'm overjoyed to see you. I thought I was all that remained of Equestria.”

Celestia shook off her astonishment and said, “What happened? How are you doing this? I miss your face, Luna. Where are you?”

“Alas, all that's left of me is my dreaming self, which this human now holds in her mind, and we must be content with that. As for what happened to Equis, I know nothing except what I witnessed from the edge of dreams.”

“I remember that you were asleep,” said Celestia. “Maybe that's how you survived. Did you find other dreamers after the world ended?”

“No, only the formless, gray remains of Dreamland, and I was alone there until I found the dreams of this mortal—the contents of which I will not describe to anyone, human Mag, so you needn't fear for your privacy,” said Luna.

“Thanks,” said Mag. “Good, I can take my mouth back whenever I need it. Hey, you know, you were worried, but I'm feeling okay with this so far. Anyway, don't mind me. You guys keep talking.”

“I promise you the novelty will wear thin,” said Luna. It seemed unfair that Luna could talk to Mag silently while Mag had to speak. “I shall do whatever I can to make this less difficult, but I think a time will come when we each regret today.”

“I didn't anticipate this at all,” said Celestia. “Mag, are you sure you're all right?”

“I think I am. I don't feel different or anything. Question: did this happen because I wanted it to?”

Luna answered Mag out loud, again speaking with Mag's own mouth. “No. This is a phenomenon caused by the freak intersection of forces, and however this happened, I can't imagine that our wishes played a part. Mine certainly didn't. Unless you have some sovereignty over dreams?”

“Nope, I never even remember my dreams. Well, at least that means it's no one's fault if this all turns tragic somehow,” said Mag.

“No one's fault, and yet our responsibility to prevent,” said Celestia.

“I concur. Take this seriously, Mag.”

Mag picked up her sopping purse and threw it at the back of another mirror. It bounced off with a slapping noise and spilled wet change into the grass. “Take this seriously? How? I'm permanently brain-pregnant with an extradimensional horse queen of the night.”

“Pony.”

“Yeah, that.” Mag leaned her shoulder against the mirror. She banged her temple against it a couple of times, trying to bludgeon a bit of sense into things in general. It didn't work. “You see, this kind of situation is what we in the business of apathy call 'fatal but not serious.' I mean, yeah, fine, okay. Okay. I hereby officially acknowledge that, even though I still think this is the best way Luna's situation could have worked out short of Luna spontaneously growing a body, it's true that things could get ugly if it turns out I can't handle having a god riding shotgun in my head, and I've got to be proactive in learning how to handle it. That said, you have to admit this is ridiculous.”

“I wouldn't call it that,” said Celestia.

“And what would you call it? Something more positive and inspirational? Please don't say 'an opportunity.'”

“I would call it step one.”

“And step two is what?”

“I don't know. Let's go and find out.” Celestia smiled encouragingly.

“You two realize, do you not, that the In-Between is not a place for giving away one's position with protracted conversation, then standing still?”

“So I'm told,” said Mag.

Celestia raised a hoof. “You know what? I've already figured out step two. In step two, we find a way for the three of us to have a conversation without me missing every other thing my little sister says.”

“She says this isn't the place to talk about this.”

Celestia teleported them back to Earth's mirror instead of answering; Mag's purse landed next to her. Celestia leaned in to whisper, “Luna is right. We need to be more cautious than we were just now. As a matter of fact it would be best if we were quiet until we've returned to Earth, in case something has picked up on our presence.”

“Your breath smells like Doritos,” Mag whispered back.

Celestia turned to the mirror, but looked back and waved her tail near Mag's hand. Mag grabbed it.

“Keep watch,” whispered Celestia, and fixed her gaze on her own reflection.

Mag knelt to pick up her purse. “What am I watching for?” she said, quietly enough that it only reached her own ears.

“Changes in the light,” answered Luna. “Patches of grass moving against the wind. The voices of people you know who shouldn't be here.”

Mag lowered her voice a bit more. “And that clicking sound?”

Somewhere out among the mirrors there approached a complex, rhythmic, metallic clicking, like a wandering orchestra of scissors. It was impossible to tell how close it was.

“Warn Celestia.”

“Hear that?” whispered Mag.

“Yes,” whispered Celestia, but didn't move, blink, or respond further.

Mag tried moving her mouth without vocalizing at all. “Now what?” Luna didn't answer.

She tried again in a whisper of a whisper. “Now what?”

“We can only wait for Celestia to find the edge. It is too late to flee, except into a mirror. There is nothing we can do to disguise our presence from it, for the collectors can feel both of your heartbeats through the vibrations in the ground. Combat is not an option.”

“Not an option? For Celestia?”

“Soft, human. Softly. We have attracted the attention of one creature already.”

“Mm.”

“Good.”

“Mm?”

“Combat is not an option because, when a collector is injured, the others come. All of them.”

“Gck.”

“You grasp the situation.”

The clicks were getting distinctly louder. Mag glimpsed a tendril in the distance, a whirring chaos of struts and wires—and then Celestia stepped into the mirror. Mag clenched the tip of Celestia's tail and darted after her.

The cold was even worse now that she was expecting it. Mag scrambled to reorient herself in those liminal, airless seconds, breached the surface of the lake and drank in the sight of the Earthly sky. Celestia hovered over Mag on her great swan's wings, lifted her out, and flew her to shore, where she performed the same drying and warming spells she had before.

When Mag felt alive enough to talk again, she said, “Tomorrow I'm going down the hill to buy a full length mirror that we can keep in the living room. We can use that from now on, instead of this ice-water freaking lake.”

“Every edge is cold, and a new path is always dangerous to pass through, but it's possible to get lucky. Perhaps you'll find a worthwhile mirror.”

“Mag?”

“Yeah?”

“May I borrow the rest of your body? Please, for a few minutes only. Just that.”

“Sure.”

Mag relaxed and Luna took over. Luna drew in and then let go of a shaking breath. She closed Mag's eyes, breathed deep again, smoother now, and breathed out. Then once again, in, out. Mag felt it all.

Luna tried to stand, but fell forward onto Mag's hands. “Sister,” she said.

Celestia helped her up. Luna stood straight for a bare second and then fell to her knees. She touched Celestia's shoulder. They hugged.

“We are alive,” said Luna.

“And together,” said Celestia.

“Then we are home.”

Conversation Seven, Followed by an Aside

“This is a car,” said Mag. It was a blue Saturn from late 90's with sun-damaged paint and a missing hubcap. They loaded the groceries into the car while Celestia explained plastic, even though Luna hadn't asked.

Celestia bent to look at the undercarriage. “Another amazingly complex device.”

“But what does it do?” said Luna.

“You can talk out loud whenever you like, you know,” said Mag.

“I would rather not impinge on your agency.”

“You're worried about abusing the poor little mortal, but I'm worried about you feeling trapped in there. Chill out and talk.”

“Sometimes I shall, then, but I intend to request permission whenever I have anything long-winded to say,” said Luna.

“That's fine,” said Mag. “By the way, the left hand is yours if I'm not using it.”

Mag's brow furrowed without her say-so. Luna said, “For emergencies only.”

“Whenever I'm not using it,” said Mag. “Something funny, Sunny?”

“You look like a madwoman, arguing with yourself like that,” said Celestia.

“Then my true colors are showing. But Luna knows all about that, right? She saw my dreams.”

“I have seen far worse.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” said Celestia.

“No way,” said Mag, and popped the hood to distract them.

“Oh, my,” said Celestia, walking a slow half-circle to admire the engine.

“But what does all this do? Is it some manner of unnecessarily complicated conveyance?”

“Luna keeps asking what it does,” said Mag.

“It's a vehicle,” said Celestia, proud to know it.

“How does it operate?”

“'How dost it operateth?'” said Mag in officious pseudo-British.

“I'm, like, so pointlessly obnoxious,” said Luna in bubblegum Californian.

“What light through yonder window breaks? Why, 'tis the east, and Luna shutting up is the sun!”

Silence followed.

“That's a wonderfully well-turned piece of verse, other than the break in meter in the second line,” said Celestia.

“Never mi—” Luna switched to Mag's voice. “Never mind our disagreement. Tell us where that line is from.”

“Shakespeare,” said Mag, “poet and playwright. Kind of a big deal, according to high school English teachers. I'll hook you guys up as soon as I can figure out a way to do it without having to sit through one of his plays myself.”

“You don't like his work?” said Celestia.

“His stuff is long, dense, archaic, and, well, the problem with inventing all the cliches is that now his work is cliched.”

“But do you recall the rest of the poem? What about the part you replaced?” said Luna.

“'And Juliet is the sun.' It's a love story. I don't remember the rest of it. Celestia, could you lock up the store?”

Mag heard every door lock simultaneously.

“Showoff,” said Mag.

Celestia smiled her Celestial smile. Mag stared at her longer than was polite.

“One second,” said Mag, and stepped around the corner of the store, where Celestia hopefully wouldn't see or hear.

“Okay, now that you're here, I have to ask,” Mag whispered to Luna. “How can she smile after what's happened? Is she faking it? I don't know what to say to her.”

“Faking it? I've known her since the beginning of the world, and even I am not always certain how to weigh the sincerity all of her smiles. I decided long ago to believe them all. She has an honest personality, after all, and why would she smile if she did not wish us to believe she meant it?”

“I don't know. Why does anybody hide their feelings?”

“Perhaps she smiles because she wishes to smile.”

Mag pondered. Should she ask? She might as well. “And you? How are you doing?”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“How are you doing? Everything that happened to her also happened to you, except you were stuck there. Don't answer if you don't feel like it.”

“I am in the light again with my sister. I do well enough for now. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

“Yeah, privacy,” said Mag. “Is that a thing anymore?”

“I do have good news on that front. I have been experimenting, and am finding ways to block out each of your senses.”

“Not sure how I feel about you putting yourself in a sensory deprivation chamber,” said Mag.

“Worry not. As I experiment I glimpse certain possibilities. For each sense of yours I block, I find another sense of my own—ones you don't appear to have access to.”

“You and Celestia keep bringing those missing senses up.”

“She means the aether, but I refer to senses neither of the two of you have. I am a warden of the ways, the margrave of the dreamers of Equis, and princess of the night. I have certain unique advantages.”

“All right, well, work on it.” Mag jogged back around the corner. Celestia had turned human again, worked out how to open the car door, and was now studying the steering wheel.

Mag knocked on the roof of the car. “Wrong side.”

“Are you sure? I learn very quickly, you know. How do you work a car?”

“If you have any attachment at all to your vehicle then I would advise against this.”

“Agreed,” said Mag. “Sorry, but nobody drives this without a license.”

Celestia crawled awkwardly to the other seat. “Is it a matter of law, then? I certainly wouldn't like to break the law. I'll apply for a license and then we can discuss this again.”

Mag got in, then got out again and scraped the ice off the windshield, then got back in and started the car. Celestia jumped, but then cocked her head to listen.

“But how does it work?” Luna burst out. Mag choked a bit; she'd been at the end of an exhale when Luna shouted.

“My apologies.”

“No worries,” said Mag. “Basically, the engine compresses gasoline vapor and then sets it on fire with a spark of electricity, the explosion pushes a piston, the piston turns the wheels, and then it does it again, and it all happens over and over again really fast. Then there's all this other junk, like fan belts and carburetors. I don't know what any of that does. You have to put gas in the car regularly, and this meter right here tells you how much gas you have left. The car also needs oil to keep all the metal from locking up, and you have to change that out every once in a while, and there are air filters for some reason. It needs coolant sometimes, and other fluids I can't remember right now. It shoots burnt gas vapors out of a tube in the back. Sometimes it breaks down and I don't know why. Then I pay some guys to fix it and hope they don't lie to me about what they did.”

“Why not learn more so they can't lie to you?” said Celestia.

“Because it shouldn't be my job to stop them from lying to me, because if I wandered around wondering how every single thing works then I'd never get anything done, and because I doubt I can learn enough about cars to call their bluff effectively anyway.”

“Hmm,” said Celestia.

“A disappointing answer, but it makes sense.”

“I want to drop these baskets off at the store and then I want to go home,” said Mag. “Anyone want to stop anywhere first?”

“Are the works of Shakespeare available on your Googling machine?” said Celestia.

“I'm not going to get through today without a poetry reading, am I? Yeah, they're probably somewhere out there on the internet. Let's at least eat lunch first.” Mag put on her seat belt. “Okay, guys, here's the thing. Cars are dangerous. If I drive off the road, I could end up rolling halfway down the mountain. If I crash into another car going the opposite direction with both of us going 30 miles an hour, that'd be like hitting a solid wall at a million miles an hour, mathematically speaking. In conclusion, if either of you is plotting to kill me then now's your chance. Still buckled up? Good, it's the law. Off we go.”

Celestia tensed up as Mag backed out, but relaxed when she saw that Mag had everything under control. She gave everything around her equal attention, from the window crank to the forest rushing by.

“So unmindful in the Ways Between, and yet such cautious eyes when you pilot your vehicle,” said Luna.

“If I screw up in Mirror Valley, I die. If I screw up on the road, I die and so do somebody's children, maybe. Watch "Red Asphalt" and then tell me I've got my priorities wrong.”

“This is some kind of instructional movie?” said Celestia.

“Yeah, how'd you know?”

“We had a few short documentary reels we'd show for government purposes,” said Celestia.

“Like what?”

“'Where Clouds Come From,' 'Magic and You,' various others.”

“I wish I could see them,” said Mag.

“Wasn't that your home, that we just passed?” said Celestia.

“Oh. Oops.” Mag pulled a U-turn and parked at the curb.

“'Your Magic and You,'” recited Luna while Mag and Celestia got out of the car and went inside. Her elementary schoolteacher imitation was dead on. “'In this video, we'll discuss the basics of what you can expect as you grow into your unicorn magic.' You should have your cutie mark by now—”

“Cutie mark,” muttered Mag, opening the door and putting her jacket in the closet next to the door. “Celestia, there's a thing next to my computer with a bunch of blank paper sticking out. Please please please show me what your ponies look like while I make lunch.”

Celestia shut the door behind her and changed to her real form. “I did say I'd do that, didn't I? Yes, I think I will.” She walked off.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Mag. “Do you remember the rest of the video?” Mag unpacked the groceries. Good, Celestia had bought sandwich material. And what looked like every vegetable the grocery store sold.

Luna went right back to it. “You should have your cutie mark by now, but even if you don't, you likely have some experiences with your own magic. Maybe in ways you couldn't control! Don't worry, because that's completely normal. This movie was made to help teach you all about your growing powers.”

The movie got a bit technical after that. Then it started referencing onscreen diagrams and took for granted that Mag knew the meanings of phrases like “Clover vector,” and Mag decided Luna was messing with her.

Celestia walked back in and placed a few sheets of paper on the counter, then left the room without speaking. The couch springs creaked.

No other sound came from the living room and Luna went quiet as well. If it weren't for the silent music of Luna's aura, Mag could almost think the world hadn't gone mad. She finished tearing the lettuce, rinsed her hands, wiped them on a towel, and picked up the papers.

Celestia had gone for quantity rather than detail in her drawings. Every couple of square inches had its own pony, most of them minimalistic and fluidly illustrated, almost cartoony in places. Every pony had its own little scene. In one, a pony wearing a headscarf watered a pot of daisies on a table using a little watering can. In another, a young pony clung to the shoulders of an adult pegasus in flight. In yet another, an inquisitive, snouted face stared up at the viewer with opened mouth as if asking a question. There was a row of solemn guards with brush helmets, a nubby-horned unicorn eating a sandwich, a couple sharing a milkshake. They all had big bushy tails, almost like squirrels, but deliberately styled, just like their manes. It was a calm, kind world.

The last page was a little different. This was where all the detail had gone. In the top-left corner was a picture of what could only be Luna. Her eyes were stern but caring, and fathoms deep. Beneath the sketch were the words “Princess Luna.” The sketch to the right was a “Princess Twilight Sparkle and Spike the Baby Dragon.” There was something perennially young about the two, for lack of a better term. Twilight's stance, her expression, the little lizard guy on her back, the pile of books floating next to her, everything about her suggested someone who loved everything, wanted to know everything about everything, and never got tired of the world around her. Mag tried not to hate her.

Next were “Princess Cadance and Shining Armor.” Mag almost laughed. Now there was a power couple if Mag had ever seen one. Lord have mercy, were those two ever in love. They appeared to be getting married, which, considering they looks they were giving each other, was almost redundant.

“Pinkie Pie,” a cotton ball of joie de vivre. “Fluttershy,” wet kleenex with a rabbit. An arrogant “Rainbow Dash” that Mag immediately pegged as her favorite. “Applejack,” cowboy hat, lasso, named after an alcohol for some reason. And this “Rarity” obviously got up very early indeed every morning to get her hair like that.

Mag walked to the couch to find Celestia pretending to sleep, and leaned against the back of the couch to look down at Celestia.

“They seem fun,” said Mag.

Celestia didn't respond. Luna had nothing to say either.

“I like Rainbow Dash the best,” said Mag.

Celestia didn't move.

“Did you get your samples?”

“There was almost nothing to sample,” said Celestia without opening her eyes.

“Oh. What were you planning to get?”

“A sliver of wood from a mirror frame on the inside, some sand from the walls, any ambient energy, and a wisp of aether.” She held up a little corked bottle. “Here is that wisp. Equestria has an aether field, but it's as hollow as everything else there, now. No one has touched it since I left and it hasn't moved on its own. Nothing out of the ordinary for a dead world. As for the rest, they simply aren't there. No ambient energy, no sand, and all the mirror frames were gone.”

She smiled a nonsmile. “I'm glad you insisted on coming. After seeing all of that, I don't know if I would ever have bothered to leave.”

“That's a hell of a thing to say,” said Mag, keeping her voice conversational.

“'Hell.' Yes. A 'hell' of a thing to say.” She opened her eyes. “I've been wondering something. Should I really be so certain that a regent dies with her world? Books and my own experience tell me they do, but it's a hard thing to prove. Maybe we stay behind, like the mirrors. Maybe we count as mirrors ourselves. It makes a kind of metaphorical sense, wouldn't you say?”

Mag really wished Luna would say something, but she hadn't spoken since Mag had picked up the drawings.

“What will you do now?” said Mag.

“I don't know,” said Celestia. “No, I do know. I'll rest until tomorrow. Then I'm going back to the lake, and then to the lake at the bottom of the valley. There are many books down there, and I'm sure there must be something useful there. It's dangerous, but what is danger to me now?”

“I'm coming, obviously,” said Mag.

“Oh.”

“Really don't like what I'm hearing from you right now, by the way.”

“No?” said Celestia.

“It doesn't help anyway,” said Mag. She walked around the couch and sat down in the same place she'd fallen asleep last night. “Nothing you say or think is going to make you feel any different. That's how it works, when you stop caring. You could get up and eat lunch or you could stay right where you are. They'll both feel pointless, so why not get up?”

“Eat lunch. I could do that. And then shall I move across the country to live in an empty house in the woods? Shall I hide my heart under the bed and reach out to no one for years on end, avoiding everything that matters to me and hoping to go numb?”

“If it'd get you to eat a damn sandwich, sure,” said Mag.

Celestia covered her eyes with a hoof. “I'm ashamed. That was cruel of me to say.”

“Don't worry. You can't hurt me with that.”

“You can let go of the bravado, Mag. I know you felt that, and I'm sorry.”

“Whatever,” said Mag. “But don't knock the bravado. You've got your fake smiles, and I never stop fronting. It works. Any port in a storm, right?”

Celestia sat up. “I disagree with what you said a minute ago. I'm a great believer in the power of words. I've talked down armies and assassins. It matters what I say and think. I can stay productive if I work at it; I'll just have to be more careful of where my thoughts wander in the future.” She leaned over and hugged Mag. “I'll keep myself busy, helping your world and looking for a way to bring back mine. Thank you, Mag.”

Both of Celestia's wings were at her sides, and yet Mag felt a feather brush her shoulder. “I don't have it in me to hope to see Equestria again, and I hold little hope for a happy ending between the three of us. But I do hope we'll grow to understand one another, human Mag.”

“For a species that needs all four legs to walk, you people are awfully huggy,” said Mag.

“Tell me about the assassin,” said Mag through a bite of sandwich.

“The what?”

“You talked down an assassin. Tell me about that.”

“In exchange for the sandwich, I think I will.” Celestia dabbed her mouth with a cloth napkin. Mag didn't know where she'd gotten it, as the napkins on the table were paper, but there it was. “Some few decades ago I got an unusual bit of mail. A death threat, actually, written shakily in black chalk on rough, yellowish paper. It was sealed with the crest of Canterlot University in undyed beeswax. The content of the letter went on for some time, but the core of the matter was that the anonymous author intended to kill me because he wanted to know what would happen if I died.

“The writer was clearly unwell. If nothing else, a saner stallion wouldn't have given me so many ways to identify him. It took me less than an hour and a half to find the perpetrator (one Professor Redwood, a stallion who taught history at Canterlot U) and to confirm that he was well known for his erratic behavior and morbid interests. Some days later he burst into my bedroom with a blunderbuss at least four times his age and demanded that I light a candle so he would know where to aim. I refused; he might have hurt himself if I let him fire the weapon, and anyway, whatever he had loaded into the weapon was sure to damage my furniture. He said 'please,' and I offered to answer his question in exchange for his gun. He told me it wasn't a gun; it was an authentic griffin blunderbuss from the third griffo-minotauran war. I said I knew what it was, since I specifically recalled outlawing them. He apologized for breaking the law and said he'd surrender the weapon to the guards as soon as he finished using it to kill me.

“I asked him what in the starless hells he thought he would accomplish with all this. He asked if I'd gotten the letter. I told him I had, and that I spent the day pondering his question. I told him again that I would answer his question if he gave me the authentic griffin blunderbuss from the third griffo-minotauran war. 'The one you made illegal?' 'The very same,' I said. He set the gun down next to my bed and went over to the window to sit in the yellow wicker chair I typically take my tea in, hunkering down to listen.

“I'd written down my thoughts on the matter over the past few days, then arranged the resulting collection by subject and chronology. Now I lit a candelabra and read him the highlights. First I went over the immediate concerns, such as the contents of my will and what the legal repercussions would likely be for Professor Redwood. The will didn't seem to interest him that much and he just cocked his head like a bluejay when I started to talk about criminal justice, so I skipped ahead to describe my theory that Equestria would industrialize and revert to being a full scarcity society, and to make a few remarks on how these economic circumstances would likely interact with Equestria's growing counterculture and inevitable militarization. He was enraptured, and I always enjoy an appreciative audience, so I ended up reading that entire part out loud.

“After a few more pages I simply gave him the entire pile of papers and went back to sleep while he read them from the beginning. I never did get enough rest that night, though, because a maid came in a good hour before dawn and screamed for all she was worth. Honey-Do was always very tightly wound. My door guards came in and were understandably confused, until I pointed out the fireplace in the antechamber, and, more to the point, the sooty hoofprints leading from there to my door.

“Honey-Do screamed a bit more, and the guards shouted and stomped, and eventually Redwood looked up from his reading and asked everyone to be quiet. They didn't. Honey-Do scolded him for getting soot everywhere, which I'll confess I found cathartic, and the guards demanded to know what he was doing. The professor explained, once he could get a word in, that he'd come to kill me because he wanted to know what would happen. He apologized for the mess.

The rest of the week was thoroughly confusing for Professor Redwood, I'm afraid, but I arranged for a very comfortable and tastefully decorated padded room with plenty of reading material. We corresponded until his passing.”

“And he never tried to break out or send another threat? No hard feelings on either side?”

“Remember that we're discussing a stallion who could write endless reams of ingeniously insightful dissertations and academic papers within his field, but was incapable of buying groceries or having a lucid conversation. He was not a bad pony, just a confused one. I always enjoyed reading his letters. He understood my work in ways few others ever have, and I was one of the rare few who'd seen with her own eyes the ancient roads and battlefields that had always dominated his mind. We appreciated each other.”

“Enough chattering. What kind of barbarian doesn't own a table?”

“What do I need a table for when I've got a lap?” said Mag.

Author's Notes:

This one's a bit short and a bit shapeless because I'm having a busy week.

Conversation Eight

Mag stood in the bathroom with the door open, going over her cigarettes individually with a hair dryer. Celestia stood in the hall and read Mag's resume.

“You did well in high school, considering your circumstances,” said Celestia.

“It was something to do,” said Mag.

“Work history sparse and mostly irrelevant, but I'm offering on-the-job training, so that's not a problem. Steady work, and not a lot of jumping between jobs. Here's some kind of long number labeled 'SSN,' and it's displayed prominently, so I can only assume you have an especially good one.”

“Definitely,” said Mag.

“Contact information.' More long numbers. How does this work?”

Mag tossed her broken cellphone out the bathroom door. Celestia caught it.

“Open it,” said Mag. “No, from the bottom. Yeah. Okay, see those number buttons? If my phone worked, which it doesn't, you could put one of those phone numbers in and talk to the person next to the name.”

“Let me see,” said Luna. Celestia floated it back to Mag. Mag opened it and held it up for Luna to look at.

“And how far away can the other party be before this ceases to work?” said Luna.

“It's less about distance and more about satellite coverage. If the satellite signal can get to this phone and also to the other phone, I can talk to that person anywhere on Earth. The people who run the satellites charge more depending on whether you're calling another country, though, and which country.”

“A powerful tool,” said Luna.

“May I try?” said Celestia.

“My phone is broken, so it doesn't even turn on, but go ahead and push some buttons” said Mag, tossing the phone to Celestia and picking her hair dryer back up.

“If I could contact your previous employers, what would they tell me about you?” said Celestia.

“Technically, they're legally only allowed to tell you the date I started working for them and the date I stopped, and anything other than that is potentially slander,” said Mag.

“And if they were legally allowed to comment on your performance?”

