The summons arrived in the form of a scroll that appears in a sheet of flame. Celestia picked it up, already knowing what it would say. “If I may read the missive?”

“For the record, yes,” Dawn said, her flat voice never wavering.

“Oh, I do so love letters. Please do, Celestia,” Dusk said with a smile. “Don’t they remind you of Twilight?”

Celestia fought a grimace. “Yes. They do remind me of her. The letter says simply, ‘Duck.’”

The Inner Court of the Sun blinked at her. Celestia ducked.

The shimmering, unreal wall of the mock-courtroom shattered and Luna arrived on a silver chariot. She sailed over Celestia’s head and parked herself between her sister and… well, her sister. Here, her mane glowed with pure starlight and her eyes danced with the light of nebulas. Her laughter here had no touch of sorrow in it. She glowed with glory and mystery. “Greetings, apparitions!” she called to the Inner Court.

“Greetings and defiance, traitor,” sneered Noonday. Her greatsword had appeared as well. “What do you want here, thief of light?”

“Only to steal my sister as well, for a bit of palaver,” Luna said.

“This is highly irregular.” Dawn, again, adjusting her glasses.

“I think it’s wonderful. Bold, exciting… you really were always such a good sister,” Dusk said, waving to Luna. Luna bowed with mock formality to the gentler face of Celestia.

Celestia herself had already boarded the chariot. “If you’re quite done, Luna, I would like to get this over with.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “Your endless dream lacks in variety, sister. Also in taste. The sight of you dressed in such plain attire is appalling.”

“It’s functional,” said Dawn flatly. To her credit, her prim librarian’s attire was not the worst thing Celestia had worn.

Luna did not answer. She said something obscene to Noon and then without further ceremony, Celestia found herself in utter darkness. It had been a long time since she had left her own dreams to walk in Luna’s domain. She’d forgotten the sudden drop.

Her mind was like a foal’s drawing in the sand. Someone had stepped in it, or the tide had come, and so the foal had to draw it all again. Only experience kept her from panicking at the utter lack of sensation. It was like being dead. But her vision returned. Her hearing, too, after a moment.

“Tia, dearest mine in sisterhood, I hope you do not think too poorly of me for the amusement I take in your utter helplessness in the dreaming,” Luna said in her right ear.

Celestia felt her ear flick. Sensation. Sensation was good. “I did not make a habit of it while you were gone,” she said.

“Hello, Fear,” said an all too familiar voice from behind her.

Celestia tried to turn, but she could not. Humiliated, she whined for Luna to help her while she tried to remember what having hooves was like again.

“I understand,” her sister said, her voice soothing. “And I sometimes forget that it is harder on others. I wondered if you would come with me. Did you like the chariot?”

“It was ridiculous,” Celestia said. But she said it smiling.

“Good. I enjoy frivolity as much as you do. I too am allowed eccentric behavior.”

They had ignored Luna’s own Court, but Celestia knew her brief respite was coming to an end. Luna had turned her around to face the facets of her sister’s mind.

They stood together in what Celestia saw now was a tent. All of them were gathered around a central table, where a map was laid out. Celestia found herself curious. Luna’s Court changed constantly, the curse-dream as mercurial as the moon which bestowed it. Celestia’s had not changed much since the Schism.

“It changes little because you use it for self-flagellation,” Luna said.

“To punish the self--” began one, a younger Luna.

“--is often to destroy it,” finished her twin, a colt with Luna’s features.

“I forget about the twins,” Celestia answered, rubbing her eyes. “I never understood that.”

“Waxing and Waning,” Luna said. “I find it ideal to think in dialectics. Thesis and antithesis.”

Celestia finally was able to stand on her own hooves again. She took stock of the moon’s burden on her sister. The twins, who regarded her with open curiosity. The Full Moon who was smiling from behind the table, her tail thrashing behind her with excitement. The New Moon, in appearance and attitude exactly the image of the Nightmare. She was, in fact, the Nightmare. The last stood behind the rest, and watched them more than she noticed Celestia.

“To think that you once led armies…” The New Moon--the Nightmare hissed. She bared her fangs. “Weak, like a foal. You grow old and stupid. Perhaps you shouldn’t have stared into the sun.”

