It was a gala night in the later days of the year. An angelic throng of Equestrians had gathered, draped in veils and loud with cheer. They gathered to a makeshift theater set within Canterlot Halls, to see a play of hopes and dire fears. It told the story of the Twilight, a terrible age long ago when the world had been thrown into chaos by an ancient spectre of evil. Brave heroes rose up to fight these villains and their ruthless queen, only to fall one by one until only three remained. The last and greatest revealed herself to be a long lost princess of the moon, blessed by the light of the stars. Sacrificing herself, the evil was at last driven from the world, as symbolized by the rising of the sun.

Many were they who would discuss what the message of this play was meant to be. If it was meant to be some sort of creation myth or a lesson on original sin. If it was supposed to be some old rite that explained the changing of the seasons or a tale meant to explain the particulars of some ancient conflict between the various kingdoms of Equestria, before the grand unification beneath the auspicious of Princess Luna. Many whispered that it was actually propaganda about the fall of her sister, Celestia, and that the so called Twilight Queen was meant to represent her. Though, if this was so, Celestia herself didn’t seem to mind.

She sat among the other subjects, watching the play with great interest, her loyal dragon Spike, hunched protectively over her. After it was done, her attendants wheeled her litter to the dance hall so that she might enjoy the music. For as long as anyone could remember she had been bound to her litter, unable to stir from its confines save for only small amounts of time, or short rides upon her dragons back. Her hair had recovered its luster and her scars had all healed, but her wings and other limbs had never fully recovered from some great battle long ago. Even so, all agreed she was most gracious about her situation and never gloomy. She sang along with all the songs that night, tapping her hooves in time to the beat. She laughed at the jesters and fools in great mirth and ate her fair share of the feast of sweet delights on offer. She even flirted with a few of the bolder swains and Equestrian lordlings, though those closest to her knew such frivolities were more due to courtesy than interest on her part. It was said that though Luna was now the undisputed ruler of all Equatria, Celestia still ruled in Canterlot, with her Dawn guard to attend her. Even so she had never shown any interest in ruling again and thus abstained from making any nuptial arraignments that might have been problematic for her sister.

As the evening wore down, she went with the others into the gardens to gaze up at the winter sky. Clear as a bell this night, thanks to the work of the pegasi, the stars shown down upon the great bronze and stone statues part grown with vines. No one could remember who had carved these beautiful sculptures, but all agreed that they were one of Canterlot’s greatest treasures. Celestia had her guard pause by a statue rather smaller than most, as she inclined her head to gaze at the small carving half buried in moss. She told one of her handmaidens to have the gardeners out tomorrow to clean and care for the little statue before declaring her weariness and asking to be led back to her chambers.

As the last of her attendants left her to see off the few remaining guests, Princess Celestia gazed out into the chill night sky. The moon was just rising on the horizon, Luna’s work. She smiled at that, her pink eyes glowing gently in the light of a cozy fire burning in the hearth at the foot of her bed that Spike had lit before bidding her good night. She let her hooves trail gently through her hair, then grabbed a knot of flesh at the base of her neck and pulled. The old hide stripped away slowly at first, but then peeled off easily enough as she stretched her skin over her ears and ripped it off of her face. Her flesh came off more easily from her throat and slogged down her arms and chest like loose fitting cloths as the wet pale hide coiled on the bed beneath her. Pink and wet, the pony that had been Celestia wrung the excess gore from her long rose colored hair, letting it pool on the cold stones of the floor.

“That was one hell of a party...” She smiled as she watched the flames dance in the hearth. Her blue eyes shining through for a moment before changing to a deep crimson that shaded to bright glowing pink. “I can’t wait for the next one!” Her laughter was low and sinister in the night as she left ‘Celestia’s’ room to find herself a snack. Sweets were all well and good but she wanted something savory, before she rested for the night. Maybe one of those galant swains who had courted ‘Celestia’ so ardently? Maybe that lazy head gardener? Maybe a careless servant? Pinkamena was certainly spoiled for choice and her larder had never before been quiet so full. She gazed once more out upon the land rolling below the castle’s windows, pale and dark beneath the moonlight. None of this would last, so fragile compared to what she was now, but she’d enjoy it all while she could just the same. She mused to herself, “After all, life’s a party!”