“They'd tell you I'm even-tempered, fastidious, and quiet. The 97Cents store would tell you they let me go because a customer complained when I didn't smile back, and, if Mrs. Wattleson still works at the Bigfoot Museum, she'll tell you I'm a whore.”

“I imagine there's a story behind the latter. Do I need to know it?”

Mag considered throwing the cigarettes away. Drying them was taking forever, and they smelled like the lake. “I don't know, do you?” No, she'd keep drying.

“I very much doubt it,” said Celestia.

“Is the story amusing?” said Luna.

“Wattleson caught me checking out her son.”

“Ha!” said Luna.

“I see,” said Celestia.

“Is that a normal 'I see,' or the 'I see' where I'm supposed to get self-conscious and rethink the last few things I said?”

“The normal kind,” said Celestia.

Luna laughed in Mag's head. “Your are about to pay for that, I wager.”

“And have you ever been 'let go' for reasons that were unequivocally your fault? Please be as honest as you possibly can.”

Mag started to answer and then paused. She had a ready answer to that. She had a ready answer for most interview questions, in fact; acing interviews was Mag's specialty. The trick was to BS shamelessly. Celestia was unlikely to fall for that, however, and now all of Mag's interview instincts were sending false signals.

A more honest answer had also occurred to her, and it led to something she'd been hoping not to mention. Mag could explain now or she could evade the question until Celestia dragged it out of her. She'd have to answer.

“Well... to be honest, I might get fired in a few minutes, and if I do then I'll deserve it.”

“Oh?”

Mag turned the blow dryer off and readjusted her ponytail nervously. “Yeah, uh, well, remember how I ditched a day and a half of work and got the store robbed including the keys? I'm about to drive down to a payphone and call my boss to tell him about it. He's never been that impressed with me in the first place, he's getting tired of me, and this is probably the last straw.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Celestia. “He's been dissatisfied with your performance?”

“I think he thinks I've got an attitude problem, and he might have a point,” said Mag.

“And you were supposed to be at work today?”

“Yeah,” said Mag, wishing she could just shut the door and not have to talk about this anymore.

“For my sake?” said Celestia. “You could have left me to my own devices for the day.”

“Yeah, I know. I just really didn't want to go. Even before you showed up, I wasn't going to, not today and not tomorrow. I'm getting as sick of that job as my boss is of me, at about the same rate, and I'm getting lax.”

“I'm disappointed to hear that,” said Celestia. Mag withered.

“Your employer will decide the appropriate consequences,” said Luna.

“And then we'll say no more about it,” said Celestia. “But I can only hope you'll attach more importance to the job I give you. Are you supposed to be at work right now?”

"The store is open from 7:00 to 3:00 on Saturdays, so it'd close in about an hour,” said Mag.

“Then isn't that where you should be?”

The one thing Mag hadn't wanted was time to think, and, with no customers and a pristine store, she had almost an hour to herself. Well, not completely to herself. She would never be alone again, after all.

There was no point in getting worked up about it. She'd made a big show of being perfectly okay with Luna in her head for the rest of her life. The rest of—hang on. What would happen to Luna when Mag died? In fact, what would happen if they really did manage to bring back Equestria? Luna had a job to do, and if Luna didn't get her body back then Mag had better get packing. She could ask right now, of course, but she didn't have the guts, and anyway, someone might come in.

Are you sure you can't hear me? Mag thought at Luna. There was no answer.

Mag wondered if Luna would show up on a CAT scan, or how antipsychotic medications would affect her.

“What are you right now?” said Mag.

“Me?” said Luna.

“Yeah.”

“A dream.”

“And that means what, exactly? Are you a pattern of electrical impulses in my brain that somehow forms a separate consciousness, or are you a self-aware hallucination, or what?”

“You can think of me as the latter, if you wish, though I am in no way the product of your mind.”

“I think today would make a lot more sense if I had gone crazy,” said Mag. “I suddenly have an unreasonably beautiful friend who looks human except when no one is looking, and I think I pretty much met God this morning. Then I traveled dimensions on the back of the magical queen of unicorns and now I have a voice in my head that tells me to do things.”

“When have I told you to do things?”

“On the way here.”

“Did I? I don't recall.”

“Remember when that guy pulled out in front of me and you told me to rear-end him?”

“It was a suggestion at most.”

“Maybe, but it was a very strongly worded one. 'Run him down, that bog-spavined blaggard of an upright baboon,' you said. Did you know you slip into Elizabethan English when you're annoyed?”

“What is Elizabethan English?”

“Oh, you know, 'thou' and 'thee' and 'bog-spavined blaggard of an upright baboon.'”

“We call it Middle Equestrian, but yes.”

Mag decided to have a cup of coffee. She'd started the coffee machine when she came in along with the hot dog roller, and no one was likely to come in, so she might as well. She drank it black. It was cheap and vile, and oddly comforting. There was something defiant and alive about bad coffee. It burnt her tongue and left an acrid, almost sulfurous aftertaste, and right now it felt like a middle finger directed at the void. She decided to bring a thermos of it next time they went to Equestria.

Mag drained the mug, coughed, turned around to make sure no one had come in when she'd had her back turned, and said, “I just thought of something. Elizabethan English is what it is because of European history. It's got French loan words, German influences, bits of Latin from Roman occupation, all sorts of things that make it, well, earthly. It's an Earth language, and it evolved naturally. So where did Equestria get it?”

“Simple. Technically I am not speaking English. I am speaking Equestrian, and my nature is such that you understand it in your own language. The same applies to Celestia.”

“She never mentioned that,” said Mag. She looked at the clock on the register. Only 15 minutes to go.

“I believe you said you spoke to your regent today,” said Luna.

“I did?”

“You said you spoke to your god, did you not?”

“Yeah, and don't remind me,” said Mag.

“Celestia asked permission to stay, I suppose, as is proper. Did she bargain for others to come with her?”

“I think so,” said Mag. “She mentioned refugees. Or the eldest did. I forget. Either way, he probably knew you were coming, so I think he would have let us know somehow if he had a problem.”

“He knew? How can you tell?”

“He knows everything. It's his thing, I guess, along with murder, and being rude as all hell.”

“Murder?”

“The first thing he did on Earth was kill his brother so that he'd be the only one in charge of this operation.”

Luna answered with shocked silence.

“Explains a lot, don't you think?” said Mag.

“What possessed him to do that?”

“Do you mean literally? Either way, I don't know. Maybe you're right and the devil made him do it. Celestia says he's crazy.”

“I meant it figuratively, but that's a thought.”

“That he was born possessed? Wait. I just remembered I don't want to talk about him or think about him or remember his existence, not unless I have to. Let's talk about something else.”

“Then pray do something for me.”

“I don't pray, but sure,” said Mag.

“This is not a prayer. Put your paws—I mean hands—together.”

It sounded like praying, but Mag put her hands together anyway.

“Now draw them apart, but keep them flat.”

Mag did.

“A wooden chair.”

“What?”

“Do nothing but hold your hands in place. Simply listen, and picture each image as I give it. A leather bag of ice. A bowl of milk. The new moon. Message in a bottle. The color black.”

“Why are we doing this?” said Mag.

“It's a mental exercise. Dog hair on a sofa. Cold nose in fog. A kiss on the cheek. The color white. A dalmatian. A policeman. How do you feel?”

“Perplexed,” said Mag.

“And how do you feel now that I've asked how you feel?”

“Perplexed, intrigued, a little irritated.”

“The color red. The color black. The color white. White red black. Black white red. Black white red white. Black red white black.”

Mag sighed.

“Black red white black white red. Black red white black. Black red white red black. Black white red white black, and the aforementioned wooden chair. Black red white black. You may now put your hands down.”

“Are you messing with me again?”

“Yes.”

Mag put her hands down. “Literal plaything of the gods. Is this my life now?”

Luna's gave a whispering, feminine chuckle. “Is it really so shameful to amuse me? Ponies have traveled a thousand miles to exchange ten words with me in my court—to thank me, to forgive me, to spit at the floor before my throne. Fillies and colts have stood on their hind legs to whisper their little stories and questions in my ear. For one week last year I held the Court of Evening Flames; my servants built a great bonfire under the waxing moon and lined the streets of Canterlot with torches, and near ten-score bards came for no other purpose than to vie for my attention with their skills—tragedians, fools, dancers, jugglers, contortionists, snake-charmers, traveling storytellers sitting on rugs in the street, violinists and fiddlers, pianists and accordioneers... you have my attention, Mag, and they would have longed to be you, even to be a—what was your word?—'plaything.'”

“Are you actually this full of yourself, or are you still messing with me?”

“Messing with you? I would never mock your dour, unrelenting, almost religious allegiance to egalitarianism, always expressed with overfamiliar mien and affectionate rudeness.”

“Well you would say that, being part of a diarchy of infallible love and selflessness.” Mag blinked. “Comma, she said without sarcasm. You two are so weird. Have I mentioned that?”

“'Infallible love and selflessness?' One of us, perhaps, and I doubt even that, though she certainly expects much of herself.”

“Maybe she should. Your subjects all look like children, and she dotes on anything that'll hold still long enough.”

A customer walked in, some old man in a trucker's hat and half-inch-thick glasses who was obviously too nearsighted to see Mag glaring at him. He bought a 24-pack of O'Doul's, paid in exact change, and tore open the cardboard top on the way out of the building with a rattle of glass on glass. Mag didn't watch after that.

“They were indeed children, in most ways. Few mortals ever truly grow up. Those who do are often matters of legend.”

Mag checked the clock. Two minutes left. “Is that right?”

“It is. But of course I've seen exceptions. How about you? Would you like to become a matter of legend, Mag? An adult can change the world, even this world. I could aid you in this—if you will allow it.”

Mag emptied the register into the safe. This wasn't difficult, as the only things purchased in cash that day were a 24-pack of O'Doul's, a Slim Jim, a fun-size bag of Doritos, and a bottled soda. Mag remembered just in time that she needed to make change for her morning purchases; she triple-checked the arithmetic, as she wasn't sure she'd be allowed in the store after she called her boss and didn't want to make a mistake she couldn't fix. Luna waited patiently for Mag's response.

“I already signed on with Celestia,” said Mag at last. “Anyway, her offer was more concrete and less condescending.”

“She is a better salespony than I. Celestia can offer you a fulfilling and honorable life, and I imagine her pitch was a work of art. For my part, I offer only toil and understanding, and promise nothing else. I believe happiness is overrated. I do not sugarcoat. I'll never shield you from the consequences of your own decisions. But you want a concrete offer, don't you? All right. Magic.”

Mag flipped the “open” sign to “closed.” “Witchcraft lessons in exchange for my soul? You have my attention.”

“I don't know what you mean by that, so I shall just wait for you to clarify or give me a straight answer.”

Mag turned a few of the lights off, pulled her purse out from under the counter for possibly the last time, and walked out the back door. She stopped a few feet away and turned. “Here's the thing. You're the third person today to try acting like an authority figure, and of the three of you, you're the one inside my head. I sure as hell don't want an authority figure in my head. And on your end, if you're going to be stuck in a cage with someone until they die, would you rather be stuck with a student, or a, you know, a sort of, well...”

“Hm?”

“... a friend?”

“Then friends we shall be.”

“Well then, as a friend, could you maybe lock this door somehow?”

“Let us find out. May I use your left hand?”

“I already said you could.”

Mag's hand lifted up and pressed against the door above the lock. Nothing happened.

“Apparently I cannot.”

Luna let Mag's hand drop, but Mag put it back. “Would I be able to lock it myself, if I knew how?”

“I couldn't say. How many humans have done magic? What fuels human magic? What fuels you? Answer these questions and I may try to guess.”

“I'm having trouble with the idea of human magic when I think we've proven that I can't see your 'aether' thing and, what's more, you can use my hands to touch a door but you can't use my alleged magic to lock it. Why do you think I can do magic, and how does that relate to that word prayer hand thing you made me do?” It was the warmest part of the day, but the door had been in the shade all morning and Mag could feel frost melting under her hand.

“I guided you through a modified version of the magic assessment test—you would remember it from the documentary if you had been listening to it earlier. At first I wished to distract you from the dolor that had gripped you, while also confirming for myself that you truly couldn't touch the aether, but your results, while mostly indecipherable to me, were not null.”

“And yet humans can't see it.”

“For heavens' sake, please take your hand off the door. I can feel that too.”

“Turn off your sense of touch so you don't have to worry about it. You've figured out how, right?”

“I won't, because I believe you're trying to tell me something.”

“I just want to throw you off and keep you interested. And I'm doing it because garbage coffee, unfunny jokes, arguments, and cold doors seem to make me feel the most like myself when there's another supernatural being trying to recruit me for something. Also out of some kind of randomized spite that I didn't bother to think about, because I like to think I've made this into your problem instead of mine. What'll you do?”

“Simple. I'll drop the issue out of confusion. Your hand is beginning to warm the metal anyway.”

“I noticed. It's sort of like I won, isn't it? I beat the cold.”

“Then, by my count and insofar as I've understood you, you've gotten everything you wanted and you can put your hand down.”

Mag touched her left hand to her face. Luna yelped. Mag quickly wiped the ice off; she'd braced for the cold, but it'd still been unpleasant.

“This is what friendship means to you, I suppose.”

“I'm still feeling it out, to be honest.”

“Isn't everyone?”

Mag walked away. The door would have to stay unlocked, but she could see her handprint in the frost and it made her feel better somehow.

Mag walked around the back corner into the sun and up to the payphone. Two more things. Two more things. Two phonecalls and then she could feel like she'd done her duty for the day. Yes, she'd skipped out on work and probably should be ashamed of herself, and yes, both calls were likely to be horrible, and yes, her house was no longer a refuge from civilization and was now full of people who'd get very stern about housemates who dealt with their problems by eating a whole jar of peanut butter with a spoon while hiding under six blankets with the bedroom lights off and the door blocked with a tilted chair, which was a shame because that was what Mag really wanted at the moment.

But if she made two phone calls after everything else that had happened then she could feel like she'd had a human day and had also done something Maggish, something Maggy.

First she called her boss. His name was Amitabh Bachchan (no relation), and he was alright. He didn't raise his voice, though sometimes his voice could get very urgent, something Mag had had a problem with before because his Indian accent was as pure, thick and rich as the day he'd first stepped off the plane. Mr. Bachchan was in his sixties but looked forty, and had a sheepish, scruffy smile that had probably gotten him out of a lot of trouble over the course of his life. He had no particularly terrible flaws and Mag had always felt a little bad for dreading the sound of his voice every day. This weekend's carelessness turned out to be, yes, the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel's proverbial back. Mag would never clean that store again. He thanked her. She thanked him back. He said goodbye. So did she. He hung up.

“Yep,” said Mag to herself.

“There, there,” said Luna in a kindly but unsure voice. In a moment of emotional vertigo Mag realized this must be what it was like to be on the receiving end of her own awkward attempts to comfort Celestia for a pain she couldn't even claim to understand. She didn't know how to feel about that, so she decided to deal with the next thing. One more thing, and then she could go home.

She dialed a random ten-digit number. Someone picked up.

“Hello?” said some guy. It wasn't him. Mag hung up and mashed out ten more numbers. There was no such number, and the next number she tried was also unowned. The fourth one worked.

“Cute,” the eldest said over the line. “What the hell do you want?” A TV played some sort of Spanish talk show in the background.

Mag swallowed her pride. “Save them.”

“No. We done?”

“Who wrote that? Your brother? You?”

A window opened on the other end of the line, accompanied by the sound of traffic. “How should I know? It didn't happen in my world, so it's not my problem, so I can't see it.”

“Save them,” said Mag. “Has anyone ever asked you? Come on. Save us. Has anyone ever said please?”

“Yes, so don't bother. When you're immortal, trust me, sooner or later everything has happened to you at least once. People have begged me to save mankind in, what, 211 and a half different languages? No, 212 and a half. You want my advice? Save us yourself.”

Mag elbowed the metal of the phone box. “Say please.”

The eldest spat, hopefully out the window. “Oh, please.”

“Whatever. I figured I'd try.”

“One second,” said the eldest.

“What.”

“Do me a favor and put your hand on the brick wall, will you? Just for a second.”

Mag didn't move. “What's this about?”

“Just for a second, please.”

Mag leaned past the phone to touch the wall with a finger. “There.”

“No, with your whole hand.”

Mag laid her hand flat.

“Good. Now, listen, please. Thank you. By the way, hello, princess.” Luna didn't answer.

“Nice to meet you too,” said the eldest. “You listening, Ms. Wilson?”

“For about the next three seconds, and then we're freaking done.”

“Six seconds, actually.” His voice changed to a perfect imitation of Mag's father. “The first friends you make in years are some foreign negress and a California queer? Is that how we raised you?”

“GO TO HELL,” shouted Mag.

The brick wall cracked under her hand and the phone receiver in her other hand shattered. Mag jumped back from the phone box. She thought she could hear the eldest say “Sweet dreams,” but couldn't be sure.

Mag touched the crack in the wall. It passed laterally through the vertical height of eight bricks. The phone was all over the ground in a spray of black plastic and colorful wires. She looked over her shoulder for witnesses, picked up her purse from where she'd set it, slung it over her shoulder, and walked to her car.

“I didn't do that,” said Mag.

“I agree.”

“If anyone asks me if I saw who did it, I can truthfully say I didn't, and that I can't explain how it happened.”

“Perfectly true.”

“Glad we agree. Do I need to worry about breaking my car with magic? I'm a little worried about touching things right now, because seriously, I don't understand how that worked.”

“You needn't worry about that, but I believe you would feel better if you better understood what just happened. Would you like to discuss my tutelage again?”

Mag got in, slammed the door, turned on the heater, and accidentally revved the engine after a couple of false starts. “Can we talk about this later? I just want to go home.”

“As you wish, friend.”

Mag felt something loosen in her chest at the word “friend.” She'd always been a sentimentalist. If she weren't, she'd never put up with all these talking horses.

“Thank you,” said Mag.

“And can we discuss what that second talk was about?”

Mag adjusted the rear view mirror so the sun wouldn't get in her eyes as she pulled out. “He's the regent. He's a prick. My world sucks and it's his fault. He sees everything, like the damned panopticon. This includes the future, and he decided that this is the future he wants, so it really is his fault. I called him because I thought maybe it'd help if someone said 'please.' I know it's stupid, but if I didn't do it then I'd wonder for the rest of my life whether it would have worked. Don't tell Celestia, will you?”

“As you wish.”

“Friend,” said Mag to herself, driving away from her old job and leaving one last mess for someone else to clean up.

“Mag, I'm glad you're—” Celestia did a double-take. “Mag, are you okay?”

“I've been better,” said Mag, kicking her boots into the closet. “I've been fired and now I'm going to eat a jar of peanut butter in the bedroom.”

“It's just that the aether around you has an odd texture,” said Celestia. Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean you're going to eat a jar of peanut butter? I'm about to make dinner. You'll ruin your appetite.”

“I knew you wouldn't like my coping skills. Hey, so I'm grateful you're making dinner, but I need to disappear into my room and pretend to myself that I'll never come out again, m'kay? Just knock when you need help.”

“Do whatever you need to, Mag, and talk with me whenever you're ready,” said Celestia. She glanced back at Mag. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Luna is laughing herself sick at your housewife impression, is all. See you soon.” Mag stalked into the bedroom, turned the lights off, and fell into bed.

Author's Notes:

Posted at 3:47 AM. You got a complaint, that's my excuse. Tell me if you see a stupid mistake, though, such as how Mag never put money into the payphone.

I should fix that or something.

Conversation Nine

Mag dreamed.

She dreamed of marble pillars under the open sky, lit only by an unfamiliar moon. The floor was all one piece of smooth stone. Mag walked barefoot, like she used to over leaves and round, flat rocks in the woods of Mississippi so, so long ago, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders. Through an open door on the other side of the—was it a temple?—she could see the glow of a fire, and from the door issued a single indistinct voice. It seemed to be calling her name.

Mag walked to the door, confused but unafraid. The floor was cool under her feet but not cold. What stone was it? Alabaster. But she'd never seen it before, so how could it be in her dream, and why did she know what it was?

Mag pushed open the door and found a larger and better lit pillared marble and alabaster room with its own open ceiling, with Luna sitting in front of a bonfire as wide as Mag's house and taller than the big bear, though the fire burned silent.

Even if Mag hadn't seen Celestia's drawing, there was no mistaking Luna. She was the younger sister, yet her eyes looked older. Celestia would always look young, while Luna looked as if she was born old. Her smile was small, secretive, sincere, and her shadow spread hugely against the wall beside the door Mag had just walked through. Luna's shadow was sharp and perfectly still however the fire danced, and darker than the bottom of a coal mine.

Luna spoke.

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle -
Why not I with thine?

Mag approached the fire and sat beside her. Luna turned to face the fire. They watched it together for a while.

"My point," said Luna, "is that I've access to the minds of Earth while you sleep. Do you recognize this poem?"

Mag shook her head.

"It is by Percy Shelley," said Luna.

"It sounds like a love poem," said Mag. Her voice sounded so strange in this place.

"It is," said Luna.

"Getting Stockholm syndrome?"

"What is that?"

"Is this really the place for talking?" said Mag. "It feels like it's supposed to be a quiet place."

"This place is of my own design and serves whatever purpose I wish it to, theoretically; but, having made it out of your own dreamstuff rather than mine, perhaps it carries properties I didn't put into it. Is it? Is this a quiet place, Mag?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just feeling quiet."

Luna closed her eyes, looked at the fire through her eyelids, lifted her nose to smell the air. "All of this is yours. Let your mood dictate its purpose. We will call it a quiet place, and be quiet together."

Mag leaned against Luna. She wouldn't do such a thing in the waking world, but surely the rules were different in dreams. Luna didn't protest.

Mag took soft, barefoot, low-gravity leaps over the gray sand, hair floating around her face. Luna flew beside her.

Some small, black prominence sat at the central mound of a great crater. Mag bound down the wall of the crater and then up the prominence to examine it, and found it to be an unfamiliar pony princess sitting stock still.

If princesses were Disney characters, this one was Maleficent. She had slitted cat's eyes, a black coat, wings like scythes, a suit of armor, and Luna's old eyes. Mag waved her hand in front of the new princess, who didn't move. Luna caught up and sat beside Mag, looking anywhere but at the black princess.

"Can I ask?" said Mag.

"I resolved some time ago to answer all questions honestly, that regard the Nightmare," said Luna.

"This is you."

"This was me."

"Did you really just sit here like this?"

"For a thousand years," said Luna. "I'll have the cod." She shut her menu and gave it to the waiter.

"Crab salad," said Mag, doing the same.

"Leila lina lu," said the waiter, and swam away.

"You're aware that cod is a type of meat?" said Mag.

"You're aware that this is a dream?" said Luna.

"Fair enough. I recognize this place, you know."

Luna changed into a human (the mirror of her sister, but a little shorter and with harsher features) and examined herself in the bowl of her spoon. "Yes?"

"I was a toddler. I never went in, but I liked the neon sign outside, though I couldn't read it. I asked if we could eat there. They told me it looked "pretty sleezy" and I didn't understand what "sleezy" meant, but I knew the word "pretty" and it only made me more curious. We never did go in, and now I dream about the place sometimes." She held up a drink coaster, a thick circle of cardboard embossed with the words "The Sleezypretty."

"Did you ever learn the true name of the place?" said Luna.

"I've never remembered this place, except in dreams," said Mag. "I'll forget everything when I wake up. And I'm sure it'd turn out to be a low-rent Hooter's knockoff or something equally banal, so I'd just be disappointed."

The food arrived with improbable speed. Luna tucked one of the black cloth napkins into the collar of her slinky evening gown and dug into the cod with every sign of enjoyment. This put Mag off her salad. She slid it to the side and ordered a Jack and Coke.

"There is something I'd like to discuss," said Luna.

"Hm?"

"Magic."

"Another of these," said Mag, waving her empty glass at a passing busser.

"Do you mean to get drunk?" said Luna.

"I hadn't thought that far ahead. Don't let me distract you. What's this about magic?"

"I'm afraid there is a possibility you'll need basic access to your magic before dawn tomorrow. We can discuss the whys later. For now, black red white black." Luna tipped her plate of fishbones into the bonfire. Mag sat down on the stone floor again and set her drink beside her.

Luna spoke mildly, conversationally, as if to avoid scaring Mag off. "The world of dreams is an excellent place to practice magic, I have always felt. The classic student's complaint 'But I can't do that' is inarguably foolishness here, for this is your dream. You needn't concern yourself with what is possible, here, only what is imaginable. Imagine yourself doing magic. Dream of magic, learn the feel of it, and carry that feeling into the sunlight. Do this, learn the processes, and all that is left is practice."

"I didn't say you could teach me magic," said Mag.

"May I teach you magic?" said Luna.

"Not just now. I feel so tired. I'm asleep, but I'm so tired. What does that mean?"

"You've had a trying day," said Luna.

"We all have," said Mag, "and between the three of us, I'm the one with the fewest problems. I'm being selfish by bringing it up."

"Nay. I have fewer problems than you, for a problem is only a problem insofar as it may be solved, and what you would call my problems are insoluble, whatever my sister's view. All that I love is gone, Mag, except for my sister, and there is nothing I can do about it. I shall cling to what I have left, therefore, as the survivor of a sunken ship clings to a piece of broken hull, and paddle to shore as best I can. Then I'll prove that it is possible to live with a broken heart."

"How can you stand it?" said Mag. Was that a cruel question? She couldn't take it back.

"I can't," said Luna.

"What can I do?"

Luna smiled. "You are already doing it."

Mag finished her drink and tossed the glass into the fire. "Celestia thinks she can bring back Equestria."

"To that I can only say that if hope were music, Celestia would be Mozart," said Luna.