Luna murmured at Celestia’s side. “She does have a point. It is actually bad for you.”

Celestia repressed a snort of laughter behind a firm smile. “Hello, Nightmare.”

All of the assorted Luna’s cringed. All but the silent watcher in the back. The Luna beside her, the true Luna, shied away from Celestia’s side slightly. But the Princess reached out and held her close. Luna stopped her slow flight.

The Full Moon left the throng of reflection and approached the sisters. Luna moved in the embrace, trying again to flee. She had fled in fear before, now she fled in panicked shame. But Celestia did not let her go. She was not rough about it. She simply knew that it was better to not let Luna go during the inevitable greetings between herself and the Court of the Moon. Would this be uncomfortable for both of them? Yes. But it was better that Luna not have to question Celestia’s acceptance of her unburdened self.

The Full Moon licked her lips. She was, to be fair, beautiful--much as Dusk was. But where Dusk was a bit silly and always wearing a sunny smile, Full Moon always seemed like a huntress. Celestia saw her fangs as she opened her mouth.

“Hello, fearful little sun. It is wonderful both to see you and to be seen.” She stalked like a jungle cat, passing by Celestia, making sure their flanks touched. She circled, making sure her starry tail passed under Celestia’s chin. Making sure she made herself as blunt as possible. “And to be seen fully,” she purred.

Celestia kept her eyes straight ahead. Luna tried to escape again, but Celestia kept her close. “We promised,” she said softly.

“Yes, but your mind is merely boring,” Luna hissed back at her.

Celestia grinned, surveying the other aspects of the Moon who gazed back with curiosity at the proceeding. All except the shadow behind them, the Luna with flat gray eyes who said and did little. “Aren’t you glad not to be so dull, though? Tell me what you have been doing. You know we need no apologies.”

Luna whimpered. Full Moon--Celestia had renamed her Lust--nuzzled her cheek along Celestia’s filling the princess’ head with the most dizzying scents. The most promising kind, and yet also brought to mind a kind of sensuous violence. But she did not react. She would not humiliate Luna--this interview would end as all the others did.

“Hmm… no apologies? I like it,” purred Lust. “Apology would imply we lay together but once, wouldn’t it? ‘Making it up to me,’ you would say. Do you know what it is like to forget the touch of other ponies? I’m mad with it. The constant presence of other minds. Would you let me be so burdened? You could comfort me. You did so when we were younger.” Her voice was musical.

Celestia still did not look, as Lust nibbled on her withers. “You’ve had your say,” she said.

Full Moon pouted, and then laughed. “Of course, of course… perhaps when yon Twilight Sparkle is introduced to the luxury of our darkest nights you will at last visit us. It is not the conquest I had hoped, but… in war, one takes what one can secure.” She laughed and went back to the table, and Celestia was shocked to find that she was a bit shaken. She would not ask. She would not--

Luna stirred. “Twilight is only my friend,” she said weakly.

“I know.”

But then Luna broke away and shook herself. “There, it is over,” she announced. “We may let off on the unpleasantries, and turn our attention to our real task!”

“And that is?” replied the Sun’s prisoner.

“Ironically… Twilight Sparkle. And you.”

“Of course.”

“You would not speak to me in the waking world--and I do not hold it against you, though it grieves my heart. But you know that here there can be no truth hidden. You need fear no miscommunication.”

Celestia frowned. “It was not mere miscommunication I feared. It is impossible to speak truly when I’m unsure of my own mind, Luna.”

“Indecisive? How unlike you,” said the filly of the twins.

“And yet also how like you,” said the colt.

Celestia looked around. “I am not trying to hide, but tell me--what is this?”

The Full Moon sighed. “Oh, it will be beautiful, my love.”

“A citadel--”

“--and a city” the colt replied, and then shrugged. “But the castle is first.”

“A new world for a new princess,” Luna finished.

Celestia smiled. “It is a noble beginning, then,” she said warmly. “I wish all of you success. I see also that the old legions shall be at your sides, if this martial setting is to be believed.”