"It's pronounced 'Mozart,'" said Mag.

"I don't care. Of course, in fairness, blind hope is how she accomplishes all her miracles. She turns traitors into sisters and mortals into legends. Celestia can be so very stubborn, and she has a talent for finding loopholes, so who can say for sure what she'll accomplish? But there is no bringing back the dead. But come; you don't yet wish to discuss magic, and, in all candor, I haven't the heart to discuss what has been lost. So, apropos of nothing and without any reference to tiring subjects or questions of rights to teaching, out of curiosity, what does the combination of the colors red, white, and black mean to you?"

"Sometimes I get the feeling you two are used to getting your way," said Mag.

"Should you respond with a flat 'no' to my question then I will drop the issue for now, but this is rather important. I'll explain why later tonight. Will you please answer?"

"All right, you've got me curious. What was your question again?"

"What does the combination of the colors red, white, and black mean to you?"

Mag, in a spirit of experimentation, closed her eyes and imagined the moon, but a different part than they'd seen tonight. She imagined them looking off the edge of a great cliff on the moon, opened her eyes, and found herself there. Details she hadn't pictured had filled themselves in, maybe from Luna's mind, maybe from somewhere else, wherever it was dreams really came from.

The fire was still there. Luna had brought it with them.

"Red, white, black," said Mag. "Weren't there four colors?"

"The full pattern is black, red, white, black," said Luna. "Don't concern yourself with the precise order for now. Now we discuss the introspective and the imaginative portions of magic."

"Black, red, white, black," said Mag. "White, black, red. Red black white. Black red white." Luna waited patiently.

"I guess the first thing I think of is snakes," said Mag.

"Snakes?"

"King snakes and coral snakes," said Mag.

"Yes?"

"Yeah. A coral snake is a secretive, reclusive type of poisonous snake they teach you to watch out for in America. The king snake isn't venomous, but it looks almost exactly like the coral snake, so you have to know the difference if you get bitten. The best way to tell the king snake from the coral snake is their stripe patterns, and there's a rhyme to remember what order the stripes are in for the two types of snake. 'Red touches yellow, kills a fellow. Red touches black, friend of Jack.' That rhyme is what I remember."

"Have you ever encountered either species of snake?" said Luna.

"Only king snakes," said Mag. "You know, they're called king snakes because they eat other snakes, including the poisonous ones."

"No coral snakes?"

"Nope."

"You seem to have some knowledge of snakes. Do they interest you?"

Mag shrugged.

"What else do red, white, and black call to mind?"

"Masks," said Mag.

"What sort of mask?" said Luna.

Mag dropped a rock off the precipice. It made no sound as it hit the bottom; there were no sounds here, except their voices. "African tribal masks."

"What purpose do they serve?"

"Oh, you know. People wear them to act out folktales and that kind of thing."

Luna nudged a rock off the edge as well. "And these masks are red, white, and black?"

"Some of them," said Mag.

"Masks and snakes. Very well. What do you think magic feels like?"

"Hopefully we're getting closer to the part where you tell me what you're looking for here. What do I think it feels like? I don't think I'd feel anything. I can't feel the aether. It'd be like Beethoven at his piano, playing music he can't hear."

"Let us discuss Beethoven some other time, when we both better understand what barriers to learning you must overcome. Anyway, I was being unclear. How would it make you feel, emotionally, to see yourself perform magic?"

"Confused," said Mag truthfully.

"To be expected. You've had no time to become comfortable with it."

"Now I have a question," said Mag.

"Ask," said Luna.

"Why did I break the wall and the phone when I got mad? If getting angry is what sets off the magic for me, why hasn't it ever happened before? Did you guys do something? Did the eldest?"

Luna looked pleased. "Ah, we approach the mechanics of magic. I'll speak in the simplest terms I can because all of this is new to you. Magic comes from the heart. It is an expression of your essential self. What you can do, as well as how you do it, is defined by how you see the world. When you broke that wall and that phone, you were reacting to something you saw in the world, reacting in a way that expressed something fundamental to your understanding of yourself and everything else. This is not so easy, and that is why you haven't done it before. It is possible you never would have performed any magic in your entire life, had the eldest not goaded you into it."

"I'm not thanking him until I see what comes of all this. So you're saying that telling the eldest to go to Hell is an expression of my essential self?"

"It is likely better to consider the feelings of the moment, rather than the words you spoke," said Luna. "Try to recall how it felt when the eldest first altered his voice, how you felt when he insulted Celestia, what the wall felt like under your hand, the smell of pine. Sift through the details, and what they felt like. This is where you'll find your power."

"What kinds of powers come from people who, uh, get their powers from getting mad?"

"It may not be anger," said Luna. "It could be fear. It could be the smell of spilled alcohol while the sun is in your eyes. Perhaps you'll cast your spells by recalling the feeling of being slightly hungry. Most likely, it's something you have no word for, or else something too precise for words."

"All right, then what does it say about me that my powers involve breaking things?"

Luna chuckled. "That depends. What does 'black red white black' mean? I've never seen that one. Not even close. I can only tell you it's inequine. The closest auric signature I've seen was of an old lantern frame, rusty and broken, once used in a lighthouse by an earth pony who carried it to work every day and back home every night. Used so often, over so many years, that it developed a magic of its own. White grey white red black, I think it was. I couldn't tell you what that signature meant either." Luna turned her head to the fire, as if hearing something. "Our time is up. One more thing..."

Mag woke up to a genteel knock on her bedroom door. "Dinner's ready," said Celestia. "Would you like to come out? We can talk about what happened, if you like."

"Be out in a second," mumbled Mag, and slid out of bed. She lifted her fingers to hook the hair out of her face, but noticed something in her hand that hadn't been there before. She turned on the light to look at it.

It was a drink coaster embossed with the words "The Sleezypretty."

"You've lived a life without magic," said Luna, "but today you found it in yourself, and now you must learn that the rules are not what you think they are. Be humble and be careful, or others will pay the price. Do you understand? Remember the red asphalt."

Distracted, Mag lost track of the coaster somewhere between the bed and the door. She never saw it again.

Author's Notes:

Surprise. It's a short chapter, but dammit, it exists. Editing tomorrow if I get a chance (midterms, oh god).

Conversation Ten

Mag stepped out of her bedroom into the too-bright lights of the hall and the smell of garlic bread.

"Ah, you're out," said Celestia from the kitchen.

"Yep," said Mag. She walked into the kitchen to see Celestia wearing a chef's hat of mysterious origin and vigorously stirring olive oil into a bowl of crushed greenery.

"This is an herbivore's dinner, I'm afraid," said Celestia, setting the bowl down.

"I'm not complaining. Do you even know how to cook meat?"

Celestia turned back to the stove to lift the dinner plate off the top of the pot of spaghetti - Mag didn't have a pot lid - and see how it was doing. "I have only the vaguest idea. If I had to cook meat, I would probably just grill it in a pan while trying not to look, then take it off the stove when the smell changed."

"That'd be how I cook literally everything that can't be cooked in a microwave, so that makes perfect sense to me."

"This meal is almost ready," said Celestia. "Where are your plates? I could only find the one."

"I only own one plate."

Celestia sighed a "What am I going to do with you" sigh.

"Oh, come on. What do I need a second plate for? Tell you what, I also have a bowl. Let me just find it."

"Is it the bowl I've got green beans in?" Celestia pointed with a hoof.

"Oh. Yeah, that's the one."

"At least you have two forks," said Celestia.

"Yeah, I lost the first one, so I bought another, but then I found it under the couch. Lucky, eh?"

"You also have a table," said Luna. "That pile of square objects in the bedroom is sitting on one."

"I thought about that, but can computers be moved?" said Celestia.

"Sure," said Mag. "I'll clear it off and then you can help me drag it out here. I was planning on setting the computer up in the living room anyway, then showing you how to use it. You can look up all the pop culture references I keep dropping."

"If you're going to bring it into the living room then I hope to spend time reading all about human history, actually."

"Party down. I'll go deal with that."

Mag had never bothered to buy a proper desk. She'd found a table at a yard sale for 15 dollars and it worked just fine. She got a lot of things from yard sales, including her tableware and the television. Why spend 30 bucks on 25 eating utensils for a one-person house when you could spend 20 cents for one fork and one spoon, and not have to drive off the mountain to do so?

Mag dragged the table into the kitchen - it wasn't as heavy as she remembered, so she didn't bother to get Celestia's help, though, come to think of it, Celestia could have just levitated it with far less effort - and explained the logic of having to spend less on silverware than one would have to spend on a pack of gum, and how easy it was to do the dishes when you never had to wash more than five things.

Celestia cut her off rather ruthlessly. "You need enough dinnerware for four people minimum, just like anyone else. Honestly, Mag, you should have at least allowed for the possibility that you'd make friends at some point."

"My friends could bring their own plates," said Mag.

"Well, you've made friends now," said Celestia, "and they're here for dinner, and they're both completely unarmed with any plates or spoons. Your logic has failed you. Here you go."

Mag accepted a plate of buttery bow tie pasta with pesto, steaming garlic bread dusted with basil, and a mound of green beans.

Mag set it reverently down on the table. "Thank you. Wow."

Celestia, now serving herself a bowl of the same, smiled. "It wasn't a difficult meal to make, and I said I'd cook you dinner if you spoke with Jorge." She made as if to put a pot lid back on the pot of pasta, remembered there wasn't one, and sat down.

"Who is Jorge?" said Luna.

"Runs the grocery store down the road," said Mag.

"There seemed to be some slight awkwardness between Mag and Jorge, so I encouraged them into a bit of small talk. You know I'm a great believer in the power of small talk."

"Yes, it's maddening," said Luna.

Celestia lifted her fork with magic, stabbed a single bow tie, lifted it up to eye height, and studied it critically. "I hope I got this recipe right. I also hope the pine nuts I gathered are fit for human consumption. Humans can eat pine nuts, yes? I remember them from the market in, ah, Greece, I think you called it, but perhaps things have changed."

"Yeah, we can eat pine nuts. Where on earth did you get pine nuts?" Mag looked out the window. "Wait, no. Seriously?"

"You live in a pine forest and you've never gathered pine nuts?" said Celestia.

"Mag, will you flaming well eat what's in front of you?" said Luna.

"Yes, do," said Celestia.

"Pushy, pushy, pushy," said Mag, and took a bite. It was excellent. Mag ruined it by dissolving into tears.

Celestia leaped to Mag's side of the little table with a flap of her wings and clutched Mag to her furry chest to coo promises of a better tomorrow while Luna offered panicked reassurances. Mag sniveled and blubbered out incoherent fragments of self-effacing apologies, as if she could possibly talk her way out of the situation when she couldn't talk.

Mag eventually fought it all back down and would have tried to act casual and go back to eating dinner, but Celestia wouldn't let go and pretended not to hear when Mag said she was fine. She spilled over again and could do nothing but lay her forehead on the table with her hands folded over the back of her neck, and wait for it to pass.

It did. Celestia, still not letting go, eventually said, "Any better?"

"I don't understand anything on any level," said Mag.

"You'll work it out. I'll help you."

"We both will. You have much to look forward to."

"You have all the time in the world to make sense of what's happening, and you will. You're an especially clever creature in an already brilliant world."

"I know not what to say, or what I can offer you that isn't already yours for the asking from either or both of us, but know that I would offer you any comfort if I only knew what you needed from us."

"I won't leave you alone."

"And neither shall I, for, well, obvious reasons, but I wouldn't if I could."

"We'll all look after each other, okay?"

"Rest. You've done well today."

And Mag was off again.

Celestia's table manners were the ultimate proof that courtesy was an art. All that puff about keeping your elbows off the table and making light, inoffensive conversation were just the bare minimum requirement of the medium, like the meter and rhyme restrictions of a sonnet. A sonnet could obey all the rules of poetry and still be a bad sonnet. A person could obey all the rules of dining and still look like a barbarian. Celestia was no barbarian; she was impeccably civilized without being precious. Words and gestures that would have seemed stiff even to a Victorian era baroness seemed casual with her. And yet Celestia never made Mag feel like she was being humored or tolerated.

She tried to draw Mag out, to get her to talk a bit about the local flora and what a person might find at a human yard sale, and when Mag had nothing particularly to say, Celestia took the hint with grace and kept the conversation going all by herself, letting Mag get by on nods and monosyllables.

Crying all over dinner. Lord. What had happened, really, that was such a big deal? Visiting royalty, got fired, compulsory headmate, cleaned the store, suddenly a sorceress, dip in the lake, yelled at a scary hobo, talking pony queen, don't know what to do. Whatever. Most of it wasn't even bad, from a purely objective point of view. There were people who'd kill to be her right now, abject terror or no, and not knowing what to do had been her base state of being for the past decade.

And now she was sitting there pitying herself, and it was clear that Celestia had decided to say something about it, because she'd stopped talking and had the look of someone constructing a tricky sentence.

"The aether seems to be reacting a bit differently to you than it did before. Has something happened?"

"I did magic. I can do magic."

"You can... hm. What happened, and how can I help?" Seeing Mag's face change at the question, she added, "We don't have to discuss this, of course, certainly not right now. I'm sure Luna knows the story and is already doing everything she can."

"Correct," said Luna.

"Long story short, I broke a couple of things I shouldn't have been able to break, and Luna says it was magic," said Mag. "But yeah, Luna's helping."

Celestia nodded. "Well, I hope you aren't planning anything in the way of actual lessons tonight. We're all exhausted."

"May I?"

"Hold on," said Mag. She finished her garlic bread, took her empty plate to the sink, and came back. "Okay."

"Mag has a most interesting signature," said Luna.

"Oh?" said Celestia.

"Black red white black. Have you ever seen such a thing?"

"Never," said Celestia.

"She and I have discussed the possible meanings. In general terms, it would appear to relate to the contemplation of a sensation or concept - well, I am sure you can see that much from the color results. We narrowed it down a bit further, though I am at a loss to explain the mechanisms behind the test to someone with no ability to perceive the aether and therefore cannot enlist her help except through metaphors and leading questions. A bit of gentle experimentation is in order. Some other time, of course."

"Of course," said Celestia.

Celestia flatly refused to take the bed, Mag couldn't imagine sharing the bed with her, and, when Mag made as if to lay down blankets for herself next to the couch, Celestia stood up, lowered her horn, and herded Mag into the bedroom.

"We need to get you a bed," said Mag.

"You need to get to bed," said Celestia.

"One thing. Please set up your computer in the living room. I know Celestia, and I suspect she'll have difficulties sleeping, which means leaving her to herself to think in the dark. This is no time to leave her alone with her thoughts. Apprise her of the device and perhaps she'll read herself to sleep."

"Good point," said Mag. She got up and made as if to go around Celestia, who was blocking the door.

"I'm setting up the computer," said Mag.

"Must you? I'm going directly to bed, you know."

"Yes, she will, whereupon she'll find that she cannot relax enough to fall asleep, and will be able to think of nothing else but what we have lost."

Celestia gave Mag a Look. "This is Luna's idea? Let her rest, Luna. I'll be fine."

"Someday, you will be," said Luna. "I swear it. But for now, read yourself to sleep with Mag's machine, and I shall send you dreams of cloudbursts over the sea, and of the glen in which we wore our first crowns, and of camomile baths in great steaming tubs."

"It's easy to set up," said Mag. "You plug the one thing into the other thing and then that thing into the wall. No problem."

Celestia, at a rare loss for words, stepped aside. Mag got her to levitate the table over to the corner near the wall socket and plugged things into things, turned it on, showed Celestia how the mouse worked, explained Google in a bit more detail, and pulled up a poetry website at Luna's suggestion. The whole process took 10 minutes and Celestia picked it up quickly.

"Thank you both," said Celestia as Mag walked back to her bed, "though you both worry too much. I'll be out like a light."

"Let us agree to ignore the optimist and leave her to her own devices. I'll see you on the other side. Worry not; your dreams will be peaceful."

"See you," said Mag, turned off the light, and crawled under the covers. Mag heard the couch creak and blankets shift. Then a while later, just before falling asleep, Mag heard the couch creak again, the swish of moving blankets, and then the clicking of a computer mouse.

"How did you find this dream?" said Mag.

"I didn't," said Luna. "This one is yours."

Mag, like a few hours ago in her dream, like 20 years ago in Mississippi, walked barefoot across the forest floor and wore her hair loose around her shoulders. Smooth riverstones framed a winding creek, flowing under a distant, winding canopy of hickory and oak foliage. Bluejays rattled and muttered and argued somewhere up there.

"I'd forgotten this place," said Mag.

"I am glad you remembered it again, then." Luna dipped her head to drink from the water.

"It didn't have a name, so me and my brothers called it 'The Crick.' We played here all day when we could, and I loved this place like I loved life." She pointed downstream. "Follow this and it leads to a gully next to a fat old walnut tree in the middle of a field. We called it the witness tree, even though I'm sure practically every tree in this forest witnessed the civil war. I don't know, it just looked to us like a tree that'd seen things in its lifetime." She leaned down, picked up a hickory nutshell, and tossed it into the water. It floated a few yards and caught up on the arch of an underwater tree-root.

"And that was your accent, I suppose," said Luna.

"My what?"

"Your accent changed. You did notice, didn't you?"

"No, actually," said Mag, consciously shifting back to Californian. "I thought I'd gotten rid of that."

"You could have kept it. You sound almost like the Apples."

"The what?"

"I believe you saw the picture of Applejack," said Luna.

Mag sat down. "So this family of ponies has a southern accent."

"Oh, are you keeping the accent after all?"

"What? Dammit! No. I got rid of everything that reminded me of home and I don't want any of it back. I was practicing my neutral accent before I drove over the Mississippi state line. Repeating everything the DJs said on the national radio stations, copying the way they talked, watching TV every night in the hotels and copying the newscasters."

"Do you wish to leave this place?"

"No. I don't know." Mag brushed leaves away from the forest floor to dig a hole in the dirt with a finger, just for something to do other than look at Luna looking at her. "No. I'd like to stay."

"It is certainly beautiful," said Luna.

"Yes, yes it is. I like everything about it. I like the squirrels, with their little hands and big tails. Sometimes you can also hear turkeys, but they're wary of people. They know we hunt them. I like that it's quiet now. I even like showing it to someone else."

Luna's eyes focused on something over Mag's shoulder, and narrowed. She leaned to the right, then walked and leaned further, peering through the trees at something.

Mag followed her line of sight. At first she saw nothing; then she noticed the same thing she'd seen in the crater - Nightmare Moon, unmoving, waiting.

"I beg your pardon," said Luna to Mag.

"Why?"

"I seem to have brought a memory with me. I was only thinking that something in this forest reminded me of the moon, and I suppose that brought it here."

"Is she dangerous?"

"No. She always has exactly as much power as you give her, and this image signifies nothing to you, so you give it no power."

"It's creepy. She's creepy. It. She. It. Okay, I'm having pronoun troubles."

"It hardly matters," said Luna. "Look over there." Mag looked. There wasn't anything to see. She looked back. Nightmare Moon was gone.

"There," said Luna.

"Cool trick," said Mag.

"The little tricks are often the best ones," said Luna. "I have sealed this dream. There will be no more dream shifts."

"Weren't you going to tell me something?"

"Hm?"

"Before dinner you said something about, uh, something. What?"

"Oh! Yes. We have work to do, I fear, though we may do it here in your forest. My sister is going to do something foalish. She plans to leave before dawn tomorrow, to head to the valley of mirrors and thence to the world in the lake. She plans to do it without us because she fears for our safety, both mine and yours."

"Not happening," said Mag.

"I knew you would say that. Shall we work together?"

"Obviously. But how do you know?"

"I know her," said Luna. "She despised seeing you come to harm today, and I believe she also worries that I am vulnerable while I dwell within a mortal mind. She has no doubt told herself she can manage just as well without us, that she would be more comfortable if she knew we were safe while she went into danger. This is just a post hoc rationalization, of course, and she forgets there are things in the world beneath the lake that may threaten even one such as she. Celestia needs another pair of eyes down there. I also believe she'll be less likely to take risks if she must consider our safety, and this is important, for she is in the mood to take risks."

"Has she been like this before?" said Mag.

"Not exactly like this, but personal loss is a part of life for we who must outlive our loved ones, so I am well acquainted with the ways in which she grieves. She is restless. She is by turns hyperproductive and paralyzed, throwing herself into ambitious projects in one hour and then hiding in her room pretending to sleep in the next. Assuming a placid face for the sake of her subjects, she paces and wanders the halls, stopping to stare at tapestries but not truly seeing them. It is best not to let her brood, or so I have found. I will sometimes ply her with distractions: new works of art, small interpersonal problems for her to solve, secret pranks. Sometimes it works. Then again, sometimes it is best to let her be, or to sit beside her and say nothing."

Mag wondered whether she had it in her to ask Luna what Celestia did when the situation was reversed. She didn't. Too bad she couldn't ask Celestia without Luna hearing the whole conversation. Was there a way to do that?

"So it's time to talk magic," said Mag.

"It's time to talk magic," confirmed Luna.

Author's Notes:

I wrote most of this just now and I've slept about two hours total in the past 36 hours. I hope it's at least coherent. Anyone sees a logical inconsistency, typo, or obviously bad decision or anything, do me a favor and tell me, will you?

Conversation Eleven, with Monologic Interlude

"Ahem," said Luna. "You have been assured of a restful sleep. We shall therefore avoid the more, shall we say, psychologically taxing exercises, focusing on gateway information, a thorough search for what precisely makes your magic work, and mental discipline. Please make yourself as comfortable as possible so we can begin."

Mag imagined herself a cigarette and settled in.

Luna held up a hoof. "No. Straighten your trunk, face me directly, and square your shoulders."

"That sounds less comfortable," said Mag.

"You'll get used to it. There are breathing exercises you must learn and posture is critical."

Mag decided not to waste time arguing, and rearranged herself into Indian position.

"That looks even more uncomfortable," said Luna.

"Nope," said Mag.

"Hm. We'll see how you feel after a while. Shift into a different position if you should need to. First, your breathing. We will start every lesson with breathing, which I'm sorry to say means no smoking."

And Luna taught Mag how to breathe. It was exactly as dull as one would expect, but at least it wasn't difficult. Mag breathed according to the pattern Luna had prescribed. Luna corrected her. Mag tried again. They kept doing this until there was nothing else for Luna to correct, and she sat in silence while Mag breathed.

"So this is basically meditation, right?" said Mag.

"No, but you'll learn that tonight as well. Keep breathing as I've instructed you, and while you practice that, you will learn the basic mechanics of magic."

"Like that documentary?"

"Yes, but arranged for an adult. I wouldn't wish you to feel as if I were talking down to you."

"Neat. You sure I can't have that cigarette?"

"Can you perform the breathing exercise while smoking?" said Luna.

"I plan to try sooner or later. Why not now, right?"

"Then feel free." Luna turned to the whiteboard and drew a series of vaguely mathematical but utterly unrecognizable symbols. "Now..."

After an interminable length of time full of jargon and apparent nonsense, Luna happened to look behind her to see Mag's face.

"You're kidding," said Mag.

"Why, not at all," said Luna.

"None of that meant anything to me. I understood one word in ten and the word was always 'the' or 'and' or, my personal favorite, 'obviously.' I feel like a caveman that wandered into the third quarter a college calculus class."

"Hm. I think I see the problem, and I should have thought of this much earlier. Does this help?"

Whole new categories of sensation flooded Mag's awareness. Mag jerked upright and her head lolled like the conductor of a seance. The trees were pillars of rushing water and the sky was a wall of light. The stream was life and death. Around Luna's head was a grayscale rainbow aurora, from her hooves stretched a shadow deeper than the sea and darker than the spaces between the stars, Mag's hands were wooden claws her breath was love her blood was silt her head was pain her bones seared like whiskey her

It all faded into halos and dusk, and Mag found herself spasming against a tree. Luna had her hoof on Mag's shoulder and watched her with concerned eyes. The aurora was still there around Luna's head, but Mag had to squint to see it, and her shadow was dim rather than dark.

"That was rash, and I apologize," said Luna.

"The hell was that?" said Mag, still shaking.

"I let you see the aether. But, like a fool, I made you too sensitive."

"Is this permanent? Will I wake up like this?"

"No. The only thing you'll take from this dream is understanding."

"Good," said Mag. She wanted to throw up. The aether was interesting now that Luna had turned the volume down, but it was obvious Mag wasn't made for this. "By the way, it kind of got lost in all the... all of that, but I think I saw Nightmare Moon again. She looked like drowning."

"Yes, that sounds like her," said Luna. She looked behind her. "Yes. Disturbing that she doesn't go away. Is something on your mind?"

"You were beautiful, you know," said Mag. "Really. Like those medieval Black Madonna statues. Or a Carlos Schwabe painting, or something. La Douleur. La Morte du Fossoyeur. Free us from all sin, Nephthys. Shield us from the judging day, Shalim. Though I walk through the shadow of the lady of night, I shall fear no evil. Why have the bluejays gone quiet?"

"The walls are breaking down. I think you had better wake up," said Luna. The ground turned to clouds and Mag began to fall -

- then jerked awake. It was still dark outside.

"Take a break. I'm surprised this is necessary, but such is the price for my acting the fool. I apologize again, and you have my promise that I'll be more careful."

Mag had a headache. She got up to search her purse for a Midol without turning the lights on, found it, and swallowed it without water. She leaned against the wall and took stock.

It hadn't been so bad, really, once Luna had changed the settings. She'd have to look a few of those names up, though. She had no idea who Carlos Schwabe was.

"Hope I don't go all mythological like that every time you let me see the aether," said Mag.

"You still want to test it? There are certainly other ways to learn magic. I'm sure I can make my lectures more understandable if I slow down and clarify my terms."

"My options are to take a horrible math class or to drop acid? And that sounds like a tough choice to you? My favorite Beatles song is 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.' Let's do this. Anyway, it's just a dream."

"Just a... heavens preserve us. You're going to get us both killed."

"Killed? You?"

"Yes, me. Immortality is a relative term."

Mag got back into bed. "Yeah, well, I'm coming back anyway."

The halos were still there. Mag felt woozy, but tried to appear as sober as possible.

Luna looked unimpressed. "I need to know how lucid you are before we begin. Tell me again about Nephthys."

"Who?"

"What is your auric signature?"

"Some colors."

"What is your name?"

"Margaret Taylor Wilson."

"Age?"

"26."

"Where are we right now?"

"Mississippi. Wait, no, this is a dream. Or, no, this doesn't look like Mississippi anyway." It didn't. They sat in the alabaster temple under the strange stars.

"What is the last song you listened to?"

"Trick question, it was an instrumental. You know, the one played by that little girl with the mbira from the next village over? Just kidding; it was 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.'"

"I don't believe you," said Luna.

"Why would I lie?"

"Because you believe the study of magic would be more interesting this way. Then again, if you are canny enough to lie then you should understand what I tell you."

"Oh, then I'm slightly lying."

Luna's expression suggested this was the wrong thing to say. She later refused to let Mag smoke when Mag asked.

But magic was certainly more interesting now that Mag could see it properly. It turned out that "see" wasn't the right word. Luna started out with a demonstration, lifting a river rock and tossing it to Mag, and the only thing she could see with her eyes was the subtle field of light that surrouded the rock. Mag had another sense, now, however, one she had no words for, and that was where the show was. That throw of the rock had been every bit as complicated as Luna's lectures. This was going to be an uphill climb. Wait, where had the rock come from? Oh, they were by The Crick again. The world was so different now that it could be hard to recognize things.

"I'm relieved," said Luna.

"What?"

"Since you seem to be handling this well, more or less, we can take a more hooves-on approach. Pick up that rock, please."

Mag picked up the rock.

"This time, we shall start by searching for your source of power and go from there. We won't stop until we've found it, and you needn't worry about running out of time, for time is fluid here."

"Cool," said Mag, and dropped back into her earlier sitting position.

"Tell me about your father," said Luna.

"Aw, crap. Seriously?"

"Let me be more specific. Can you tell me how you felt about what the eldest said to you?"

"Is it too late to do the lecture?"

"Yes, because I am tired of dithering over study methods," said Luna.

"Dammit, I'd just managed to forget that. Fine, but if I spend hundreds of years breaking down every single thing that happened during that phone call and we don't find what we're looking for, I'm taking both of you out for dinner and a movie. Dinner is steak and the movie is Begotten."

"If this takes hundreds of years, I would be delighted to endure both just to make my sister suffer the same thing for forcing us to do all of this in the span of a single night. But it won't come to that. Now, first, tell me what his words meant."

Mag defined the words "negro" and "queer," and spent ample time on the connotations behind them when used by someone like her dad. Luna nodded along in a detached way like a police officer taking down a confession, prompting Mag to continue whenever she got too embarrassed to speak, and never once acted disgusted or surprised. Describing slavery and the KKK didn't faze her either, nor did Mag's halting explanation of LGBT issues.

"Two slurs with ugly histories, one of which was erroneously aimed at my sister," Luna summed up.

"And both my dad and the eldest are dicks," said Mag.

"I take it this is something your father would be likely to say?"

"Yes. Hanging out with people my parents hate is half the reason I went to the west coast," said Mag.

"You certainly seem to disagree with his opinions."

"I can't stand that shit. Even when I was little I thought dysaesthesia aethiopica sounded less like an actual illness and more like the sensible reaction to slave drivers being slave drivers, yet my dad pulled the word out every time he saw a tired-looking black man. And when I was a teen and I heard about men wanting to marry other men for the first time I said "Neat," and everyone all got pissed and read the bible at me like I was the crazy one. I am not crazy. Right? They're the crazy ones. It's obvious."

"'True' and 'obvious' are two different things, unfortunately," said Luna.

"Thank you."

"It must have been difficult hearing the eldest imitate your father."

"What? What's that mean? What are you getting at?"

"Why, nothing."

Mag shifted. Suddenly she couldn't get comfortable. "What do you mean, then?"

"You seem agitated," observed Luna.

"Yeah, because this turned into a therapy session all of a sudden and you're dropping coy hints about something. Aren't we getting distracted here? I thought we were looking for what triggered my magic."

"We are," said Luna. "We are dissecting every aspect of the event that triggered your first burst of magic in the hopes of recreating it under more controlled conditions. As for 'coy hints,' I merely think it would be unpleasant to hear someone you so dislike imitate your father, with whom you had what I suspect was a tempestuous relationship."

Mag scowled. "It's all right, you can say it. 'Daddy issues.'"

Luna blinked. "Daddy... issues?"

Disgust overwhelmed Mag. "Oh god. How much of my hate for the eldest is because...? Oh god, this is straight out of Freud."

"I am so very lost," said Luna.

"You know what, fine. I already knew I was messed up. Maybe this'll be fun. I'll bet my attitude towards you guys suggests some mommy issues as well, and wouldn't it be interesting if it turns out that I do magic by being a big ol' mess? How is this rock doing?" Mag looked at it closely. "Ooh, it has my thumbprint in it. That wasn't there before. Did you see me cast anything?"

"Not exactly," Luna said reluctantly.

"More yes than no, though, right?"

"How is it that we already approach a solution and yet you are now scaling the very heights of - no, no, hold. One moment. You asked how much of your dislike for the eldest comes from, um, this thing you are upset about. My familiarity with him is limited, but I can at least say that everything I know of him shows him to be an odious, snarling, ruthless, gnarled old treeroot of a man. I have never met him in person and know not what he looks like, but I am picturing a crocodile."

"Ooh, that felt great. Now do everyone else I hate."

"No, because I'm busy and so are you. Give me your rock."

Mag half flung, half tossed Luna the rock. Luna caught it with magic, clearly annoyed. "And now thou throwest rocks at me. No, do not apologize - I know. Listen; look you. This print is yours, made by your own thumb upon the surface of something you cannot mar by any means but magic - or machinery, so I suppose, but that is not to the point. This print is yours, and the force that caused it is yours, and the thoughts or feelings that brought it out of you are yours. Whatever you are so ashamed of, be it your history or the workings of your emotions or some human thing I cannot comprehend, it is yours. Yours to use, and your responsibility to use well. Is your magic fueled by something you consider unworthy? Then make it worthy, if that were possible, or if not, then be worthy yourself. Do you understand?”

They stared at each other. Then Mag looked down and said, “No, but I will. And I really am sorry.”

“I know,” repeated Luna. “Consider it forgotten. Only remember that, if your mindset is a part of your magic, then you must be very mindful indeed.” Now she smiled. “Then again, I think you've misunderstood. You didn't imprint the rock at the moment of any of our topic changes, not when the subject of your father came up, nor when the subject of your regent came up, nor when we discussed the both of them. You marked it halfway into the sentence about 'daddy issues,' right at the moment your face changed, presumably when the phrase 'daddy issues' first occurred to you. Be happy. We've almost found what we're looking for.”

“I still don't like it, but fine.”

“Understandable. Regardless, let us 'narrow things down,' as they now say.”

Narrowing things down turned out to be tedious, very much so. They talked all about fine distinctions and Luna started doing that thing again, the one where she listed off images and ideas, only this time Mag held her rock instead of holding her hands apart. At one point the rock turned squishy and glowed a little, but Luna hardly seemed to care. Mag asked why.

“We aren't just trying to replicate the effect anymore,” said Luna. “We are trying to do it consistently, on command. Parsley. Blue garage. The sensation of being stricken across the face. Cannibal cookbooks. Bowl of persimmons. Flower clock. Status quo. Webbing. A vile joke that makes you uncomfortable. A broken wall.”

The most aggravating part was the sensation of being watched. Mag didn't know if it was part of the test or something else. Was the image of Nightmare Moon back? She tried not to think about the Nightmare, but it was like trying not to think of a pink elephant.

“Yep, banana peels and bloody leaves, cool. Do you feel that?” said Mag.

“No,” Luna said firmly.

“So, yes,” said Mag.

“Do not dwell on it. It is dangerous even to discuss it. Even its image has a certain power, and such things never really die, nor can they ever be said to be far away, for they are only ideas and have no physical location as such. Ah, but there is an object lesson for you, once you grasp the workings of your magic. I have been poor prey for the Nightmare for years now because my mind and heart are the wrong shape; I have seen the kindness of my world now, bathed in it, let it shape me, having much to live for and little reason to despise my fate. But... now that I come to think of it...” a look of terror eclipsed her face. “Oh no. Oh, hell. Not this. Please, not this.”

Mag turned to see cat's eyes in the dark. Luna charged at the eyes with her horn, shouting, “Avaunt, thou tick!”

Heat and delirium burned Mag's world away.

“I hope you appreciate this. Do you have any idea how hard it is to wind her up that far?”

Mag sat in a shabby, red velvet chair next to a small wooden end table with a metal chalice full of some dark liquid. All of this was inside a great stone hall with great wooden beams high above. If there were walls or a ceiling, they were too far away to see; beyond a certain distance there was only the dark. In front of her sat herself.

The Mag in the other chair wasn't quite the same. She was taller. Her hands were steepled. She smiled gently. She wore a black steel tiara as thin as a wire, with a tiny white star of a gem set at its center just below her hairline. She had green cat's eyes.

“Relax,” said the Nightmare. “I only want to talk, and to make an offer. If you refuse, I will simply leave and wander the dreams of your people, looking for a willing host, harming neither you nor my old friend.” Such a gentle smile. Mag couldn't move, couldn't speak, and couldn't struggle.

There was a colossal crashing sound somewhere in the distance, followed by a world-ending shriek of rage and horror. Luna, thought Mag.

The Nightmare ignored it. “I hope you'll forgive me for monologuing, but I have a feeling this discussion will get uncivilized if I let you speak at this point. Let me explain the situation." It raised a hand and pulled a steaming goblet out of the air.

With a sip of its drink, the Nightmare began. "I've been watching you from the inside. No, I didn't change anything. You don't have to worry about that. I only thought I'd get to know you a bit before introducing myself.” The Nightmare never seemed to blink. “I'll tell you what I've seen so far, as an expression of respect. Respect is something of a watchword of mine, believe it or not, and I realize it goes both ways. For instance, I do not possess people, whatever you've been told and whatever you imagine."

The Nightmare studied her fingernails. "But that's interesting, isn't it? That's the pattern I've been seeing all day. They've all been trying to simplify things for you. They give you simple answers to complicated questions, and you feel suspicious but you let it go. Or you make an assumption and they don't correct you until it becomes relevant. Then they pretend they understand everything you say, or at least Princess Celestia does. I know it annoys you, but don't blame them – the princesses have spent millennia leading a people that, shall we say, generally aren't very good at handling complex abstractions?" It crossed its legs. "I recommend taking this up with them, politely of course. Just remind them that you prefer difficult truths to misleading or simplified metaphors, and tell them you don't expect them to know everything, that you'll still respect them if they show their ignorance.”

There was another massive boom. Dust fell from the rafters.

The Nightmare laughed softly. “Oh, Luna, beautiful soul. You know, I love my hosts. I truly do. Especially the ones that survive. When you see her again, tell her I'm always there if she wants to talk.”

Another shriek. An icy breeze ruffled Mag's clothing.

“She has yet to understand the limits of courage, I see. Her fear isn't going to stop empowering me just because she's pushed past it. Tell her that as well, will you? But I'm getting distracted. Sooner or later she's going to collapse into despair, and then she'll be too numb to be afraid, at which point she'll only be fighting the strength I draw from your fear. And you're hardly afraid of me at all. Why is that? Oh, I see. You think you have nothing to lose.” The Nightmare sighed. “I sound like such a storybook villain. Let me clear up a few misconceptions you've fallen into. Firstly, I am not some kind of tempter. Or, if I am, 'temptation' is an unfair characterization. Think about it. Temptation is only offering a choice, or, more likely, pointing out a choice that my host hasn't noticed.”

The crash was further away now.

“Secondly, do you remember what Luna said about power and responsibility? That applies to everyone, even me. I am what I am, and what I am is something that runs on the fear and terror of others. I can't change that, so I use it responsibly – that is, in support of my goals. What are my goals? Self fulfillment. What fulfills me? The chance to offer choices to a host and see them grow as a result. You see? There's nothing sinister about that.”

It wasn't a shriek this time, but an anguished wail. There was no ensuing boom.

“Thirdly, a small correction. Celestia thinks I take away the volition of my hosts. Quite the opposite. Again, I point out options. Yes, sometimes my hosts develop new habits, and sometimes they discover that the things they really want are horrible by the reckoning of the society they belong to, but I would never stand in the way of my hosts. I didn't stop Luna when she decided to destroy all that she loved, and I certainly didn't force her to do it. I only taught her how. If she'd wanted something else, I would have helped her with that instead.”

The Nightmare rested its head against the velvet of the chair. “Am I forgetting something? Never mind. I can simply come back if I have to. Let's bring this back to you and me. I should tell you I owe you a debt of gratitude for helping to let me into your world, and, if you'll let me, I would be interested in paying you back." It smiled again. "I'm looking for a new host. You aren't my first choice – I have my eye on a woman over in Eastern Europe, and I can hear her praying for divine intervention – but you have certain advantages I would be interested in nurturing, and you also have a hollowness inside of you that I would like to help fill.” Its brow furrowed. “You're starting to fear me more. Really? Well, I suppose that makes sense. I know how frightening it can be to face a choice. You're worried you'll make the wrong one. Does it help if I remind you that I won't hold a grudge against you if you refuse my offer? Nightmare Moon was the type to hold grudges, but I am not Nightmare Moon; that was Luna. Nightmare Moon was always Luna, and always will be. If it weren't then she wouldn't hate me so much. Yes, you understand.”

Mag had been waiting for another boom. There wasn't one. Oh, Luna, please don't let me find you crying, Mag thought.

The Nightmare waved a hand. “Don't worry. She'll be fine when you come back, and if she doesn't like seeing you with me, I know we can talk her around. She trusts you. And I can be very persuasive. The same goes for Celestia, who I've never had a chance to talk to. Now then, I put it to you. Would you like my help, or should I look for someone else who would appreciate my gifts, starting with that helpless woman in Eastern Europe? Accept me and I can show you how to help her, by the way. This isn't a hostage situation, regardless of what Luna thinks, the poor child.”

The Nightmare let Mag's mouth open. “Fuck off,” said Mag.

“Unimaginative and rude,” sighed the Nightmare. “Oh well. I leave you with a little tip; your magic is triggered by the memory of a memory of a rude awakening, but only if followed by a sense of black gratification. You know, like how one feels when her worst expectations have been vindicated. Now off you go. Promise made, promise kept. Have a lovely evening.”

The stone hall and the chairs and chalices and promises all whirled away and Mag stood in the alabaster temple under the stars a few yards away from Luna, who was huddled on the floor and crying piteously.

Dammit, thought Mag. She walked forward and hugged Luna's head. Luna shoved her back and glared searchingly at Mag's eyes through glassy tears, saw round pupils, and collapsed into Mag's lap.

“I told it no,” said Mag.

“G-g-g-”

“I'm fine. It's gone for now.”

And here was Luna, invincible Luna, crying in her lap, silent except for the occasional snuffle. She didn't look to be stopping any time soon. It wasn't hard to guess that this had been building up for some time. She'd almost convinced Mag that she really was on top of things, and possibly would have pulled it off if life weren't bullshit unfair.

That made three of them who'd been faking it. Celestia with her smiles, Mag with bluster, and then Luna with, come to think of it, her own form of bluster.

Mag combed Luna's starry hair with her fingers. "It's just as well that I signed on with Celestia for non-magic protege purposes. Of all these supernatural creatures whose first reaction to me is a job offer of some kind, she's the person who makes the least sense to me, so she must be who I can learn the most from, right? Not that I couldn't have told you all to back off and let me live my garbage life, or anything. But seriously, what is with you people? Do you all constantly feel the need to gather acolytes? Is it like when I see a wild animal and the first thing I want to do is take it home and turn it into a pet? Don't answer that."

Luna had gone still and had stopped sniffling, though her eyes were still clenched shut.

"I guess all I'm saying is that you're the opposite of Celestia. You're the one who makes the most sense to me. Not that we're not different, or anything. For instance, you don't make everything about yourself."

"I used to," said Luna thickly. "Don't blame yourself. It's what happens when you are shut up inside your own head for too long." She opened her eyes. "What did she tell you?"

"Who? Oh. It, and it's definitely an it, fed me this long and mostly pretty cliched Saturday morning cartoon villain line about wanting to help me. It had a couple of interesting things to say, and I'll run them by you, but I told it to fuck off. Then it put me back here and ran off to bedevil Eastern Europe."

Luna sat up quickly, alarmed. "Interesting things to say?"

"Yeah. Can the Nightmare lie?"

"Yes," said Luna.

"It told me that you guys keep oversimplifying your answers to my questions, and that I should tell you two that, believe it or not, I'd be happier with the truth. No, actually it said something a little meaner than that, but my version's better. So... Nightmare lie?"

Doubtfully, Luna said, "You ask me to risk giving you enough rope to hang yourself and half the world as well, but as you wish. Some hours ago I told you I wouldn't protect you from yourself, and now I must prove it. I know not if it can lie, in the strictest sense, but she - it - will sometimes neglect to mention important details. For instance, it never told me it was teaching me to destroy myself. One gets the feeling it teaches this lesson often, no?"

"Teaching people to destroy themselves?"

"Even so."

"I don't know if that fits," said Mag. "It talked about choices."

"Oh, that. Yes, that was the bit that convinced me, long ago. It galls me to see it didn't affect you."

"We've got thousands of years of fairy tales about how convincing the devil is, and the Nightmare pretty much talks like Hollywood Satan. It was a good sales pitch, but it always is in the stories, and humans see too many advertisements every day to not be a little cynical about offers to 'help.' Then there's the fact that I heard you screaming. It told me we could talk you into accepting Nightmare Mag, since you trust me and the Nightmare considers itself persuasive, but you didn't sound so easy to persuade. I couldn't see myself walking up to you with cat's eyes and telling you everything would turn out right."

Luna shuddered. "I'm glad you are so familiar with the old stories of humans. Odd how your Hollywood Satan sounds so much like the Nightmare."

"He does, doesn't he? Maybe the Nightmare has been here before and people started telling stories as a warning, and the story of the devil made it all the way to the 21st century. Lucky us."

"That sounds a little unlikely."

"Sometimes oral tradition comes in handy. But here's another thing. Check this out." Mag reached into her pocket and pulled out a rock. Memory of a memory of a rude awakening, black gratification, squeeze! Mag opened her hand. The rock hadn't changed. "Hm. Right. Either the Nightmare can lie after all, or I missed a step."

"Oh! You found the trigger?"

"The Nightmare told me what it was," said Mag.

"That worries me. Greatly."

"I hear you, but right now I'm sick of fretting about what other people are thinking all the time. Let's just go with it. Come on, tell me the next step."

"If you insist," said Luna.

Then it got technical, and stayed that way for the rest of the night.

Author's Notes:

I finished this a couple of days early because it's spring break and I had more time to write.

Conversation Twelve is the beginning of day two of A New Sun.

edit on Oct. 12, 2015: Cleaned up a few things.

Conversation Twelve

Mag sat in bed with her back against the wall and her legs under the covers, bleary but awake, enraptured. A sea-blue sphere the size of a marble hovered in place between her hands and cast shadows in the shape of her fingers on the walls on either side of her.

She could do magic.

She could do magic.

"Class dismissed," said Luna tiredly. "Well, I say 'class,' but a class is over in the span of an hour or two, while I believe we spent the equivalent of a solid week on experimentation and study. You have a frightening work ethic when you slumber. Monomaniacal, I would say. The price, as you can see, is that sleep was even less restful than wakefulness, and now we have to go and chase down my fool sister while you - and therefore we - feel like a mound of Cerberus vomit. Thou fiend, did we truly need to work all night?"

"Yes." Mag threw off the covers.

Mag stiff-armed her way into the convenience store that used to be her place of work. Mr. Bachchan, currently working the counter, saw her and went rigid.

"No worries, Mr. Bachchan, I'm just here as a customer." Mag took a Monster drink out of the fridge.

"I'm glad you are here," said Mr. Bachchan. "After we talked on the phone and I, well, when I let you go, I heard that you were entertaining an important guest of some kind -"

"If this is the start of an offer for my old job back, then no, you were right the first time. I think we both know you should have fired me years ago." Mag grabbed a bag of beef jerky from the rack and dropped them on the counter alongside a ten dollar bill, giving an apologetic glance behind her at the massively fat man with the beard and windshield wipers. "Keep the change. I go to my doom and I'm in a hurry. Better luck with your next employee."

"Doom? What is -" Mag ran out the door.

"Thou shouldst have just made coffee to begin with."

"But I didn't." Mag folded the container of beef jerky as best she could while running and holding the cold energy drink under her elbow. It was about an hour before dawn and mercilessly cold out.

"You could have smoked a cigarette as well. I do not at all like nicotine withdrawal. Celestia is not utterly without defenses, you realize that?"

Mag fumbled her breakfast into her left hand and used her right to cast her new light spell. She reveled in it for a moment, delighted in its sickly blue glow, and set it a little above her shoulder, where it hovered. "Withdrawal? This isn't bad at all. It's only been like 10 hours. Now if you'll excuse me from the conversation, I'm going to eat some dead animal and drink a quart of life while stumbling down a hill. Remember to tune out my sense of taste when I get to the jerky."

"I do not object to the occasional taste of meat when it is a dream or headed to someone else's stomach, rememb - faugh! Thou spentest money on this drink? Didst thou know before thou bought it that it tasted thus?"

Mag powerwalked down the path to the lake. Instead of answering Luna she stuffed a chip of jerky into her mouth.

"A quart of life, thou called it. If this taste reminds thee of life then I counsel burning your house down, moving to another country, and starting again."

Mag swallowed. "I see neither sister is a morning person."

"What morning? I see only night, a judgment I am well qualified to make. Thou shouldst also have brought a lantern. And I cannot imagine how thou canst be of such good cheer when thy head pounds like a freight train and thine eyes burn like its engine furnace."

"I can do magic," said Mag. "Anyway, I'm off to cast a spell I've never done except in dreams by throwing myself into a frozen lake, and then I'm going to hunt down a goddess so she can yell at me. It's a glorious morning."

"She'll be angry at the pair of us, not just thee, and I am the one who must - argh! Why have I not disconnected my sense of taste from thine? There. I shan't connect it again until thou hast eaten another meal and brushed thy teeth."

Mag stopped at the end of the path. It had frozen over again. She drained the energy drink can, set it upright on the ground, stomped it down to a flat circle of metal, and put it back in her jacket pocket. Then she walked to the lake and started on the rest of the beef jerky.

The lake had frozen over again. She hadn't brought an ice pick, but the ice wasn't all that thick, this being California. She broke the ice with the heel of her boot, dragging shards out as she went.

Someone crashed down along the path. Mag let her light spell dissipate just as a darting spot of light from a small flashlight came out of the woods, followed by the fat man who had been in line behind her, gulping air. Apparently he'd run the whole way.

"Don't - " he panted.

"Breathe, guy," said Mag.

"Don't do it," he said.

"Don't do what? No, don't answer. You just keep breathing, and let me get back to this. I'm kind of in a hurry."

"Don't do it," he said again. He had his hands on his knees and he looked like he might pass out, but his eyes were on Mag's.

"Do what?"

"I bet you," he panted, "that you have something to live for if you think about it."

"... what?"

"We could talk about it," said the fat man.

"I so don't have the time for this," said Mag.

"You could make time, though. Come back up to that little shop and let's talk about this. Do you really have to do this now?"

Mag stared at him. "What are you, a suicide hotline guy on his day off? I'm not here to kill myself. Go away. I mean, no huge hurry, don't, you know, hurt yourself by trying to run again, but seriously."

"You're not?" he said.

"Nope." Mag went back to breaking up the ice.

"What are you doing, then?"

"Watch and see," said Mag. No one would ever believe him, so she might as well put on a show.

The man kept talking. "Listen, whatever you're doing, couldn't you do this in the daylight, maybe? And until then, we could talk about, I don't know, maybe all the reasons it's nice to be alive and why ending your life isn't really a solution."

Mag shook her head in disbelief. "Who even are you?"

"John Hardly. I'm new in town."

"John, how do I convince you I'm not here to kill myself in as few words as possible without stopping what I'm doing?" She'd freed up a rough two-foot-wide circle of water, black in the dark.

"Well, what are you doing?" he said.

"Magic," said Mag.

"I think he has done enough to distract you. I absolve you of all future discourtesy to him necessary to make him shut up. First, lean down and face the water."

"Okay, I really think you should come with me," said John.

"Go away, John," murmured Mag.

"As I have said, you need not worry about watching the water for frayed edges; I am a warden of the ways, and I can see the edges without concerning myself with fraying."

"I remember," said Mag.

"Remember what?" said John.

"Now concentrate. Feel. Take your time; the purer your state of mind, the smoother the transition."

John walked up and laid a hand on Mag's shoulder. "Okay, I'm gonna have to - "

Mag spun around, flung his hand off, and almost punched him in the throat before she remembered that he was only trying to help in his own inconvenient and invasive way, and contented herself with saying, "John, if you go around grabbing women, sooner or later one of us is going to turn your face into a Cannibal Corpse album cover, no matter how helpful you think you're being."

"I just - "

"This goes double for women who need a cigarette but don't have time for one. Go away, John. Just go away."

John fell back a bit, all frustration and helpless concern. It made Mag feel like she was being callous, but this was the time to prioritize, and Celestia was priority one.