“Of course,” Luna said, flashing her fangs. She had forgotten about those during her sister’s long absence. The old magics gone awry, and yet the younger alicorn had never changed herself back. She hid them now only out of worry they would intimidate. “If you are conflicted, then tell your sister of the sides of this contention. I was once a mediator as well.”

“That you were.” Celestia pursed her lips. “I am severally divided, more so than usual with the manner of our shackling to the heavens.” A pause. “Actually, I would say that it mirrors rightly my own three-way parting.”

“Oh, do tell,” Full Moon said, smiling. Waiting for a chance to insert herself into the desires and wishes of a target. Ready to strike.

“Dawn would point out that as Equestria grows, both in population and technology, a new princess makes sense. We… well, mostly I, but you get the point--we have been moving away from purely centralized government. It worked long ago. It was a rougher time, and there was no space for deliberation when invading monsters and hordes were already halfway to Everfree. But the world has moved on. The load will become impossible even for us within a decade. Twilight is the best possible choice for a brave new world.”

“Dawn is the worst part of you,” groaned Luna. “Ugh. At least she isn’t dressed like Clover the Clever anymore.”

“Says the one who wanted Clover the Clever to do such things to her!” purred the Full Moon. “And you like her glasses.”

“She is paradoxically the best and the most boring part of you,” hissed the New Moon, the Nightmare that was. “The only who thinks.”

“For once, we agree,” Celestia said, her tone sour. “To an extent.”

“What else?” prompted the young Waxing--or was it Waning?--Moon.

Celestia thought. Luna had moved towards the table and sat before it with her back straight and her posture far more regal. This was Luna as she had been and would be again--the princess in her element, listening to the problems and the pleas of the subjects she protected. Her countenance was cool. Her eyes focused like a hawk’s. Celestia felt that her sister in that moment could truly sift through the muck of her own inadequacy.

“Well… Noonday has some good points. From the first moment I began to question my decision to give Twilight the final push towards ascendancy, Noonday listed her every flaw for hours. I usually lose in my own Inner Court. The Sun is merciless,” she added, looking down. “But I have not won a single time since she began that line of argument. Twilight is a bit… prone to instability. She does have problems with anxiety and she does have a somewhat skewed view of me as being somehow… perfect. Her passion for organization and knowledge--the same things that will server her well in a brave new world--will also make her prone to micromanagement. She could stifle the new Equestria in the womb, make it stillborn by her overreach. You or might not even understand what is happening until it has already happened.”

“You are only telling--”

“--half the story.”

Celestia spared the twins a look. They had come to sit on either side of their chosen patron. She wondered, not for the first time, if the Moon was kinder than the Sun to its chosen prisoner. Wouldn’t it be… colder? No, she shouldn’t think too literally here.

“The other half I think you can guess at with ease. To be ageless is not to be unchanging, of course, and I…” Celestia closed her mouth.

The problem with speaking is that it was stupid. Words were, really, rather pointless. Communication? Entropic. She would speak and it would be about things that were true, but in speaking she would color the way she herself and her feelings were understood in ways that were true but not accurate.

“I will let that one pass,” Luna said. “If you will tell me what Dusk feels. Or, shall I say, Love.”

“Don’t’ call her that. It demeans our niece,” Celestia replied in what could only be described as a whine. “Or worse, you’ll encourage her.”

“I wouldn’t mind encouraging her,” said the lustful Full Moon from over Luna’s shoulder. When had she arrived there?

Celestia saw that they all crowded around Luna now, like siblings. Her own reflections rarely touched her. Dusk had hugged her before, she supposed. That was a sad thing to realize.

“I do not think she would like you.”

“My impression of Love is that she would like just about anypony on some level,” Luna said with a smirk. “Isn’t she the one that fed you that line you love so much? About keeping no record of wrongs.”

Celestia’s glare did nothing, for this was Luna’s domain and she could not be intimidated. Also, she was mostly immune to sisterly glares in general. All but the worse sort.

Celestia began haltingly. “Dusk… Dusk thinks inappropriate things. She also thinks things that have a point, but that have bothered me since the ascendance of Cadance.”

“Ah, let me guess. Our old discussion come ‘round again, lest it be forgotten.” Luna’s smile was lopsided. “The circle of death.”