"Alas. We should find him after we return and let him know you are well. Now, have you cleared your mind? Good. Breathe, breathe again, trigger, and the edge is at cobra hood stripes Pagliacci. Huh. What is a Pagliacci? Never mind; GO!"

Mag closed her eyes, let the memory of the eldest's words play in her head, pictured Luna's collection of images, and hopped into the hole in the ice. Winter mountain lake water bit through Mag's clothes and into her bones. Before her feet touched the bottom of the lake, the spell kicked in and the cold between the worlds sucked the rest of the warmth out of her in one airless moment.

Gravity went perpendicular on her and dumped her on her back. She'd done it. It hurt like blazes and there was a thick fog in the air around her, but she'd done it.

"I had hoped - oh, this cold is hateful. I miss being immune to it. I had hoped Celestia would be in view, unlikely as it would have been. Very well. Can you move? You could cast that warming spell I taught you."

"Fog?" Mag said through chattering teeth.

"The mark of a nearly botched casting of the traveling spell. It is to be expected. You are inexperienced, distracted, not entirely awake, and human. In fact your performance is impressive, upon reflection."

Mag rolled onto her side and dragged a numb hand to her lips.

"Ready? Okay. Sunflower pottery."

Memory, sunflower pottery. Spell. Mag inhaled thick heat through her fingers. Most of the icewater sublimated. The cold of the in-between lingered, but at least she was dry.

"I suppose we can practice that one. Would that I could offer better instruction for it; casting through one's hands is even more different from Equestrian magic than I expected."

"I'll g-get b-better," said Mag.

"I know. Now, we must discuss our next move. Judging by the slope of the hill, the lake is a few miles away. We could walk, though I must stress the importance of quickness and silence."

Mag started walking downhill. "Because it'd attract the collectors if I were too loud?" she whispered.

"That is the most likely result, yes."

"The collectors that collect out-of-the-ordinary things in the valley and take them to the world under the lake?" said Mag.

"I mislike where you're going with this."

"Would it work, though?"

"It would, unfortunately."

"All right," said Mag. "Want to do it that way?"

"No, but I prefer it to letting Celestia wander alone. Let us explore other options first. For how long can humans run?"

"Career marathon runners? More or less forever. Me? Two or three minutes. How quick can you teach me to teleport?"

"That depends on how good your arithmancy is."

"That would be no. And if arithmancy is what it sounds like, I doubt teleportation is something I'll be doing anytime soon."

"I certainly have no excess of love for teleportation. It's one of the most cerebral spells I've ever come across. Its uses are many, but one must have an intuitive grasp of certain mathemagical concepts and a head for fast calculations."

"In short, I should start shouting for Celestia while I walk and hope either she or a collector finds us."

"Ugh. Let me think a moment."

"Is there a way to set up some kind of magical dog whistle that lets me get her attention from a distance without giving our position away to anything else?"

"We might devise something between the three of us at some point, some secret symbol, but I can think of nothing perfectly safe that would work at this moment. Then again, we can at least narrow down the possible creatures that might find us if you send out a magical sign she would recognize, but which does not give away our position."

"The sign isn't hard, at least. Black red white black. Is there a way we can get that into the air? Maybe project it onto the clouds and hope she figures it out?"

"Yes. Intensify the light spell, change its colors, and point it at the clouds."

Mag cast the spell again, held it between her hands a moment, tweaked the parameters... and the light went out.

"Nay. You altered the tertiary vector too quickly and breached the spell's morphic field. Summon it again."

"I love it when you say 'nay.' It's just the best pun."

"What pun? Nay, it doesn't matter. Stop giggling. Thank you. Now try again."

Mag stopped walking for the sake of concentration. This time she got it right. Four patches of color shone against the yellow clouds.

"I don't think I can walk and cast at the same time," whispered Mag.

"Then stand and cast. I will watch for threats; concentrate on maintaining the spell."

A few seconds later something growled some 20 yards to her right.

"Sodding blazes, that was quick. Run, Mag. Drop the spell and run."

Mag dropped the spell and ran. After a night (a week?) of Luna telling her what to do it was getting a little old, but she had not liked that growl. It sounded happy to see her.

"Peryton. A creature most like a cross between a deer and a bird. It feeds on the shadows of thinking creatures, a feeding which the victim typically does not survive, perhaps because one needs one's shadow to live, or perhaps because the peryton's loathing for all mortals other than itself incites it to murder those creatures it catches. Perytons can fly, but they are clumsy in the air. They can run, but their taloned hind legs are not suited to it. As such, the peryton must act as an ambush predator, and loses interest in fleeing prey provided the prey is quick enough."

Mag picked up speed, but could hear something gaining on her. After a few seconds of running she turned and saw the strange, front-heavy deer thing hopping behind her with the front-legs-then-back-legs gait of a rabbit. It had iridescent feathers, green fur, two smallish prongs for antlers, and an intent expression. Mag ran faster.

"If we make a habit of wandering other worlds, a jogging regimen may be in order. What do you think?

"Talk later," gasped Mag.

"Certainly."

Had Mag thought less of John for being so out of breath? She couldn't remember; she didn't right now, at any rate. Her heart drummed in her chest and she couldn't get enough air.

On the plus side, it had taken less than 10 minutes to shake off the peryton. On the negative side, she'd wasted almost 10 minutes. If Celestia could teleport to the lake, she would be long gone at this point.

"Another light show?" said Mag when she'd recovered a bit.

"Yes, for lack of a better plan."

The second time had a more positive result: nothing happened.

"How long should we keep this up?" said Mag.

"You are well winded, still, so you may as well maintain it for as long as you can. I had thought we'd catch up to Celestia. Curse the fat man! He slowed us down."

"I think you wanted us to move slower anyway," said Mag. "You wanted us to get better prepared. Coffee, cigarette, maybe a tire iron for the more rigorous forms of interspecies diplomacy. It made sense at the time, too."

"You do not blame me, I hope."

"No, though I wish you'd been a better guesser for when Celestia would leave."

"As do I."

"No offense meant. You know, to be honest, I was hoping the internet would keep her up all night and she'd forget all about leaving until it was too late. I should have found her a website with Bejeweled or Tetris to go along with Wikipedia."

"'Should have' and 'I wish I had' are useless considerations now."

"I've got my breath back, I'm sick of this, and I'm feeling drastic," said Mag.

"Plan C, then. Very well."

Mag let the spell drop, stuck the tips of her pinkies into her mouth, and whistled. It was a proper whistle, the kind that startled birds out of trees and traveled for miles to bounce off of distant mountains.

"CELESTIAAAAA!" Mag called, and dropped into a sprinter's stance. She didn't think she'd be able to run for very long this time, so if she had to bolt then she'd need to make it count.

Two things teleported behind Mag. One was a 10-foot mass of black smoke with two tiny eyes glowing white like stars. The other was Celestia. She grabbed Mag and teleported the both of them away.

They landed next to the lake. The smoke didn't follow, or if it had, it wasn't moving very quickly.

"Margaret Taylor Wilson, what do you think you're doing?" said Celestia. Mag noticed, to her dark delight, that Celestia looked nearly as tired as Mag felt. The internet could be so cruel to insomniacs.

"Don't you momvoice me," said Mag. "You snuck off to do something dangerous, and Luna says it'd be less dangerous if we came with you. What are you doing?"

Celestia glared. "Luna, is that true? Is that what you told her?"

"Yes, it is," said Luna. "Do you deny it? You slunk away into peril as we slept, an unnecessary risk carried out in an underhanded manner."

"You would have done the same thing in my place," said Celestia.

"Yes, and you would have tried to chase after me just as I did, except you would have failed, because I had to teach Mag magic in her sleep. Show her, Mag."

Mag conjured her sea-blue marble of light and held it up for Celestia's inspection.

"You two worked that out in a single night?" said Celestia.

"I rather think 'a single night' does little justice to how long it took, however technically accurate the statement," said Luna.

"I see. And you went to such great lengths to do something so dangerous. Mag, I'm honestly amazed at your new abilities and I'd love to help you develop them in whatever way I can, but I wish you hadn't come. Luna must have greatly overstated the dangers of the lake for people like me."

"Is that so?" said Luna.

"Yes," said Celestia firmly.

"The Plinth of Pasithee."

"It only activates if you touch it. Do you think I'm going to lean on it while I'm distracted?"

"The Rattling God."

"What would he be doing in there? Anyway, I hear he's mellowed over the centuries. I doubt he's even still looking for us."

"Oil rat ambush."

"I'd live, and, what's more, how would you two help with that?"

"One of us might see it coming."

"I'd still live," said Celestia.

"Irritating the collectors?"

"They would take me to the sculptor, and then I'm sure we could discuss it."

"You and your discussions," said Luna. "How would you negotiate with, say, a bookslide?"

"I can fly, Luna."

"You can also die. You were not always so cavalier about danger."

"Nope, nope, please don't respond to that," said Mag. "This sounds like the kind of argument that goes on forever and, like, I'm glad I'm here and I'm not leaving, but I also want to go home at some point. Can we please skip to the end of this argument?"

Celestia smiled. "What an excellent idea. I'll just teleport you back, make sure you get home okay, and return to what I was originally doing."

"No, the other end," said Mag.

"Wherein you accept we're coming with you," said Luna.

"Oh, that end. Fine, but only because, believe it or not, I trust you both. Yes, even you, Mag, except where your own well-being is concerned."

"Well, obviously," said Mag. "I'm a mortal and stuff. If I see any rattling oil rat gods, I'll be more than happy to hide behind you and look as inedible as I can."

"Good, but that's not what I meant. Look into the lake, please," said Celestia.

"Sure," said Mag, and walked up to the lake.

It was a normal enough lake, except for the cloudy but perfectly still water and the wrecked towers of junk metal protruding out of the surface here and there in the distance. It made a decent mirror, which, Mag supposed, was what Celestia had in mind.

"Yes, fine, I look like hell," said Mag.

"Luna, we need to talk about what a teacher should do when the student refuses to stop studying. I've got plenty of tips, because I know all about that one."

Mag raised a finger. "In my defense, I was wearing concealer and foundation yesterday."

"Your concealer must be a very impressive product if it could cover the way you're swaying gently right now," said Celestia.

"That's just nerves," said Mag. "Hey, I have an idea. Instead of questioning each other's judgment, let's go into the lake and get this over with. You're in charge, so what next?"

"Yes, I am," said Celestia. "On that note, let me explain something. The world under the lake, or 'Underlake' as some call it, is a sort of repository for all the most dangerous things in the valley. It has other purposes, of course, but that's the most relevant one right now, because we are here to retrieve one of the most dangerous things in existence - knowledge. Specifically, any knowledge we can find regarding the destruction of worlds. Planar curses, existential weapons, supercosmological phenomena, the practical effects of paradoxes. And by 'we,' I mean 'I.' Neither of you is to help with the search, but to act as a lookout. Do not look too closely at the things I examine, or you run the risk of bringing something back with us that we didn't intend to bring back. Just do what you came here to do."

"Watch your back," said Mag.

"Exactly. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yep, I doubt I could help look for what you need even if I wanted to," said Mag.

"Luna?"

"I suppose," said Luna.

"You suppose?"

"Yes. Yes, I see the necessity. Look by yourself if you must, and we will act as scouts."

"Always make sure you can clearly see my eyes, both of you. We must be able to see each other at all times. If you get lost, stay where you are. If you can't stay where you are, stay as close as you can to where you last got lost, find somewhere safe, and stay there instead. If you meet the regent, be honest, be polite, and tell him everything you can about my whereabouts and what we're doing here. We have to talk to him sooner or later in any case, because I plan to ask him permission for anything I borrow."

"Oh, I thought this was a heist," said Mag.

"I'm afraid not. If you want a heist, you'll have to go to a different princess."

"It's me. She means me."

"Yeah, I worked that out," said Mag.

"Good," said Celestia.

"Hey," said Mag, "how come we can't just go to the curator in the first place and ask him for help?"

Celestia looked at the ground and kicked at it a bit with her forehoof. "Well..."

"Celestia mislikes him," said Luna cheerfully.

"'Mislike' is such a strong word," said Celestia.

Luna pressed on. "You didn't want to use the word, which is why you couldn't contrive of any way to describe your opinion of him. Right? But I, your loving sister, saw your plight and offered the solution, which is to mare up and admit that you are prepared to go to great lengths to avoid spending a moment more with him than necessary, and have thus designed your plan of attack with that in mind. You needn't thank me. Of course, thanking me would certainly be more mature."

Celestia sighed. "Thank you, Luna."

"Of course."

"Well, Luna, since you're here today and feeling so helpful, would you please tell me where an edge is so I don't have to sit here waiting for a fray?"

"I saw one a moment ago when Mag was admiring herself, a surprisingly simple one. 'Apaitijo.' Be wary; I see no danger, but there is some strangeness about it that I haven't yet fathomed."

Mag spoke up. "I know this spell, so I could - "

"No," said Celestia.

"No," said Luna.

"Luna has just said there's some kind of irregularity here," said Celestia.

"She is far better equipped to deal with any problems that arise," said Luna.

"I've been doing this longer than you can imagine. Whatever the problem, you can trust me to deal with it."

"And, while you've demonstrated a frankly pathological fascination with the magical arts, your version of this spell is still, shall we say, lacking?"

"I just thought I'd offer," said Mag.

"For which we're both grateful. Grab my tail, please, just like before. Ready? Good." She dropped somewhat abruptly into the lake, and Mag went down after her.

Luna had a point. Celestia's traveling spell was almost pleasant compared to Mag's. What was less pleasant was landing heavily on a polished stone floor, then looking up to see Celestia looking glumly at a large wooden door.

"We landed in front of the workshop," said Celestia.

"That was what was wrong with the edge," said Luna. "He tampered with it to direct all supplicants to his doorstep. We can hardly turn away from the door and help ourselves to the collection when the option of seeking his help from the first moment of our arrival is an option. Do you think he overheard us earlier?"

"Yes," said Celestia.

Conversation Thirteen

Celestia stepped up to the door, composed herself, and knocked twice. The door swung inward, revealing a room the size of an aircraft hangar.

The floor was more smooth stone, thousands of square yards of it, so polished and level that you could set a basketball down anywhere at all and it wouldn't roll a millimeter. The room, if 'room' could be applied to something so large that being in it felt like being outside, was also a mess. Rough cubes of various metals, mostly copper, bronze, brass, that kind of thing, lay scattered and stacked with no system of organization or eye for decor. Scrap and wreckage littered the floor as well, piles of steel shingles or scales, drifts of iron leaves, mounds of speckled wood ash and an apparently limitless array of other absent-minded arrangements of debris, waste, and raw material were all strewn around the space.

At the center of the room there was a worktable taller than a two-story building, and behind the worktable stood a giant.

He looked like a stocky human more than anything else, but with no eyes or eye sockets, and too many fingers with too many joints. He wore an apron of some kind of thick, stiff cloth, and something like pants. He was enormous.

Some tiny metallic thing fluttered down from the distant rafters of the room and landed on the giant's shoulder. The giant turned to it for a moment and turned back.

The giant spoke. His voice was so inhumanly deep that some syllables were simply too low for Mag's ears to register. "Cordial greetings to you, glorious one. You have chosen to make your presence known in the proper way, I see, but elected to let your most honorable sister wander. Do you plan to distract me while she digs through my collection?"

"I am here," said Luna.

"Oh? But is that not a mortal voice I hear?"

Then Celestia and Luna told their story. Mag noticed she didn't merit an introduction, not that she had any problem with that at all. She also noticed Celestia and Luna told the story very differently than they'd told it to Mag. The content was the same, but the delivery was fact-filled, unemotional, and full of precise language. Events were almost unrecognizable. Celestia had calmly observed the end of her world, checked her watch, proceeded briskly to a hospitable world, and made camp. After resting, she went back to Equestria to more closely examine its remains -

"Why did you not examine them while you were there the first time?" said the giant, whose title was apparently "sculptor," or "milord" if you were feeling familiar.

"I preferred to consider the situation in a more comfortable place, so I left as soon as I felt able," said Celestia.

Back in Equestria, Luna entered the mind of a mortal -

"Why did you bring a mortal with you to Equestria?" said the sculptor.

"My own reasons," said Celestia.

- and then the three of them returned to camp. Neither Celestia nor Luna mentioned Earth, humans, or any detail on where they'd set up.

The sculptor noticed this. "What are you not telling me?"

"I think we've covered every relevant detail," said Celestia.

"For instance, you didn't provide a name for your mortal."

"This is Mag Wilson," said Celestia.

Well, there was the introduction. She would have to make the best of it. "Hiya, uh, milord."

"And what are you?" said the sculptor.

"A white human woman."

The thing on his shoulder fluttered. "Your first lie," said the sculptor. "I'm told you are brown, not white."

"It's just an expression. It means my skin is paler than some peoples'. Milord."

"Oh, a metaphor," said the sculptor disdainfully.

"I'll try to warn you next time I'm about to use one."

"Or you could be silent," said the sculptor.

"Yessir." This was not the time to start a fight.

The giant rested his strange hands on the table, palms down. He didn't look in her direction, but then again, he had no eyes. "I have taken up the responsibility of keeping a collection of dangerous devices, ideas, and knowledge here my world, with the aim of learning to counter them, or, in some cases, to suppress them. Yes, sometimes I work to suppress the transmission of dangerous ideas between the worlds. My collectors know which books they must collect from travelers, what thoughts must be kept in quarantine in the worlds in which they belong. Mortal, can you guess which world produces the greatest number of things I must ban? You may speak."

"Humans," said Mag.

"Earth," said the sculptor.

"Yes, sir."

He shook his head. "I would say you are not welcome here, human, but how can I? So many of the things here belong to humanity that some parts of my world look like an outpost of Earth, even though you so rarely venture out of your mirrors. Tell me, when your species makes war, does it still light wild boars on fire and chase them into the enemy?"

"No, we mostly just drop explosives out of flying machines. It's more efficient. Sir."

"So I've read," said the sculptor. "Princesses, your majesties, I cannot help you at this time. You look for knowledge. For our purposes, we might separate the knowledge in my possession into two categories: those which humans have found, and those which humans have not found. As for the first, it would be useless to give you information you can as easily get from your human friends, and as for the second, I have no intention of putting yet more dangerous information within their reach. However, once the mortal has died and Luna is free, if you leave the human world and swear not to return to Earth with the information you glean here, whatever it may be, I will give you access to my archives. Good day." He started fiddling with some tiny metallic thing on his worktable.

Celestia blinked a couple of times but didn't move. "Lord sculptor, I consider myself a good judge of character. Knowing my reputation, would you agree?"

"No, I wouldn't. I heard about that 'Nightmare Moon' incident. Now Princess Luna stands in front of me, such as she is, walking free and more or less alive. This is not an acceptable risk. If you had sense, you would leave her here."

Celestia's features went hard. She opened her mouth to speak. Mag, remembering what Celestia had said to the eldest when he'd brought up the subject of Nightmare Moon, decided to jump in.

"Your sculptorness, what if I asked if we could see the books in your human section?"

"Who is spea - oh, the mortal again. Why do you want to see the human library? Everything there is already known to your people."

Mag gave the sculptor her best smile and then remembered he was blind, and that he would be unlikely to appreciate a smile anyway. "We humans know all kinds of things we don't tell each other. I'll bet one of us knew something about magic at some point in history, and, from the sounds of it, there are probably copies of that person's notes."

He frowned a colossal frown. "Human books of dark magic? I have more than you two can carry." Now Mag smiled for real. "And as the books are the property of your people, and you are an individual of good standing with my library except insofar as you are human, the rules I live by insist that I give you what is yours if you ask for it. What sort of dark magic books are you looking for? No, you needn't tell me. I overheard Celestia earlier. Planar curses, existential weapons, supercosmological phenomena, the practical effects of paradoxes, and similar topics."

"Exactly," said Mag.

"I believe I have something," said the sculptor. Mag winked at Celestia. Celestia smiled gratefully but looked worried.

Mag had wondered what nonmagical books the sculptor was likely to ban. User manuals to modern military ordinance seemed like a good bet. The more poisonous political or social philosophies, such as eugenics and imperialism, would certainly be there. Mag held a private hope that there would be a wide variety of religious works as well. The thought of keeping Christianity quarantined to one world suited her just fine.

Judging by the size of the Underlake library of human written works, the sculptor didn't seem to approve of human books in general. The books were held in one room, but the boxes and shelves and piles and drifts and mountain ranges of books were so tall that even the sculptor needed a ladder, and the room was so wide that it would take him several minutes to jog across it.

These were the general facts of the place. The specifics evaded her. She was too dazed to think, because the sculptor had carried her there on his shoulder.

She would have preferred to walk, but the library was far too far away. Celestia couldn't teleport her because the sculptor had banned teleportation in his world so as to keep visitors under control. He suggested that Mag ride on Celestia's back. Mag and Celestia said "No" at the same time, and Celestia announced a rule: no human adults were allowed to ride on her back outside of exceptional circumstances such as midgets and emergencies.

"Is it really so bad?" said Luna.

"Yes," said Celestia.

"I still hurt. Didn't you notice?" said Mag.

"I did indeed, but I am hardly going to ask why your thighs and backside so hurt, nor allow myself to wonder too much at it."

The sculptor eventually offered to carry Mag. To his credit, he wasn't sullen or ungracious about it. The idea of carrying a human around didn't seem to bother him; it was just the solution to a problem, and he didn't hold it against anybody, no matter how inconveniently small they were.

So Mag had ridden on his shoulder the whole way, in between his cavernous, hairy ear on her right and some kind of clockwork toucan on her left, which was apparently the thing that had been talking to him. It kept one round, black, glass eye on Mag at all times and clacked its beak at her whenever she moved too suddenly.

The walk had been disappointing. It was all empty corridors, and if there were any oil rats, Mag didn't see them. This meant she had nothing to distract her from the sculptor's aura, a musty miasma of bloodless reason, scholarship, and a joyless sort of creativity. He was the college professor whose class no one wanted to take, the kind who would happily teach a class of four people and fail all of them, who lived alone and worked alone and published books no one read.

She didn't mind his crotchety attitude, she shared his contempt for humanity, she liked his annoying bird that he'd apparently made, and she could forgive his "I know better than you about your own world" attitude. She couldn't forgive him for not being lonely. Even the eldest stank of loneliness. But as for the sculptor, what did he care that he was alone? He had a bird, a clockwork bird that did exactly what it was told and never argued back. A clockwork bird for a clockwork person.

The sculptor kneeled and Mag climbed carefully down his sleeve. She jumped off and he stood up again to his full height. Celestia alighted next to her and looked up at the shelves, and up and up.

"This is the magic section," said the sculptor.

"What are you going to do while we search, wait around?" said Mag.

"Yes."

What a shame, thought Mag, that I plan to take my sweet time. "Hey, Celestia, are we going to help you look?"

"I... am not sure. Do you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"The ill will. The sense of menace. Mag, I appreciate your being here and helping like this, but I'm beginning to agree that these are the kinds of books no one should read."

"No such thing," said Mag.

"You clearly are not as widely read as we are."

Celestia bit her lip.

"Okay, but they're not evil. I promise you the worst books in this room are the kind you can't feel. Point taken, though. I'll hang back."

Celestia looked relieved. She gingerly pulled a vellum scroll off a rack, unfurled it, and started reading. Mag sat down on the floor and waited in silence.

Celestia rolled the scroll back up with distaste and put it back where she found it. She picked up another book bound in dense wood and iron hinges. She set it down next to her with an air of sadness after a few pages of reading and moved on to what looked like a 9th grade algebra book, the margins filled with someone's notes written in livid green ink, eventually slapping it shut and throwing it back to its proper place in revulsion.

The sculptor absentmindly pulled one of his cubes of brass out of a pocket. He pinched off a piece as if it were wet clay and rolled it into a ball between his fingers. He worked it with his yellowish, serrated fingernails - no, Mag realized, not serrated. The edges of his nails were shaped like various tools, rows and rows of them. Awls, knives, needles, saws. Nothing with multiple parts, but surely everything else imaginable.

He made a little flower, regarded it for a moment, squished it back into his brass cube, put it back into his pocket, and went back to waiting.

"Sculptor, do you have any books on human art?" said Mag.

"No, why would I?" said the sculptor.

"In that case, can I get a glass of water? I've got something you'll hate."

The sculptor made a tiny brass cup, pulled out a flask, dipped the cup into the water, and passed the cup of water down to Mag.

"Thanks, lord. Okay, see this glass of water?"

"No," said the sculptor.

"Fine, do you see this cup of water?"

"No."

Oh, right. "But I have a cup of water right now, right?"

He turned to his bird, turned back to Mag. "Yes."

Mag set down the cup of water. "Okay, well I just turned it into an oak tree."

He turned to his bird again, then turned back to Mag. "No, you didn't."

"Sure I did."

"You did not."

"Whatever point you are making, I already like this game," said Luna.

"Well, its roots and branches are pretty stubby - "

"It has neither roots nor branches."

"- it can't reproduce - "

"That's because it isn't an oak tree."

"- it's not made of wood - "

"That is not an oak tree. Is this another metaphor? I recall you telling me you would warn me the next time you used a metaphor."

Mag smiled. "It's not a metaphor. It's an oak tree."

Luna decided to chip in. "Do you mean this is a representation of an oak tree?"

"Nope, it's an oak tree."

Celestia looked up. "But you must admit it looks more like a cup of water than an oak tree."

"Yes, but it only looks like a cup of water, when in fact it's an oak tree."

"I want my cup of water back," said the sculptor.

Luna laughed. "What cup of water?"

"I want the object we are discussing back."

Mag drank the water and held it up. "Here you go. It's about a yard above the ground." The sculptor took it and smashed it back into his cube.

Mag clapped her hands together. "Right! For my next trick, I'd like a newly dead tiger shark and a tank of formaldehyde."

"What is a tiger shark?" said the sculptor coldly.

"It's a type of water dinosaur," said Mag.

"A dinosaur cannot be aquatic by definition. And no."

"A crucifix and a jar?"

"Enough."

Mag let it go. She'd had her fun.

"Where did you get all that?"

"A sculpture class."

"Maybe we should just go," said Mag.

Celestia tossed yet another book back to where she found it. "There must be something here."

"Must there?" said Luna.

"You still have that," said Mag, pointing at the wooden book, the only thing Celestia hadn't put back.

"I almost wish I didn't," said Celestia.

"Then put it back," said Luna.

"What is it?" said Mag.

A shadow stretched over them as the sculptor knelt. "Paravasi Mageia, by Ignatius VI," he rumbled.

"Yes?" said Luna.

Celestia picked it up and opened it to the title page. "'Transgression Magic; or, dark magic for persons of uncommon principle.'" She shut the book. "These are a collection of essays on some of the more unsavory subjects related to magic. Two or three of the essays looked potentially relevant to us, if uncomfortable to read. The rest of the book... well, I am not comfortable bringing this back to Earth. It has also been thoroughly saturated in the atmosphere of the works around it, some of which are so depraved that they seem to be leaking."

"I think I feel it now, that miasma you were talking about," said Mag. "If I left something here and let it soak for a few years, I don't think I'd want it back."

"Exactly," said Celestia.

"I'm bringing this back anyway, though," said Mag.

"Ugh. As you wish, but I should be the one to carry it. This isn't something to be touched with one's skin. Well, I suppose we're done."

"Then I will show you the way out," said the sculptor. He pulled out his cube one more time, and, with the sound of shrieking metal, he flattened into a rough dish. He set it on the floor, pulled out his flask, and poured water into it.

"You keep the exit in your pocket?" said Mag.

"The occasional uninvited guest is inevitable, but I can at least prevent them from leaving until they give an accounting of themselves," said the sculptor.

"I'll remember that," said Mag.

"Step closer to the water, if you please."

"Where is the edge?" said Celestia.

"Iskie," said Luna.

"A tricky one, but there shouldn't be a problem," said Celestia. Mag grabbed her tail. She didn't much like Underlake, and leaving immediately sounded wonderful.

"Sculptor," said Celestia, "I believe you overheard us talking before we entered. I'm sorry. I just want you to know that, while it's true we've never quite gotten along, I've also always respected what you do. Thank you for your time."

"If it helps, I've never liked you either," said the sculptor.

"Thanks for giving my species its book back," said Mag.

"After spending two hours watching you three circumvent my rules regarding the spread of dangerous knowledge, I would say you deserve nothing less," said the sculptor.

"May you always remain exactly as you are, lord sculptor," said Luna. "Universally disliked," she added privately to Mag.

They left.

Mag rolled over onto her back and saw the peryton. The peryton saw Celestia and bolted. Mag grinned.

"Sister, before anything else, there is something we must discuss," said Luna.

"Yes?"

"The Nightmare is back."

"What?!" Celestia rushed forward to look closely at Mag, just like her sister had. "Are you two all right?"

"We're fine," said Mag.

"It made an offer to Mag, Mag cast her out, and the Nightmare left peacefully," said Luna.

"But where is it now?"

"Earth," said Luna.

"It said something about Eastern Europe," said Mag. "I'll show the place to you on a map later."

Celestia began to pace. "But of course it could be anywhere tomorrow, and somewhere else again the next day. We must find its host and keep them contained, or else who knows what could happen?"

Mag sat up and raised her hand. "Hey, I've been thinking. I don't know if the Nightmare can affect our world the same way it affected yours. The only host it could possibly take that'd be as bad as Luna would be the eldest, and I don't see him going for that kind of deal. I'm going to guess we get some kind of magical tyrant that needs to be put down, and a tyrant with powers doesn't sound so different from one with nukes. Scary, but it's not like we don't have those anyway."

"I brought it here, and that makes it my responsibility," said Luna. "And doubly glad would I be to do it if the task involved pulling down a tyrant. There is nothing I loathe so much as tyranny."

"I also have to wonder what the consequences would be for one of your already politically powerful tyrants to gain the power of the Nightmare," said Celestia.

"Fair enough," said Mag.

"Let's finish this discussion at your home," said Celestia. She teleported them to the mirror.

Mag stumbled. She would have appreciated a warning.

"I'm sorry," said Celestia.

"It's fine. Hey, I feel like I'm forgetting something important," said Mag.

"Oh! The book!" said Celestia. She poofed away, then poofed back with the book.

"Yeah, that must be it," said Mag.

"I have the same feeling, and it hasn't gone away."

"Huh," said Mag. "Another thing to work out at home. God, I would kick orphaned puppies for a cigarette right now. That and a real breakfast. I'm thinking fried mushrooms and scrambled eggs. Can you guys eat eggs?"

"Yes, and that sounds delightful," said Celestia.

Mag took Celestia's tail in hand again. They passed through the mirror...

... and burst out of the California lake together. Dawn had come and the sun was behind the treetops. Celestia broke through the ice on the surface of the lake by flinging her wings open; water and shards of ice sprayed to either side of her. She shook out her mane like a model in a shampoo commercial. Mag lurched out of the lake on all fours.

Mag looked up to see something of a tableau. The shore was absolutely crowded with people. Most of them were EMTs in wading boots and warm clothes. A coroner stood by, leaning against a tree and shivering. John Hardly sat on a nearby gurney, wearing two trauma blankets and looking teary. There was even a small news crew with a handheld camera, though no one had a microphone. The camera's red light was on.

There were ten humans onshore, not counting Mag herself, and all of them were staring at Celestia.

Mag stood up straight. "John Hardly, get over here so I can kick your ass."

Author's Notes:

Editing later. Bed now.

Conversation Fourteen

Every EMT immediately stepped in between Mag and John. It occurred to Mag that making her entrance with a physical threat to the wellbeing of their patient might not be the best way to introduce Celestia to emergency services.

"Just kidding," said Mag. It didn't seem to help. It certainly didn't inspire conversation.

Celestia clopped up behind her with a smile. "Always on the record," she whispered as she passed. Louder, she said, "Greetings, humans. My name is Princess Celestia. I come from the cursed world of Equestria, and I am searching the other worlds for a way to break that curse. If humanity is willing, I'd like to offer my help to your species in any capacity you would like, so long as it's peaceful and ethical. In return, I would appreciate any help you can give with breaking the curse."

"And now she calls it a curse," said Luna.

No one moved. At least the camera appeared to be rolling, so Celestia hadn't been completely wasting her breath. Celestia herself didn't seem bothered; she sat down next to Mag and waited.

Birds chirped.

The red light on the camera turned off. The cameraman didn't notice.

Then a tall EMT woman with square shoulders stepped forward and said, "You're not shivering."

"She doesn't get cold," said Mag.

"I meant you," said the EMT. Her name tag said “Lisa.”

"Oh, well, you know, the cold between the worlds gets a little easier to put up with when you accept that you can get as warm as you like and it'll still be there, that you're not dying, and that it'll go away on its own if you give it time."

Lisa the EMT walked briskly up to Mag, grabbed her wrist, and checked her pulse. “Pulse a little fast, breathing normal.” She shined a tiny but fiercely bright flashlight in Mag's eyes. "Look at me. No, open your eyes. Thank you." She turned around to her fellow EMTs. "Pupils dilating normally." This seemed to break up the stasis. One of the EMTs got out a notepad and started writing. A member of the news team fumbled out his phone and tried to dial, but dropped it on the ground and couldn't seem to pick it up without dropping it again. The cameraman noticed that something had happened to his camera and patted his numerous pockets for something or other. John kept on staring.

“Lay down. Reno, get her hair.” A strawberry blond man with broad shoulders darted in with a towel and dried off Mag's hair. EMT Lisa turned back to Mag. "I said lay down. Lay down! Thank you. Who's the president of the United States of America?"

"Argh – Caldwell," said Mag. EMT Reno's approach to drying people's hair was that of a rescue worker in a hurry rather than that of a hairdresser who cared about tips.

"What day is it?"

"Saturday," said Mag.

"What state is this?"

""California."

"Mentating properly," said the EMT.

"No. No, hold on," said Mag.

"Yes?"

"Are you just going to ignore the talking, flying unicorn?"

"Yes," said Lisa firmly. She held up a thermometer. "Put this in your mouth, please." Mag complied. Celestia watched everything unfold without comment, a picture of passivity and docility.

"Preexisting conditions?"

"Half a pack of cigarettes a day. Also, my friends are magical talking unicorns."

"Tobacco, okay. Anything else relevant?"

Mag gestured furiously at Celestia. "How is the painfully beautiful alien goddess not relevant?!"

"There wasn't anything about that in the hypothermia sections of my med texts. What I do remember from doing this for five and a half years is that someone who pops out of a frozen lake and isn't shivering is dying." EMT Lisa shoved the thermometer into Mag's hand. Mag put it into her mouth. Lisa pulled it out of her mouth, turned it around, and put it back in Mag's mouth the right way. “Reno, where the hell is the rest of the kit?”

EMT Reno fetched the kit without complaint, a dark blue canvas duffel bag. Lisa took the towel from him and scrubbed water off of Mag's arms. Mag snatched away the towel and began to dry herself, glaring at EMT Lisa.

“Are you refusing care?” said EMT Lisa.

“If I say yes, do I have to give the towel back?” said Mag.

“Yes,” said EMT Lisa.

“Then no. And your thermometer just beeped.”

“Then take off your shoes so I can check for frostbite,” said EMT Lisa. Mag complied with bad grace, though, to be fair, her boots were definitely sloshing.

EMT Reno took the thermometer out of her mouth. “96.9 degrees,” he said.

“Be more gentle, Reno,” said EMT Lisa, pulling Mag's left sock off by the toe.

“Oh for fuck's sake,” spat Mag. “Yo, news people! Don't you have phone calls to make? An alien showed up and there still aren't any black helicopters. If I don't see some menacing men in tuxedos and sunglasses pretty quick—”

Celestia cleared her throat.

“—I'm going to make purely figurative threats and then be annoyed in a cooperative and nonthreatening manner. Why isn't anybody interviewing my unicorn?”

“So are you John's girlfriend?” said EMT Lisa.

“No, I just met him this morning.”

“Do you think he's seeing anybody?”

“Ha! Seriously? Fine fine fine, don't get mad. I don't know, go ask him.”

“Good luck!” said Celestia with a smile. EMT Lisa's nostril twitched and she hurried away with the thermometer.

Mag watched her go with raised eyebrows. “I was going to ask if there was some kind of spell you could do to erase their memories, but it looks like you're already invisible to half the people here. Lucky you, eh?”

“Oh, they see me very well indeed,” said Celestia.

“I know. I was kidding. But what do you think the EMTs would do if I told them my new friend had hypothermia?”

“Oh! Do it,” said Luna.

“Nothing, because I would teleport you and me to the top of the hill before Ms. Lisa has the chance to think seriously about what to do in that situation,” said Celestia.

“Or maybe you could let me do it, because I really want to see one human pass out before the end of the day,” said Mag.

“Then you'll be needing a mirror, because you're looking worse and worse. Luna, how is she?”

“Lightheaded, jittery, and weak,” said Luna.

“She's exaggerating,” said Mag. “Luna, stop exaggerating.”

“I shall exaggerate as much or as little as I please. Neither of you need worry, however; the solution to Mag's illness is to sleep again, this time without my forcing your dreaming mind to behave as your waking mind does. She must dream.”

Celestia nodded, but her eyes were elsewhere. Mag followed her gaze to one of the reporters, who was approaching with a notepad. He was a potbellied man with a red-orange mustache and an old gray beanie, in his thirties or forties. He had a notepad and wore the face of a man about to wager his soul.

“You're Ms. Margaret Wilson?” said the man.

”Yeah, and this is Princess Celestia,” said Mag.

He stood up straight. “Does, uh, do... so it looked like her majesty speaks English?”

“I do,” said Princess Celestia. “May I help you, sir?”

He clutched his tie. “Your, er, your majesty, and you as well, Ms. Wilson, would you two care to answer a few questions?”

“Ah,” said Celestia, pleased.

“How about Luna?” said Mag.

“What?” said the reporter.

“You're talking to one human and two aliens,” said Mag. “The third has no physical form and she lives in my head.”

The reporter stared at her helplessly.

Mag nodded. “Too weird for you. Got it.”

“Do write that down though, please,” said Celestia. “That part is going to be difficult to explain to humanity, and it might be best if we mention it as early as possible.”

“I was rather hoping to be the secret princess,” said Luna.

“Don't worry; a lot of people aren't going to believe you exist,” said Mag.

“Good, then there is fun still to be had,” said Luna.

The reporter had a stub of a pencil set against the top line of his notepad, but hadn't written a word yet, or even looked down at it. He'd lost his nerve.

“Maybe you should just tell him what to write,” said Luna.

“Well then why not begin with what I said a moment ago? 'Greetings, humans. My name is Princess Celestia...'”

Celestia went through it all again for him, verbatim, matching the speed of his writing.

“There. I think that's a good start, don't you? Now write what Mag said, if you please.”

“Mag?” said the reporter.

“Me,” said Mag. “I said something about how Luna lives in my head because she doesn't have a body.”

He hesitated.

“If you give me the notepad then I could write it down for you,” said Mag, but the offer just seemed to make him uncomfortable.

Luna spoke up. “You asked them if they cared to answer a few questions, did you not?”

He scurried off to have a lively sotto voce discussion with the cameraman, came back, and said, “I just wanted to ask a few questions. How long have you been on Earth, your majesty? Wait, no, first, Ms. Wilson, could I have your contact information?”

“No, because I don't have a phone and I don't give out my street address,” said Mag.

“Since yesterday afternoon,” said Celestia.

“But do you mind if I contact you later?” said the man without looking up from his notepad, which was now rapidly filling up.

“Sure. Who are you again?”

“Bob, Bob Carpeter,” said Bob. He shifted his notepad to his other hand, pulled a bent business card out of his pants pocket, and passed it to Mag. “Please, please, please feel free to contact me within the next one or two days so we can set up a longer interview.”

“You said your name was Carpeter?” said Mag.

“Yeah, the business cards are wrong,” said Bob sheepishly.

Mag took Bob's pencil from between his fingers, crossed out the superfluous “n” the printers had put in “Carpeter” on the card he'd given her, and handed the pencil back to him. “Got it. More questions?”

“Yes.” Bob's demeanor changed. “Your majesty, how did you get here?”

“Through the reflection in the lake. Reflections are the edges of universes, and one can pass into and out of the spaces between universes if one has the magic for it.”

“What do you mean by magic?”

“Magic is the manipulation of the aether, which is a kind of energy field—that's magic energy, not heat or kinetic energy or anything like that—that permeates most universes. Humans can do it, or at least one can, but I've yet to meet a human that can actually perceive the aether. Then again, I haven't met very many humans, so who knows? Maybe it's just rare. Here, if I do this—” Celestia levitated a rock “—do you sense anything?”

“Did that rock just levitate?” said Bob, pointing with is pencil.

“Yes,” said Mag.

“Well, I see a rock floating in the air with a kind of faint glow around it, and another one around your horn. That's magic?”

“Yes,” said Celestia. “My sister, incidentally, has taught Mag a bit of magic as well.”

Bob looked at Mag. Mag cast her light spell, and it was much dimmer under daylight. Bob leaned in and squinted at it. “Huh.”

“It's my first day,” said Mag defensively. Technically true, so long as no one brought up the subject of subjective time.

“But you can teach this, ah, 'magic' to humans?” said Bob.

“As a matter of fact, I hope to teach it to humanity,” said Celestia.

“We need to talk about that,” said Mag through the side of her mouth. If Celestia put magic in the hands of humans, they'd weaponize it within the year. Now Celestia had promised, but maybe there was still something they could do, like keeping the more dangerous things to herself. Of course, that might not work either, as Mag had already come up with a couple of ways to hurt people using just the spells she knew so far. Could humans turn a light spell into a weapon, given enough time? Obviously. Somehow.

The cameraman had moved in to film over Bob's shoulder. Mag tried to keep Bob's head in between her and the camera lens, but Bob and the cameraman both kept shifting.

“Can you tell us a little bit more about yourself, your majesty?” said Bob.

“Certainly,” said Luna. “I am, or perhaps it would be better to say was, the princess of the night. I have other titles and so does my sister Celestia, but that was my first and greatest responsibility. And it has just occurred to me that you were addressing my sister.”

“I could tell you a great deal about both my sister and me,” said Celestia. “What kind of answer are you looking for?”

“Are you real?” said a hoarse voice from ten feet to the left. It came from a tall, tall EMT who had approached without Mag noticing. He was one of those permanently flush-faced people, with clusters of vivid freckles across his cheeks, and the cold had given him a dark red nose with matching earlobes. Something in his eyes suggested that, somewhere inside him, the sight of Celestia had knocked off a scab and left some wound open to the world.

Celestia faced him, read his nametag, looked up at him. “Yes, David, I'm real.”

He looked back down at her. “I don't know what to do about you,” he said nakedly.

“You don't have to do anything about me, David,” said Celestia, full of kind laughter.

Mag covered her eyes with a hand. She'd been prepared for stomping boots and fatigues and rifles, followed by labcoats and scalpels. She'd expected Celestia to bring out the selfish, callous, consuming, uncaring black heart of mankind. But so far everyone insisted on being a dork.

The cameraman had hunkered down. He now wore an “I'm five years old and it's Christmas morning” grin. Most of the humans had drifted forward like puppies faced with a stranger that smelled like food, except for Lisa and John, who had gotten to talking. Mag couldn't hear most of their conversation, but she caught the word “dinner.”

It turned out that not one of them had a cigarette.

After another 20 minutes of progressively more painful dorkery (the camera guy was named Benedek, loved 90's sitcoms, and had an “I want to believe” poster rolled up behind a door at home), a HAZMAT team arrived. One HAZMAT suit ordered all humans to clear the area, except for Mag, who needed to be quarantined as well. The news team was ushered off and the EMTs were made to leave.

“And I?” said Celestia.

“We have a vehicle and a safe location prepared, your majesty,” said the HAZMAT suit.

“I'm sticking with her,” said Mag.

“We have a separate vehicle for you, but we'll be taking you to the same building,” said the suit.

“And if I say I want to go with her anyway?” said Mag. Celestia nudged her from behind with her nose.

“You are a civilian and we don't have a legal right to detain you at this point in time, but we think it's in everyone's best interest if you come with us so we can check for possible contamination. Radiation, for example.”

In other words, they had already applied for an arrest warrant of some kind in case Mag decided she'd rather go home. Celestia gave Mag another warning nudge.

Right. She was a representative of Celestia and a future citizen of—what was it called? Equestria. She clammed up and looked to Celestia for help.

Celestia took center stage. “Hello. We'll be happy to come with you, but I do think Ms. Mag Wilson should stay with me, firstly, because she has spent over a day in my presence and presumably can't get any more contaminated; secondly, because my sister is in her mind in any case, from which she cannot be removed; and thirdly, because while I'm happy to accompany you to your safe place regardless, I find Ms. Wilson's presence comforting, and, while I wouldn't presume to know the minds of your superiors, if I were in their position, I'd prefer that the strange new being was comfortable.”

Celestia could probably have shortened all that to “pretty please.” In Mag's opinion, saying no to Celestia within five seconds of first meeting her was like saying no to gravity.

“That sounds reasonable,” said the suit. “If you don't mind, please stay still for a few minutes while we check for radiation and a few different harmful chemicals and gases.”

"Do you think the book counts?" said Mag.

"I doubt they could sense it, but yes, in spirit," said Celestia.

"The book? You mean that book?" said the suit, pointing with a gloved finger.

"Yes, this one," said Celestia. It sat on her back. It seemed to sit precariously in its place, but it hadn't moved much since Celestia had set it there, so maybe not. "This book is... how should I word it? Mag, any suggestions?"

"Bad juju," said Mag.

"How do you mean?" said the suit.

"It's spent centuries basking in some rather nasty magical effluvia, and now it's not something mortals should touch without magical preparation and care," said Celestia.

"Basically, don't touch the book and don't touch anything that touches the book," said Mag.

"And I would be wary of anything that touches anything that touched the book, as well," said Celestia.

The suit nodded calmly. "Is there any safe way for us to handle it in case of an emergency?"

"None whatsoever, at least nothing you have access to. You must trust me to keep it and protect it. Someday this may change, but for now, there is no likely scenario that would justify interacting with this book even indirectly."

"What Celestia hasn't mentioned is that the two of us might teach you how, Mag, but it would take time and would not be without risk. If you are interested then she shall probably need persuading."

Mag shifted a couple of inches away from the Paravasi Mageia. She really could feel it now, and she wasn't liking any more now than she had back in Underlake. It wasn't profane, not exactly, but it definitely wasn't wholesome, either.

"We might have more questions later, but all right."

Then they got to work. It took a thousand years and they found nothing interesting. About ten minutes in, Mag noticed her ashtray buried face-down in mud a few feet away and asked if she could get it. They respectfully asked her not to move, but were kind enough to pry her ashtray out of the dirt with some kind of long plastic thing, put it in a thick plastic bag with a drawstring, and set it aside for her, to be returned once they'd looked it over carefully.

“Fine so far,” said the suit who was in charge.

Mag folded her arms. “So are we going? Also, can I get a cigarette?”

“What do you plan to do with it?” said the suit.

“The obvious,” said Mag.

“We'll have to make a phone call about that one,” said the suit. “All right, pack it up. Your majesty, Ms. Wilson, please follow us up to the road. We have transportation ready.”

“I'm sure it's lovely,” said Celestia.

“This 'transportation' wouldn't happen to lock from the outside, would it?” said Mag.

“It doesn't, although we would appreciate it if you both stayed inside until we gave you the all-clear to get out again. We'll take you up the path after the other squad checks it and the road is blocked.”

“Just as you please,” said Celestia.

“Hey, how many people know about the princess right now?”

“I really couldn't say, Ms. Wilson,” said the suit.

“Ballpark it,” said Mag.

“I'm curious as well,” said Celestia.

The suit stood there for a few seconds. Mag wondered what his face looked like. “This is just a guess, you understand, but if I did have to guess... somewhere between five hundred and several million, depending on how convincing the public finds the recording.”

Mag nearly collapsed with laughter. Several HAZMAT suits flinched at the sudden movement. “It hit the actual news?! They aired it? I need to see the tape. No, I need an internet connection. No, I need omelets and cigarettes and cigarette omelets, and then maybe a shower, and then an internet connection.”

She tucked some stray hairs behind her ear. This had all been fun, for a given value for fun, but she was feeling less sentient as the sun climbed. Her body was beginning to realize it wouldn't be allowed to go back to bed anytime soon.

“Well, you're public knowledge now,” Mag stage-whispered to Celestia.

“And now we'll see what humanity and I can do for one another,” said Celestia happily.

Author's Notes:

Welp, this one's officially late. Now that work and school assignments are rolling in again, I may have to change the update schedule. We'll see.

Remember to point out errors. Grammar, logic, factual errors, it's all good. Are you an EMT and I got the hypothermia checks wrong? Speak up! Did I write "that" instead of "than" again? Say something, because that's just embarrassing.

Conversation Fifteen

Mag hadn't expected a semi truck. She also hadn't expected the semi truck to be fully equipped with carpeting, a couch, overhead lighting, a TV and DVD player with some Disney movies, and a small pile of art and photography books.

“You guys got all this together in an hour?” said Mag.

“Fifty minutes. It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.” A man got out of the driver's seat of the truck. He was all that Mag could have wished for: black suit, black sunglasses, nondescript brown hair and average build, lukewarm smile. Unlike the crowd from the lake, Celestia didn't seem to bother him at all. He took off his sunglasses. “For the next couple of days, if things go as everyone expects, I'll be your driver, butler, guide, whatever you need. Call me Jeff.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Jeff,” said Celestia. She offered a hoof. Jeff took it without hesitation and bowed over it.

“And you'd be Mag Wilson. A pleasure.” He held his hand out.

“No armed guards?” said Mag, shaking his hand once.

“Do I count?” said Jeff. He opened his jacket to show a shoulder holster. “Oh, I almost forgot. Ellie is sitting up front. She's the backup. Ellie!”

A small, broad face appeared in the wing mirror of the truck and waved before going back to whatever it was doing. Celestia waved back. Mag didn't.

Jeff smiled indulgently. “You'll be seeing more of me than her, I think, but we're both at your disposal.”

“Do either of you have any special skills you'd like to share with me?” said Celestia.

“I'm glad you asked. We're in a hurry, so I'll explain fast. Ellie's the brains and I'm the brawn. Yesterday, Ellie was a field biologist working in Mexico and Honduras. You can expect to see her taking notes whenever her hands aren't on the wheel, and she might or might not have questions. As for myself, I work as a kind of personal security adviser slash bodyguard. My background is in military intelligence.”

“How very interesting,” said Celestia. It sounded like she'd learned a lot more from that speech than Mag had. “I don't make you nervous, I note. Well done.”

“People have been getting nervous? I apologize on their behalf.” He bowed slightly, possibly sarcastically or possibly not.

“There's no need to apologize for anyone. If I'm the only one of my kind to ever come to your world, then who's to say what is or isn't the proper reaction? I don't blame them for skittishness—or you for a lack thereof.”

“It's nice of you to say so. If you would both step this way, please? We're trying to move as quickly as possible to keep ahead of the press and the yahoos.”

“Very well,” said Celestia. She teleported the three of them into the back of the truck. Jeff looked around with curiosity but, again, a total lack of fear.

“Well we've got ice in our veins, don't we just,” muttered Mag. Never mind the sharp suit, Jeff's insouciance was getting on her nerves. He smiled at her and sat down in a nearby chair that had been bolted to the floor.