“The effect of limitation on things, yes.”

“Let me conjure it up again from the depths of your dull ages: I believe it was that you had last said that mortal joys were made possible by death. I countered that we, too, loved and lived and did not die. I do not remember if you had given me your response.”

“I had not.”

“A pity, I would have enjoyed pondering it whilst in exile.”

“It would be at least some satisfaction,” grumbled Full Moon as she groomed Luna’s mane. It had lost its starry look at some point. Celestia suddenly felt dizzy. Things changed here without warning and without reason, subject to Luna’s whims. This was, even in the sanctity of Celestia’s own internal realm, all of Luna’s demesne.

“Can we please proceed with your petulence? Stop groveling,” growled the New Moon. She prowled behind Luna, never staying in one place for very long.

Celestia squeezed her eyes shut. It was maddening enough to find herself split in the comfort of her own mind. Luna was far more chaotically separated. She had to focus on just her sister as she saw her. “To reiterate, I had expressed the idea that our little ponies are able to love because of the urgency pressed on them by death. In view of death, their actions and decisions have meaning. You countered that ours too have meaning to us, in spite of our seeming endlessness.

“My answer is that this is true because of our connections to those fleeting and beautiful mortal lives. If we were to lose them all, you and I would no doubt be very, very different.” A sudden smirk. “If you thought I was boring now…”

“Ugh.”

“Yes, well. I do not know what Cadance will be like. You and I are sisters, and so we have a dynamic and a bond that is preserved against time. But that dynamic is not the same with her, and she shall be with us forever. Hopefully.”

“Barring war, pestilence, famine, and death,” said the prowling nightmare with a smile.

“Yes, barring those things.”

Luna tapped her chin. “So, essentially, Twilight Sparkle might prove to be more of a bore than you, and we will be stuck with her forever.”

Celestia wasn’t sure if she wanted to feel ashamed or laugh. She did both. “That is not how I would have said it. But you hit the mark even when you seem not to, as you once did. It’s less that she will be boring--I certainly do not think so!--and more that time may reveal her to not be what she appears, or to uncover something in us that she finds abhorrent. What if we find in a decade that Twilight and ourselves, or Cadance and ourselves, are utterly incompatible? If we were all mortal, this would not be insurmountable. We would simply have a falling out--”

“Which is sad enough,” said Full Moon with something other than a sultry tone for the first time.

“--Yes,” Celestia said, a little surprised. She recovered. “But theoretically we would be able to part and time would separate us as it often does and thus mortality would work in our favor. But being that we are long lived…”

“If our love is to fail it will fail forever,” said one of the twins.

“Love’s endeavor, and love’s reward,” intoned the other.

Luna seemed lost in thought. She looked over Celestia’s shoulder, and hummed an old song they both knew from when the world was younger.

“I do not have an easy answer,” she said at last. “My first reaction is of course to say that given world enough and time, we could change into ponies who could live together. We both know that to be ageless is not to be changeless, so we may dispense with that nonsense. At least, that is true in the presence of those who are more intimate with death. But I cannot say that and feel confidant. The worst could happen.”

“The inevitable could happen,” corrected the Nightmare.

“Yes, that,” Luna said, attempting to sound as if it were a joke and failing horribly. Putting off the horrifying with flat statements of boredom had always been Celestia’s game. “At any rate… at any rate, the decision is made.”

“Yes, and now I have no idea what it may mean.”

“No, you do have an idea.” Luna crossed her hooves. “You simply do not want to understand. Can you say this is not the truth? Like a foal who has broken a vase or given a gift he is nervous over, you cannot bear to see that which you have done.”

“I am selfish in this, I know that--”

“Not selfish enough,” groused the Full Moon.

Luna put up a hoof to forestall another round of inevitable self-depreciation. “Write to Cadance. That is what this court will decree to you, Our supplicant. Write to Cadance and bear your heart. Your absolute heart, what you honestly feel, and not the structured argument I know you will want to prepare. Spend several scrolls if you must, and I know you can. Lay the manner out in a way that is more honest.”

Celestia paled.

She nodded, realizing she would have to regardless.

Author's Notes:

Chapter title is from the journals of Soren Kierkegaard.