“I'll be staying here to keep the two of you company for the duration of the drive.” He reached up to a rope hanging from the rolling door and pulled it down. There was a moment of darkness and then the lights turned on. “First of all, your majesty, Ms. Wilson, this down here is the handle to open the door. Ellie is going to lock it from the outside for the sake of appearance, since we're trying to blend in with the rest of the traffic, but if you'll look here you'll see an emergency handle that opens the door whether it's locked or not.”

“And I can teleport us out at will,” said Celestia.

“And you can teleport us out at will,” said Jeff. “And this is the TV. It works like this...”

Mag opened her book, another book, a much better and more beautiful book. “The Candlestag,” she read, and peeked at Luna, who nodded encouragingly from the top of the great stag's back.

“The Candlestag,” read Mag. “A wanderer who teaches dreamers the central and only tenet of his religion: that we must melt to see.”

“Ayuh,” said the Candlestag. He was 20 feet tall, insofar as height meant anything in dreams, with a great rack of antlers with a burning candle standing between and on the tip of every tine. Wax dotted the dirt under and behind him in a path that stretched back over mountains and plains and lifetimes.

“Even he,” said Luna over Mag's shoulder.

“That's a good picture of him,” said Mag.

“It doesn't entirely capture the manliness of his profile, I feel,” said Luna, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Hrgh,” said the stag, blushing.

Luna landed back between his antlers. “Nor, being in pencil rather than paint, does the portrait depict the velvety nut-brown shade of his fur. Credit where credit is due, though; the artist had a talent for expressing lighting, and well expresses the way the glow of the candles dance in his eyes. Do they not?”

“He's four times taller than you,” said Mag.

“You are thinking again. Did we not agree to relax, Mag?”

“Think and dream are the same in French,” quoted Mag. That had been in the book too, the book of Pasithee, the book of book of book of books. A name to conjure by in the magical world, apparently.

“Have you seen the mask?” said Luna.

“Hrgh?”

“No? Then never mind. I have a second question. When I do this, can you feel my heartbeat?” Luna lay down again on the Candlestag's back.

“Jesus,” said Mag.

“Harrumph,” said the Candlestag.

“Hm?” said Luna. “A question of your own for my friend? What is it?”

“Hrgh.”

Luna stood behind Mag again. “He wishes to know whether it aches to be so real.”

“Sometimes,” said Mag. “What is the mask of Pasithee?”

“You're thinking again.”

“Sorry.”

Mag woke up. She'd drooled on the couch and it had gotten its vengeance by leaving a corduroy-patterned imprint on her cheek. The truck had parked and the door was open. Jeff and Celestia were gone. Ellie sat where Jeff had, writing something in a notepad.

Ellie was short and round. She had tousled hair, stubby fingers, and eyes that never stopped moving. A secret agent disguised as the kind of woman who knitted.

“Guh?” said Mag.

Ellie, without looking up from her writing, pointed to the floor at the foot of the couch. Mag hoisted herself up the back of the couch and looked down to find a piece of paper covered in rows of swooping symbols written in black Sharpie, above a cartoony picture of Celestia and Jeff walking away from a truck, both smiling.

Luna stepped in to translate.

“Allow me. 'My dear Mag,

“'I hope you feel refreshed after your nap.'”

She still felt terrible.

“'Mr. Jeff wanted to wake you so he could explain the situation, but I insisted, citing medical reasons. Ms. Ellie is there to take you to a private interview room, where a small group of officials want to ask you some questions about, among other things, what you intend to do next. In my own way I've made it clear that your freedom and wellbeing are supremely important to me, and I have every reason to believe these people, their associates, and most especially their superiors hope to establish a long-term working relationship.

“'They have questions for me as well, regarding my abilities and intentions. You can expect to see me by dinner, or even a little after lunch. If you don't see me after dinner then you both may assume that I've ceased to cooperate, and at that point, Mag, I leave you to Luna's care. She can be silly sometimes…' hmph. '… but she's a powerful ally and a good friend.' Sister, think not for even a moment that base flattery shall distract me from that jibe about being silly.

“Ahem. 'A few comments before you get to it. Remember that the three of us are here both to help and to get help, and all of our actions should be with that in mind. If they aren't trustworthy then we'll leave and look for someone who is. We aren't here to fight, only to talk.'

Yours,
Celestia'

P.S. Always on the record! Yes, even during confidential interviews.

P.P.S. I gave them a translation of this letter.'

“So ends the letter, followed by an amusing drawing.”

“Thanks,” said Mag.

Ellie looked up.

“Just talking to the princess in my head,” said Mag.

Ellie smiled. She was missing half her teeth.

Armed marines in dress blues took her to a little room with bad carpeting, overbright lights, and what couldn't possibly be anything except a one-way mirror. They sat her down at a table with firm deference and stepped behind her. No one searched her, not even her purse, which they let her keep on the table.

A woman in a dark blue pinstripe suit walked in with a thick collection of manila folders and stapled printouts. She addressed Mag without sitting down and didn't offer her hand. “Hello, Ms. Wilson. My name is Georgia. I'm here to discuss your experiences with the being called Princess Celestia. I would also like to confirm a few things and, in all candor, to get a sense of your personality. You are under no obligation to answer any of these questions, but you may wish to remember that many of them pertain to already public information.” Georgia sat down.

“None of you seem to have last names,” said Mag.

“We like to keep an informal office,” said Georgia.

“Who are you people?” said Mag.

“Independent contractors working closely with the Unites States government. Don't worry; it's all legal, and arranged with the best of intentions on all sides. Shall we begin? Good. In your own words, please describe the events pertaining to the Princess.”

“Sure,” said Mag. “I was taking a break from my job—I just got fired from that, by the way—and smoking by the lake, when a flying unicorn princess came out of some supernatural fog and passed out in front of me. I poked her in the earhole and she woke up. She flew me home and fell asleep on my couch, and I went to sleep as well. Then it was morning. I made coffee and went grocery shopping and brought back breakfast. Breakfast sucked.” Mag looked into the mirror behind Georgia. “You guys getting all this?”

“I'm sure they are,” said Georgia. “Please continue.”

“We went to her world to collect samples. She didn't find anything useful, but on the plus side, we found another flying unicorn princess. This one lives in my head because she has no body. Oh, no one told you about that one? Huh. Say hello, Luna.”

“Greetings,” said Luna.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Georgia stood and left the room.

“Rude,” said Mag.

Georgia came back in after a couple of minutes. “I apologize. My briefing was incomplete and I needed to confirm something. Greetings, Princess Luna. Ms. Wilson, please continue.”

“Where did I leave off?” said Mag.

“The part where we found one another,” said Luna.

“Okay. We went home, Celestia drew some pictures of her people, she made dinner, Luna taught me magic in my sleep, and today we went to another world and got a tome of dark and dangerous magics. Then we came back and got buried under a wave of nerds before being abducted by the Men in Black. The end. Any questions?”

“Give me a few minutes, please,” said Georgia. She pulled several pages of handwritten notes out of a folder and read it all the way through while Mag drummed her fingers on the table in what she hoped was an annoying way.

Georgia shut the folder. “You seem to have forgotten certain events. Would you mind starting again?”

“Sounds like you're comparing my version of events with Celestia's. Can I see those notes you've got, to refresh my memory?”

“I'm afraid these are confidential at this time,” said Georgia.

“I'm hurt by your lack of trust, Georgia.”

Georgia sat back and fixed Mag with a look. “During interviews like this, one must always consider the psychology of all parties involved. That's why I like to perform research.” She thumbed through the stack of folders next to her. “Here we have your arrest record. Her majesty told the interviewer that you mentioned borrowing your parents' vehicle without permission. You never got around to mentioning the rest of your record to her, unfortunately, such as your history of shoplifting. One wonders how you got a job at a convenience store with a record like that.”

“No convictions, and that was a long time ago,” said Mag.

“Nine years and four months,” said Georgia. She pulled out another folder. “I also have your college records here. The Young Socialists Club? Really?”

“Oh no, I've been found out! I'll never act in this town again. But seriously, it was a phase. You know what they say about experimenting in college.”

“I also read your final sociology essay. I found it... intense. Your professor filed a report to the mental health department of your school.”

“I got an A, though. Did you read through that whole pile today?” said Mag.

“Yes, I did. As of this morning, my job has been to learn as much about you as I can as quickly as I can. You are an unknown quantity in a situation already full of unknown quantities, and your influence over her majesty could make you a dangerous, dangerous person. Ms. Wilson—actually, may I call you Margaret?”

“No,” said Mag.

“Ms. Wilson, I've been reading about you all morning, and so far the best I can say for you is that you probably mean well. I've written something very similar in my report about you. The report is currently unfinished, but the only part I have left to write is a commentary on the contents of this discussion. Am I going to go back to my desk and type phrases like 'unhelpful and dishonest,' Ms. Wilson? I should inform you that this report is going to be widely read by key political figures all over the world tomorrow morning, Ms. Wilson. I have no particular emotional investment in your future, Ms. Wilson, but I strongly suggest, Ms. Wilson, for your own safety and happiness, that you cut the bullshit.”

Mag slapped the table. “Cut the bullshit? Tell that to your creepy, nameless organization full of creepy, nameless people, 'Georgia.' You've all been playing power games all day. I'm here to help Celestia and Luna, not you, and that's why I'm being cooperative, not for king and country. Yes, cooperative. I came of my own free will, I told you everything I was comfortable telling you, and I haven't tried to walk out. Doesn't that sound cooperative to you? This is my cooperative face. I know it's my cooperative face because if I were wearing my uncooperative face, someone would have pepper sprayed it by now. Right?” She twisted in her chair to look at the marines, who were staring straight ahead. Come to think of it, they didn't have pepper spray. They had handguns.

“This department is only a few hours old, so forgive us for not having a name or any business cards yet,” said Georgia.

“You know what? Fine. Here's the rest of it. She's the most feminine thing I've ever seen. She's a goddess. She's Girl Aslan. She's a Lisa Frank accessory given life. She's proof of the one thing we all know deep down, the thing that eats us when we can't sleep, that none of us is good enough. Look at her and then think about all the things you did that you aren't proud of and tell me you'd list off your whole arrest record on day two of meeting her. How about you, Ms. Georgia High and Mighty? Military background, comfortable in interrogation rooms, deadpan voice. How far have you taken your interrogations, hmm? Imagine explaining the necessity of waterboarding to Her Majesty Princess Celestia.”

“Anything else?” said Georgia.

“Lots, but I could take a break. You had something to say?”

She steepled her hands. “Nothing except that we all appreciate this sudden burst of honesty, as that's why I'm here in the first place. Please continue.”

“Uh, sure. You know she helped me clean a floor? I don't mean she swept it. I mean some people trashed my store while I was out, and we spent hours getting everything off the floor, from dried melted ice cream to broken glass. She hums show tunes to herself when she works, you know that? They sound like show tunes, anyway.”

“Cleaning?” said Georgia.

“Cleaning. Isn't that in the other interrogator's notes?”

“Interviewer, not interrogator, and I am not at liberty to divulge that information at this point in time.”

“And here I thought we were getting along. Yes, cleaning.”

“Hold. Why am I only hearing all of this now?” said Luna.

“Oh, dammit, you caught all that.” Mag gathered herself. “Here's the deal. I was angry literally all the time when I was younger. I did some stupid things and got myself arrested once or thrice, until one day a judge told me to grow up and I decided he had a point.”

“And I tried to plunge the world into eternal night. No, I want to know more about this mess. Do you recall any part of the process where she looked especially ridiculous? If so, can you describe it in enough detail that I can recreate it in a dream for teasing purposes?”

“Probably nothing you can work with. She tripped over a bucket, but only slightly. I thought it was sort of cute when she looked over at me to make sure I didn't see.”

“A pity.”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” said Georgia, “but what was that about eternal night?”

“Ask me again in my interview,” said Luna.

“We haven't arranged for one yet, your majesty. Frankly, most of the people in this building were sufficiently skeptical of your existence that we didn't make allowances for it. However, I think I should ask you whether you need anything.”

“A cigarette,” said Luna.

Mag thunked her head against the table. “THANK you. Oh my god.”

Georgia quirked an eyebrow. “The cigarette is for both of you?”

“We smoke,” said Luna.

“I see.” She turned to the mirror and gestured. “They'll see what they can do.”

“You know what else would be good?” said Mag.

“Food,” said Luna.

“Dinner is in forty minutes. Until then, let me prompt you a bit. Earlier you said you went to the store. Was Princess Luna with you at the time?”

“No,” said Mag.

“You were alone, then.”

“Oh, I get it. Nope. Celestia came with me using some kind of illusion shapechangey thing to make her look human. She made me talk to the store owner.”

“And she says you went home after that. Okay, that matches up.”

Well, well, well. Celestia hadn't told them about the eldest. Why not? They'd have to have a talk about that.

“Is something on your mind?” said Georgia.

“Yes,” said Mag. “I was just thinking that Luna hasn't heard a lot of this. We've been rushing around as well, so there hasn't been much time to tell each other stories.”

“I think I should ask that again. Ms. Wilson, is something on your mind?”

“Food and tobacco,” said Mag.

Georgia had been watching her face. “Yes, you've mentioned, but I'm beginning to think you're leaving something out again. Would you like to tell me what it is?”

“As soon as I figure out what you're talking about, yeah. Can I get a hint?”

“I wish you two would stop chasing each other's tails and get on with this interrogation,” said Luna.

“Then let's move on,” said Georgia after a short but pregnant silence. “There is a recently broken phone and wall behind the convenience store where you used to work. Would you like to comment?”

“Yeah, I was leaning against the wall making random phone calls when they both exploded. That was when I found out I can do magic. It was a complete accident, by the way.”

“Do you often call random numbers like that?”

“Do you have any idea how little there is to do up there in the mountains?”

“Do you often call random numbers like that?”

“Constantly.”

“I'm going to keep asking you. Do you often call random numbers like that?”

“Constantly.”

“Do you often call random numbers like that?”

“Constantly.”

“You're being unhelpful again,” said Georgia.

“Okay, how about this: I decline to answer.”

“Disappointing,” said Georgia. “Do you have anything else you'd like to tell me that pertains to the beings called Princess Luna and Princess Celestia?”

“Did I mention I can do magic?”

“In passing,” said Georgia.

“If that cigarette is here then I can show you something cool,” said Mag.

Georgia stood up and went to the door. Someone handed her a cigarette, a lighter, and an ashtray. She brought them to the table, set them down in front of Mag, and waited.

Mag picked up the cigarette with her right hand and snapped the fingers of her left while thinking sunflower pottery to herself. A small flame burned at the tip of her index finger. She lit her cigarette with it, and grimaced. “Menthol.”

“Menthol? Is that what that flavor is called? I rather enjoy it.”

Author's Notes:

More bad news: I need to take the next week off for essay-writing purposes. School is kicking my ass right now.

I've got a question. Should I change the fic description? The one I've got now is okay, but it doesn't tell people very much. If I added anything, what should it be?

Conversation Sixteen

It was the next day. They'd spent the night under observation. Mag had slept like a log anyway. She was now eating a bagel and seriously regretting the way she'd acted in the interrogation.

“Okay, let's rip off this bandaid and see what kind of damage I've done,” said Mag. They sat together at a cafeteria table. The cafeteria was mostly empty except for a few servers and more armed guards, though the armed guards were facing outward. Someone important had decided that everyone else in the compound was more dangerous to Celestia and Mag than Mag and Celestia were to them. Or Celestia had admitted yesterday that she could crush the planet like a beer can if she felt like it and no amount of guns would stop her.

“And here is mine,” said Celestia. They exchanged reports. The contents of the investigations had been partially declassified, and Celestia and Mag were on the list of recipients for a copy, to Mag's surprise. Celestia said she'd asked nicely.

The first two thirds of Celestia's report were physical specs, intelligence tests, motor tests, tests for reflexes, and a preliminary examination to figure out exactly what the hell magic was (no useful results at all), vision, hearing, an x-ray, a gamma ray, infrared scans for nothing particularly, an examination of the chemical composition of some of her fur and mane, and a bewildered note about Celestia's ability to reach behind her, pull out a violin, and then play it with hooves, despite the fact that she definitely didn't have it when she came in and hooves shouldn't have been able to operate a stringed instrument.

Her interview had been performed in front of a full panel of interviewers. At first the interviewers had stayed behind two feet of plexiglass. After a few preliminary questions, Celestia asked for a pot of tea and a light snack of mint leaves, which they provided. She invited them to join her. They did. Later, Georgia interviewed Celestia's interviewers to find an explanation for this strange decision (the first of many strange decisions they made, from the looks of it) and they'd all told her the same thing, that at the time it had seemed rude to refuse.

Mag had gotten grilled by Hell's coldest secretary and a pair of (admittedly well-dressed) goons, while Celestia had turned the interrogation into a tea party. It figured.

They discussed the aether over a shared plate of scones. The aether had little relation to any force or substance humanity was aware of, and was therefore difficult to describe to the interviewers. How could you explain light to a creature with no eyes? It didn't help that the magic and the aether seemed to work by a substantially different set of mathematical principles than normal physics, to the point where the resident physics PhDs had trouble wrapping their heads around the basic terminology in the equations, let alone how the numbers related to each other. It made Mag feel less stupid for not getting it when Luna had tried to explain it all from a theoretical point of view.

One of the interviewers, an old woman with several degrees in military history and strategy, had interrupted a discussion between Celestia and a mathematician by dropping her scone and, tears rolling down her cheeks, telling Celestia she was beautiful. A crowd of soldiers and scientists, jaded badasses and cold geniuses and complete assholes during their day jobs, somehow ended up participating in a god damned group hug.

Mag hoped everyone liked vegetarian, because Celestia would be running this place by Tuesday.

Mag wished people would stop hugging all over her friend. She appreciated that if anyone had the right to cry on Celestia, it was people who'd had to live in this world for twice and three times as long as Mag had, but... she was her friend. Mag had seen her first. Yes, it was unfair of her, fine, that was true. But still. Mine!

She sipped her coffee and skipped forward a couple of pages.

INTERVIEWER 6: You can play the violin? Really?
INTERVIEWER 8: How?
SUBJECT: Why, like this, Mr. Bradley. [plays violin.]
INTERVIEWER 8: Astonishing.
INTERVIEWER 3: Is that “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?”
SUBJECT: Yes, Ms. Ginny. I happened to watch it on the trip here with Mr. Jeff. The song is quite stuck in my head. [ceases to play.]
[applause.]

“You had them eating out of your metaphorical hand,” said Mag.

“We did get along well,” said Celestia, without looking up from the report. Mag hadn't so much as opened her own report yet, so she had no idea what Celestia had in front of her, but Celestia had the engrossed frown of someone solving the morning newspaper crossword.

“That bad, eh?” said Mag.

“Well...” said Celestia.

“All right, I'm going to finish reading the good news before I get to the bad news. In fact, let me finish this coffee first.”

“This really is fantastic coffee,” said Celestia.

“It's the soldiers out of Afghanistan, your majesty,” said Jeff, sitting down next to them with a tray of sausages, bacon, buttermilk biscuits with jam, a cruller, and a paper cup of coffee. “Afghan coffee is a delicacy, so American coffee tends to be pathetic in comparison unless you've got something special. Yesterday, while they were setting this up, a higher-up asked the boys if they wanted anything, someone said “the best coffee you can find,” everyone agreed, and now that's what we've got. I can sit here, right?”

“Please do,” said Celestia.

“I was there for your interview, your majesty. Great stuff. Where did the violin come from, anyway?”

Celestia just smiled.

“They told me you wouldn't answer, but I thought I'd ask anyway,” said Jeff, and crunched a strip of bacon.

“Make yourself at home, why don't you,” said Mag.

“Good morning to you too, Ms. Wilson,” said Jeff. “I wasn't there for your interview, but I read the report. I think Georgia likes you. What really happened in there? You two came out of the interview room, she looked exhausted and you were smoking a cigarette.”

“Are people saying we boinked in there yesterday? Because yes, that's exactly what happened. Tell everybody, especially Georgia.” Mag went back to the report. Interviewer 3 was now wondering whether Celestia could catch bullets. Celestia's answer was “probably.”

“Boinked?” said Luna. “What—oh, I see.”

“Surely the meaning was clear from context, Luna,” said Celestia.

“And that is why I worked out what it meant. But am I ever to get an interview? Two strange creatures have invaded this species's poxy little world, creatures the like of which they've never seen and hardly imagined, and it seems they couldn't sustain the interest to examine more than one. One would think incuriosity would be shameful in a world so utterly governed by rule of science. This will not stand. Jeff, interview me this instant.”

Jeff set his cup down. “Yes, your majesty. What's your name?”

“Luna.”

“Profession?”

“Alien invader.”

Mag perked up. “You know, none of you has actually said the report on me is bad. Is it full of glowing praise for my intelligence and conversational skills, and you guys have been waiting for a good chance to surprise me?”

Celestia said, “Here is a passage from the paragraph I was just reading. 'One possible interpretation of the data is psychopathy. The subject is glib, her interpersonal style is cruel and deceitful, she has a history of criminality, her fear response seems highly atypical—'”

“Holy crap.” Mag folded her arms on the table and dropped her face into the gap. “How do we fix this? What do I do?”

Celestia turned the page. “We'll get to that, but it isn't all bad. The author weighs the possibility of psychopathy, but ultimately rejects it on the grounds that you seemed 'genuinely contrite' about your past behavior, that you showed 'spontaneous empathy' when speaking with Luna, and that, in the end, 'One must always account for the temptation to unnecessarily pathologize unusual persons; further, in this particular case it is important to remember that the subject interpreted the situation as hostile. In a different and more accommodating setting, questioned by a different interviewer, Ms. Wilson could react very differently.'”

“That's surprisingly professional of her and now I feel worse,” said Mag.

“We can handle this,” said Celestia.

“How?” said Mag.

Jeff jumped in. “Excuse me, your majesties, Ms. Wilson, but is this really that important?”

“Important people are reading summaries of these things right this second,” said Mag. “Right now it looks like the file on me comes down to 'Possibly a psychopath.' I'm making Celestia look bad.”

“Oh, I do that all the time, and her reputation flourishes regardless,” said Luna.

“I'm having trouble getting used to that,” said Jeff.

“What?” said Mag.

“Princess Luna using your mouth to speak. It looks like you're possessed.”

“I pretty much am, but it's cool; we get along. And you seem different today. What's up with you?”

“Her majesty suggested that I relax a bit,” said Jeff.

“And where's whatserface, Ellie?”

“She disappears sometimes. Something to do with her research, I think.”

Mag turned back to Celestia. “Anyway, how do we deal with this situation?”

“We change the plan slightly. The report says you're an 'unusual person.' Why not work with that? You can become a personality. Humans seem to appreciate novelty, so say novel things, let your intelligence and mother wit shine through, and in general, be yourself.” Celestia smiled encouragingly.

“I've been myself all my life and I ended up living alone in the mountains, so let's not go crazy here,” said Mag.

“You'll have to develop a public persona, of course,” said Celestia.

“What happened to being myself?”

“The two aren't mutually exclusive. I act differently at the negotiation table than I do in a nursery, for instance, and yet I'm always Celestia. Multiple personas form a single, true, whole person. And before you tell me you can't possibly have a side that's appropriate for a public figure... we'll just see about that.”

“Whatever you say,” said Mag.

“Whatever I say,” agreed Celestia.

The compound in general had apparently decided they were harmless, but still needed an escort. Someone had found four female marines and set them to walking in front of Celestia wherever she went. Meanwhile, Jeff was to be hanger-on and official third wheel, and was probably a filthy spy.

“I figured it out,” said Mag. “The soldiers are so that someone doesn't come around a corner and suddenly get a faceful of goddessness.”

“Goddessness?” said Celestia.

“You literally make people break down in tears of awe at the sight of you, remember? Yes, goddessness. In fact, I'll bet these soldiers are having trouble. Yo, sergeant, how we doing?” Mag held up a hand for a high five. The soldier, an extremely stiff woman in the usual dress blues and a bun, blinked at her.

“Just kidding, I know you're actually a corporal. Surprise! I can read rank patches. My father was a military man. High five me, soldier.” Mag waggled her hand in the air. The soldier fidgeted indecisively. Mag waggled her hand again. The corporal high fived her with a hesitant pat.

“Yeah, that's right,” said Mag.

“Don't bully the guards, Mag,” said Celestia. She looked serious about it.

“Bully?”

“You're purposely making her uncomfortable.”

Mag stopped herself from asking the corporal herself if she was uncomfortable, since that would have made Celestia right. That was the bully thing to do, to pressure the victim into defending you.

Fine. “I'm not bullying her, and I can prove it. Watch this.” Mag turned to the corporal. “Sorry about that. I'm told I'm a psychopath.”

“You're not a psychopath,” said Celestia.

“Are you sure? I was starting to get used to the idea.”

“I've known hordes of psychopaths and you, miss, are no psychopath,” said Celestia with a wink.

“Maybe we should ask a neutral party. Corporal, on a one to ten scale, how psychopathic—oops. Celestia, am I supposed to leave them alone entirely?”

Celestia thought about it. “Corporal, who is your immediate superior?”

The corporal saluted. “You are, your majesty, except where your orders contradict those of my superiors.”

“Thought so,” said Celestia. “Corporal, no one told me that. I'm wondering if all of your officers even know that. I've been sensing serious communication problems in your organization since yesterday. Let me guess. Orders given and then changed by someone else, an environment of uncertainty, scrambling to invent new protocol and procedure...”

“So they really are your own personal guards,” said Mag.

“Mag, who tells you what to do?”

“Er. You? Also Luna, if I'm doing magic.” That hurt to say, for juvenile reasons. Ain't nobody told Mag what to do.

“And that's my point,” said Celestia. “Here we have more unclear orders. Are you in the chain of command, Mag? Where, exactly? How about Luna? Really, communicating with any of the three of us, no matter how lighthearted the exchange, is both an intimidating prospect and a potentially dangerous career move. So, to answer your original question, let's keep a light touch.”

The soldiers looked even stiffer than before, if that was possible. Celestia started walking again, now humming.

“So where did you want to stop first?” said Mag.

“I'm concerned about the book,” said Celestia.

“Mag, you're a human. Do you wish to speculate whether these other humans have done anything rash with it?”

“You guys made them swear they wouldn't mess with it or get close to it, and it's been like 10 hours, so I give it a one in five chance they did something stupid.”

“Am I an optimist for thinking those aren't bad odds?” said Celestia.

The corporal, whose name someone really should have asked about, opened the door in a tactical way, hand near her gun and standing to one side of the door. Mag couldn't see why, since the book wasn't likely to ambush anyone and, from everything Mag had seen (and read in the report), Celestia was invulnerable—to a fault, if you thought about it. If she'd gone out with the rest of her world, then—

“Mag?” said Celestia.

“Quit brooding, please,” said Luna.

They were all waiting for her just inside the door. Mag followed them into an indoor basketball court that the unnamed organization had converted into a containment room for the Paravasi Mageia. A thick partition of sheet metal and plexiglass divided the room down the middle, with the wooden book on the other side of the glass and Mag, Celestia and sundry others on the other. Folding chairs, card tables, and small cots had been set up, where scientists and more soldiers milled around comparing notes and eating vending machine snacks. Every one of them stood up or got out of bed when they saw Celestia. One scientist stepped forward. Whoever he was, he was sweating despite the chill of the room.

“Your majesty,” he said.

“Good morning, Mr. Bradley. You haven't approached the book, I hope,” said Celestia.

“No, your majesty. No one has come within 20 feet, and only one person has entered the room, and she's in quarantine until you can look at her. If you don't mind, your majesty.”

“You'd think a bunch of secret government scientists would go for lab coats instead of sweaters,” Mag said quietly to Luna.

“Yes, ma'am, we'll order some lab coats,” said Bradley.

“That wasn't an order and I don't think you have to do what I say anyway.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Ah, I see. This is another situation for that light touch.”

“For a couple days at least,” said Celestia.

A shadow of annoyance crossed Bradley's face. Ah, the brittle pride of the nerd.

“I suspect you've learned something from observing the book,” said Celestia. “Does anything stand out to you in particular?”

Bradley lost his nerve and completely failed to answer, staring at the wall behind Celestia. Mag allowed herself to snicker, in the hopes of pricking him into action. Bradley sent a glare her way and said, “W-w-well, what interests us most... uh. What interests us the most is that, uh, uh, we can't see anything dangerous about it. You told us there is, so we know there's something,” he added hastily, “but the fact that we can't sense it tells us quite a lot. We could be looking at a whole new scientific discipline.”

“The science of magic?” said Mag. He ignored her, instead scampering off to dig through his notes in a binder that sat in a ruffled nest of an unmade bed. She went after him.

“You know, I can do magic, and my magic is safe, so you and your guys can get a better look at it.”

At first he didn't answer, but looked thoughtful. Then he said, “That could be extremely interesting, ma'am, though we've collected a lot of info on her majesty's magic already, and with all respect, we can't make assumptions about the safety of magic in general.”

“Just remember that I offered,” said Mag, and walked back to Celestia. She didn't want to help and had only offered so she could feel better about laughing at him, and it was way to early in the day to put up with people calling her “ma'am,” but she hadn't expected him to outright refuse.

“Still don't want credit?” whispered Celestia.

“Nope,” whispered Mag. The three of them had been working on the assumption that someone was always listening, and therefore couldn't discuss the parts of Celestia's story that she'd left out, but going by the report, she had been very cautious about anything related to the book. She hadn't even mentioned that a human had written it. She also hadn't mentioned that Mag had helped get it, and Mag, despite the presumed eavesdroppers, had managed to communicate that she liked it that way. She hadn't been able to explain why, but the reason was that, now that she'd had a proper rest (what had she dreamed of last night? It had seemed important), she was certain the book would end up causing more problems than it solved. Could it help bring back Equestria? She didn't see how. Could it drag humanity into another arms race? Probably.

But there was no way to explain her misgivings to Celestia.

“I'm getting sick of this compound,” said Mag.

“Aye, I miss the sky,” said Luna.

Whatever-his-name-was, Bradley, brought back a few papers and a clipboard.

“Find something interesting?” said Celestia.

“A few things, your majesty, but I haven't pooled everyone's notes yet, and there are still tests that we—and I had some questions. Could you please?”

“'I'd be happy to answer, except where it puts others at risk,” said Celestia.

“That's the thing, your majesty,” said Bradley.

“What's the thing?” said Mag.

“For one thing, we don't know what the symptoms of effluvium poisoning are, at least for humans.”

“This containment room is prudently arranged and I see no risks taken, so that shouldn't be something to concern yourself with, unless you're planning to approach the book,” said Celestia.

“That's what we were just discussing,” said Bradley. “We'd like a closer look.”

“Welp!” said Mag.

“I don't recommend that,” said Celestia.

“Maybe you could build like a Mars rover and roll that in there instead? A 'book rover,' if you will.”

“If we could put a man on Mars then we'd do that instead of sending rovers.”

Mag raised an eyebrow at Celestia and performed a “Get a load of this guy” gesture at Bradley. “Okay, so what are the symptoms of book poisoning, your glorious majesty?”

“It may differ from species to species, of course—”

“Yes, yes!” said Bradley. “That's the kind of thing we need to know.”

“—but symptoms tend to be psychological in nature, and are often subtle. It may do almost nothing.”

“But not nothing,” said Mag.

“But not nothing,” said Celestia, nodding to Mag. “Touch it with a hand and you may simply find yourself in an unpleasant mood for a few hours. Or that night you will think to yourself that life can't possibly be worthwhile, and would it be so difficult to end it all? Or you may feel as if something is watching you from behind, or hear a voice whenever all the lights are out, or see creatures out of the corner of your eye. Bradley, this is not wise.”

“It's a calculated risk. We can keep an eye on the researcher who examines the book up close for as long as necessary when he comes out of the containment area.”

“And I think Georgia is some kind of psychologist, to be fair, not that this isn't stupid.” said Mag. “What are you hoping to do, poke it? Open the cover with a stick and get a look at the table of contents? I don't think it has a table of contents.”

“Oh? Have you seen the inside of it? Can you describe it, ma'am?”

“I never saw the inside because I don't care enough to risk looking. Creepy book, don't understand it, no touchy. That's as far as my knowledge goes.”

“Right, well, we're here to study the book, and, while we're aware of the fact that approaching the book is dangerous, it's a risk we all agree is acceptable, even if it's just to help diagnose and treat future cases of effluvium poisoning. Today we're field researchers, your majesty, and sometimes field researchers choose to take risks for the sake of science. Anyway, there have been scientists who made much greater sacrifices in the past. They're all our heroes. Science is worth what it costs.”

Celestia laughed quietly to herself. “Mr. Bradley, I've been wondering how your species could possibly have come so far in the last two thousand years. I think you've answered my question in part.”

Bradley took this as a good sign and pressed the advantage. “Your majesty, I'd like to ask permission to approach the book.”

“Denied, and I'm taking it with me.” Celestia poofed away, poofed back with the book balanced above her shoulders, poofed off to somewhere else entirely, and poofed back without the book.

“I've hidden it,” said Celestia. “I admire the courage of you and your fellow scientists, but I consider this book my responsibility for now, and if I have to slow the march of science in the fulfillment of that responsibility, I absolutely will.”

Mag patted the stricken Bradley on the shoulder. “Sorry about that. If it helps, now that magic is going to go public, someone's likely to discover black magic soon and then you'll get all the examples you could possibly want.”

“And those examples would get better medical treatment if we'd been allowed to carry on,” muttered Bradley.

“I get it, Brad. I really do. Like I said before, hit me up sometime if you want to look at some spells.” She looked to Celestia. “Now what?”

“Yes, Bradley, we'd all be happy to help your work, so long as no one is in danger. And Mag, I think it's time we spoke to the management. Let's search for the head office.”

“And a bathroom,” said Mag.

Bradley had slumped into a folding chair. “There's a restroom outside the door and 30 yards down the hall,” he said.

“Thanks. I'll come back.” Mag started to walk off. The corporal fell in step behind her.

Mag stopped and looked at the corporal. “What, you too? Or are—oops. Celestia, is she following me because someone told her I need a minder?”

“It's your report again, I'm afraid,” said Celestia. “In the conclusion, Georgia suggests putting you on suicide watch. It looks as if someone has decided to arrange exactly that, and for the sake of interspecies diplomacy, I recommend cooperating. Don't worry; I believe we can talk them out of it before the end of today.”

“Fffff—right, cool, whatever. Bradley was right, by the way.” Especially since it was humanity's book anyway, and moreover, Celestia had carried the book on her back with Mag standing right next to her for the better part of an hour and hadn't ever mentioned danger, so either the book had suddenly gotten more dangerous or Celestia was exaggerating the danger.

"I think we need to discuss this a bit more later today, Mag,” said Celestia. Mag supposed she meant they'd talk about it when they'd gotten away from the surveillance.

Author's Notes:

The two-week break is over, but I'm still busy, so the updates may still be late sometimes.

e: I've just realized this is a good time to say "Views expressed in this story do not necessarily represent the views of the author." That conflict is here to point out a difference in values between Celestia and this particular group of humans, not so I can climb up on my soapbox and tell everyone how I feel about the risk and/or worth scientific progress.

Conversation Seventeen

Mag dodged through a flock of chattering young officers on the way to the bathroom, none of them old enough to drink. They all looked so busy and purposeful, like people with credit scores and five-year plans. Many of them also had visible weapons, but this was less intimidating than the sense of earnest industriousness the staff conveyed. And every single one of them was younger than her. Mag didn’t belong here in any sense. One would think being allowed to wander free in a secret military installation would be interesting rather than irritating and dispiriting.

The corporal wasn't helping. She kept up with Mag without effort, blank of face and eyes fixed forward. Luckily, Mag had spent the past few days learning how to not be intimidated, and the “self-absorbed babbling” approach seemed to work as well here as anywhere. The corporal's lack of conversational contribution only allowed Mag to build a full head of steam.

“—and that's why it's so interesting that the species of louse native to gorillas is so similar to human pubic lice. Do you get it? It's because Early Man fucked a gorilla. Do you see? You probably see. But enough of that. Would you like to know how incredibly annoying it is to be around a sun goddess all day? The answer is a lot. She never seems to get dirty, even her mistakes are graceful and classy, and she's always right, even when she's wrong. And did you read that report? She can catch bullets. It makes me wonder what you guys are even for, to be honest. Don't try and take a bullet for her, by the way, if that wasn't already clear. Just step to one side and let them bounce off of her. The washroom is around this corner? Yep, cool.” Mag walked in. Some secretary-looking girl saw Mag in the mirror, recognized her, and bolted past Mag into the hall, insofar as bolting was possible while wearing heels.

“Five minutes,” said Luna, as per their standard agreement. Luna's aura mostly disappeared. She hadn't told Mag where she usually went. One more question Mag hadn't had time to ask.

“See that? I walk into a room and everyone flees. God, other people are so freaking weird.” Mag flicked a toilet stall open and went in. “That's the problem with public bathrooms. You've got a special room in the building set aside for us all to express one of the fundamental truths of humanity, that we are weird and gross. Have you ever thought about it? We try to cover up our dark secret with enclosed stalls, air fresheners, and floors of temple-like white tiles, but there's no getting away from the existence of butts. Speaking of butts, I'm just going to come out and say it. Celestia has the giantest damned butt. You know how I keep looking behind us? That's not because I'm watching for terrorists or Georgia; that's because one of these times I'm going to catch somebody having a look. I just know today there's some poor boy in this building having a sexual identity crisis because there's a gorgeous naked lady wandering the building, but she's some kind of horse monster thing, and he can't make it work in his head. It raises questions, though, doesn't it? I won't enumerate them, but let me just say I told her where the bathroom in my house is and then I never saw her use it. I'm not going to ask her how all that works because the truth may be some kind of Lovecraftian nightmare involving alien geometries and violations of the laws of thermodynamics, but one wonders. Is that butt for show? I don't know, man. I will say, though, that sooner or later someone is going to say something awkwardly sexual and then nobody is going to know what to say, especially me. What do you think? Don't worry, it's a rhetorical question. I suppose I could always start yelling about chauvinism, but let's face it, Celestia will know exactly what to say. And that, corporal, is why I know how you feel about being assigned to protect an invincible being. There's no point in feeling protective of her. Protect her from what? How? I think I may be the only person on this planet who found a way to help her, and I'll bet that's rare, because how much help can she possibly need? I don't think she needs any of us, not the likes of you and me, anyway. If it weren't for her sister living in my head, I would probably just get out of her way and go home. But no, the other pretty pony princess is in my head. It's a shame none of you can see Luna. Her butt isn't as big, but she makes up for it in style.” Mag flushed and came out of the stall.

Soap, cold water, scrub. “I don't mind telling you that this suicide watch is really annoying, not that I blame you personally. And hearing about it right after watching her crush some dork's dreams? Man. That was horrible. Were you watching that? I forget whether you were in the room. No, of course you were. Was she right or wrong to pull that stunt? I don't know. Normally whenever someone says something, I assume they're wrong and then work backward from there, but I can't seem to do that on Celestia. But Brickley, or Bradley or whatever—did you see his expression? Jesus. I don't know what to think right now.” Mag shook water off her hands and wiped them on her pants. “But I can't say that to Celestia's face. How? What if I say something, and then it turns out she can't change my mind? She always knows what to say, so on the day she doesn't, it'll be that much worse. Well, whatever. Good talk, corporal.”

“You need a drink.” Mag looked at the corporal. She stood against the wall near the entrance with her feet apart and her hands behind her back, just as she had when they came in together, and she still stared straight ahead.

“You're talking now?”

“No,” said the corporal.

“Fair enough. Can I get a name if I promise not to use it?”

“Bittermann.”

“An actual last name? I haven't heard one of those in days. I'm Mag Wilson.”

Corporal Bittermann didn't answer.

“Fair enough.” Mag reached for the door handle, but the door opened by itself. Mag found herself face to face with a baggy-eyed and surprised Georgia.

“Nope,” said Mag, and bolted down the hall.

The book was back where it had been.

“Did I miss something?” said Mag.

“Bradley and I have talked,” said Celestia, “and I now realize that I took neither your culture nor the nature of your species into account earlier.”

“You caved?!”

“I did indeed. One of my chief concerns is keeping hazardous items, knowledge included, out of my subjects’ reach. But I now see that their needs and values are different than the needs of humans, and I’m going to respect that. The book stays, and I apologize for not trusting you, Bradley. Again, though, this book is dangerous, and I simply can't guess at the level of damage it's capable of if misused.”

“Just don't read it,” said Mag.

“Why not?” said Bradley.

Oops, now she had to come up with a plausible reason that wasn't “this century's atom bomb.” That’d just make them more curious.

Screw it. “Because it could end up being this century's nuclear bomb,” said Mag. “This is a book on dark magic, or that's the impression I got. Is that right?”

“You could put it that way, though I think it's more complex than that,” said Celestia.

“Sure. But that's the thing. Here's an image for you. Imagine a human bomb, some kind of soldier who studies black magic and becomes a human weapon at the cost of his sanity, but it's marketed to the public as something other than black magic, like “war spells” or “regulated magic.” Imagine the government putting a project like that together and then threatening other nations with it. Fox News talking about fighting terrorists with our new weapon. Other countries start studying magic now that they know it exists, and soon we've got another cold war at best, and the thing is, I don't know where the limit to all this is. What can you do with black magic? How far can you go? Any opinions, Celestia?”

“Only that you're thinking small. Among your magic supersoldiers, a single genius could become a tyrant queen or king with no resources but magic. I can tell you many stories along that line. Sombra, Tirek...”

“Sauron,” supplied Mag.

“Actually,” said Bradley, “Sauron was a rebel Maiar and so was never a mere mortal to begin with.”

“The Witch-King, then. Gollum? I don't care about any of this, actually. Seriously, you caved?!”

“Sometimes I change my mind.”

“I can confirm that sometimes she changes her mind,” said Luna. “Shall I assume this ‘Sauron’ is another character in human folklore?”

“Well—”

“I didn’t even know you were allowed to cave like that.”

“What about the time you convinced me to take you to Equestria?” said Celestia.

“It’s different when it’s me getting you to cave,” said Mag.

“Stop saying ‘cave,’ and who is Sauron?” said Luna.

“I’ll say all the caves I want, and Sauron is some nerd thing. We can watch the movies the next time we have 10 hours to spare.”

Bradley went pale. “The movies? I mean, that is to say, what about the books? I’m sure their majesties would prefer—”

“The books suck. Do you really want to argue about this now, though?”

“No,” said Celestia, “because Bradley has mentioned something interesting. We are now officially in a hurry, so I’ll be succinct. We need to crash a meeting that could use my input, but which I, by some oversight, was not invited to. It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Bradley. Mag, shall we go?”

Mag trotted after Celestia. “We can’t teleport?”

“I would prefer not to teleport my new guards without their permission, and I can’t ask their permission without intimidating them, so we’ll be walking for now. They’re also there to make me more conspicuous, which allows others to prepare themselves for the sight of me. Why not let them?”

“You like having guards.”

“As a matter of fact I do. I have always traveled with guards when I could, and now, though they’re not quite mine anymore, I can almost let myself imagine... but enough of that. We are late.”

“Could you do me a favor?” said Mag. “Next time, instead of giving in when someone tries to change your mind, would you mind just being right the first time?”

“I’ll do what I can, but sometimes you’ll have to forgive me for being right the second time instead.”

“No promises.”

Corporal Bittermann opened the boardroom door for Celestia. Interesting—she'd never done that before, and now she’d done it in front of some very important people.

Celestia walked in, all confidence and stateliness, and Mag followed her into a room with a number of excellently dressed old men around two plastic folding tables set end-to-end. A projector sat in the middle of the tables, and it projected an image of Celestia’s achingly beautiful face across the opposite wall. Five aides lined one of the other walls.

Nice suits and cheap tables. This organization aimed to be intimidating, but sometimes it seemed slapdash. The consequence of always being in a hurry, maybe.

Most of the men stood up in alarm at the sight of the real-life Celestia walking in on them. She beamed at them. “There is no need to be alarmed; it’s only me. I’d like to introduce myself, though it looks as if you already know of me. My name is Princess Celestia.”

One man stood up to his full height and adjusted his suit coat. “Good morning, Princess. How may we help you?”

“I’d heard there was to be a meeting to write your statement to the public regarding my nature and intentions. I assumed, for reasons which I imagine are obvious, that my input would be useful—after all, I have managed my own public image for thousands of years, and you will want to know how I plan to present myself in public. I apologize for being late.”

The man remained standing. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about all that—”

“No apologies necessary? That’s very kind of you. I take it you haven’t started yet, then. In that case, shall I give my own presentation first, so you all know what you’re working with?”

The man smiled. “No, no, we’re doing just fine already, thank you. I know I speak for all of us when I say we’d prefer it if you took the time to rest from your journey, and, as I said last night, we invite you to explore the facility and speak with whoever you like.”

Celestia smiled back, and hers was better. “Oh, but I insist. I find meetings quite restful, my exploration has led me to all of you, and at the moment, you are all exactly the people I’d most like to speak to.”

Mag made two decisions at this point. The first was to take her place among the other aides against the side wall. The second was to keep her mouth shut.

“You insist?” said the man.

“Yes, I think you’ll find me extremely insistent, Mr. Joseph Gradely,” said Celestia.

“Joseph is fine. In fact I don’t think I introduced myself by my last name in the first place.”

“I like to be formal in settings like this,” said Celestia.

“So that’s why she asked me to find his last name in dreams,” said Luna.

Celestia turned the projector off with magic, stood next to the back wall, and projected an image of her own, an old-timey photograph of herself hovering over a crowd of ponies, wings spread, the rising sun directly over her head, gazing down at her subjects with an expression of queenly benevolence. The image was met with silence, though someone did scoff under his breath.

Celestia laughed. “Yes, it’s rather silly from a human perspective, isn’t it? But I can see I have something of an impact on humans—I’m old, not blind—so my usual approach to public relations may be very salvageable, so long as I allow for the human attitude toward, well, whatever it is I represent to all of you. The real question, as I see it, is how I might make the best possible impression on humanity in the following press conference. I'll be holding a press conference, by the way, and I look forward to seeing how you arrange it. Before we discuss image management, here is everything I expect to discuss at my press conference...”

Luna yawned theatrically in Mag’s head. Mag saw her point, but chose to pay attention anyway. What, exactly, were they doing here?

“Humans attach importance to clothes, and use them to interpret a person's social status and temperament. I will therefore wear nothing except my crown and collar. I don't believe I can learn to speak in the language of human clothing in time to say something coherent or tasteful, let alone something that accurately expresses how I would like to be seen in human terms. It would be best to present myself in nonhuman terms, and in those terms, I am already in one of my best outfits. Questions so far?” She didn't pause or look behind her, and no one raised his hand in any case. “Excellent. I expect the following questions there, but I don't mind other questions so long as I can decline to answer without offending.”

The first picture of Celestia changed to a picture of herself behind a wooden podium, looking approachable. Then the picture lost color and contrast, and a long list of questions in small print rolled down.

“In the interest of time, I won't answer all of these for you right now. Your scientists and officials covered most of these yesterday, if you're curious. I also don't expect anything like all of these questions to be asked, particularly the trap questions, though one must be prepared. Now we come to image management. Let's discuss proper terms of address.”

Proper terms of address. So that was the point—showing everyone who was boss.

Twenty minutes later, Celestia wrapped things up.

“... and that should do for the press pamphlets. Does anyone have anything to add? No? Excellent. Thank you for your time.” She let the final image disappear, a heraldic picture of Luna and Celestia in profile, and turned the projector back on. She sat down next to Joseph Gradely, shifted into a comfortable position, and looked around the room. “Who'd like to go next?”

“Actually,” said Joseph,” I think you've given us all a lot to think about.”

“And do,” said Celestia, “if it takes as long to arrange an international press conference on Earth as it does anywhere else. That's sensible, though I was looking forward to hearing what you all had to say. May I have all of your business cards before you go?”

Of course she could. They gave her everything she wanted and then left, along with their aides. Mag watched the latter carefully in the hopes that she'd learn something, but didn't get much out of it. Four stayed a respectful distance behind their employers, but one of them strode to Joseph Gradely's side and offered him a handkerchief. Gradely took it and mopped his brow. Then the door closed behind them, and Celestia, Mag, Corporal Bittermann, Celestia's nameless guards, and arguably Luna were the only ones in the room.

Mag adopted her best mother-Galadriel voice. "Don't bully them, Mag."

“Yes, well,” said Celestia.

“Kidding,” said Mag. “That was fun.”

“It loses its charm the hundredth time you see her do it,” said Luna.

“She does that a lot?”

Celestia filled several dixie cups from the water cooler in the corner and passed them all out. “It's something I like to do when somepony arranges a meeting in my own castle, then tries to keep it a secret from me. I show up just as it starts, seal the exits, and give them a speech about, oh, gravitational mechanics, the history of the tea trade, whatever I think would interest them least. That's what I normally do, anyway. This time I thought I'd make better use of the situation. I hope they found it informative.”

“I'm pretty sure it's my job to serve water,” said Mag.

“Oh? Oh yes,” said Celestia. “That reminds me. You did well.”

“I didn't do anything. Unless you count staying out of your way.”

“You reinforced my bid for authority by taking your place by the other aides. That was the moment I knew this would work.”

Mag scratched her head and wondered if she was being slow. “How did my walking to the other end of the room tell you this would work?”

“It was in the way they reacted. They hardly noticed you, and yet your move helped them understand what I was about to do, helped convince them it was a forgone conclusion that I'd be joining them.”

“I have no idea what she's talking about,” said Luna, “but you may as well accept it. She's decided you helped.”

“But aren't they just going to have their meeting somewhere else now, maybe in another building? We're not doing that again, are we?”

“Once was enough,” said Celestia. “They'll have their meeting, yes, but I've entirely changed their tone. Now they realize that, however cooperative I've been so far, I will also be making my own decisions in how I interact with humanity. I've also convinced them to arrange a public press conference for me, which lets me begin to form a rapport with news agencies and the public, independent of their influence. And yes, I'll get my press conference. They haven't learned how to ignore me yet.” She sipped her water. “Mm. Cold.”

“'Yet,'” said Mag.

“Yes, I have no doubt they'll learn quickly if they wish to.”

“This seems kind of...”

“Manipulative?” said Celestia.

“Warlike,” said Mag. “It's like you're teaching them to fight you.”

“I may be speaking a bit overdramatically. I don't think they see me as an opponent, only as a nonentity who doesn't need to be consulted about how her own business is to be carried out. Today I taught them better, while arranging for a bit of political capital in the form of a press conference.”

“You're very proud of that press conference,” said Mag.

“As a matter of fact I am,” said Celestia. “I'm looking forward to it. It's been quite a long time since I've made friends with a planet.”

Author's Notes:

This'll be the first chapter that saw the help of an editor, and he'll be helping with the next chapter as well, and possibly for the foreseeable future. His name is Arcanist Ascendant and everything bad about this fic is now officially all his fault, especially the things he couldn't possibly be responsible for. Yep, that's definitely how it works.

Thanks, broseph.

Finals are over (I just slam dunked three different essays and broke the glass on all three backboards, because I PUNISH at those things), so you people will be seeing chapters more often than once every two weeks.