The last vestiges of sunlight filtered in through the tall, arched window that dominated one side of the spire wall; a white pony – purple eyes tired but alert – watched as its fading illumination caught the crib beside her in its effulgent grasp, offering a small smile as her newborn daughter writhed in irritation, trying to escape the attentions of the probing beams of orange. Celestia ignited her horn and, with an unsteady rhythm borne of extreme exhaustion, she shut the curtains to block the questing light. I'll need to ask the Council of Unicorns to raise the sun a little bit later tomorrow so that we can both get a good night's sleep.

        Such innocence, she thought, her eyes drifting to the child, taking in her serene, relaxed face, wondering, as all mothers did, what the future held in store for her. In her long life, she had been a mother many times, but still the same old tension knotted its bothersome, slimy tentacles around her stomach, taking root in the lowest part of her guts. Soon, Celestia knew, its seeds would spread throughout her body until she was paralysed with those same doubts that every mother experienced at one point in their lives.

        Such is the perils of motherhood. The girl's father, a soldier in the royal guard, was still out there in the furthest reaches of Equestria, fighting to push back the last remnants of Nightmare Moon's forces. He had insisted that Celestia return home to Canterlot Castle in order to bear her foal in safety.

        “The only monsters a child should have to worry about,” he had said to her at the time of their parting, “are the ones lurking under their beds.”

        As much as she tried to fight it, Celestia couldn't stop her wandering mind from turning to Nightmare Moon; that hateful entity was in possession of her sister's body, and it would still be several more years, perhaps a further two centuries, before she would be weak enough to eradicate with the Elements of Harmony. Until then, Celestia had tried to get on with her life as best she could, but it was difficult. There was plenty of joy: friends, lovers, children, grandchildren, but knowing that Luna was as lost to her as she had been for so many centuries – that she would never know any of her offspring – was a poisonous torrent swelling within her soul.

        “Will your innocence be lost to a nation at war?” Celestia asked her sleeping child, lowering her head to nuzzle against her gently. She had not yet named the filly, awaiting the return of her father in order to do so. “Will you know fear as I have known it? There are many out there who have no respect for the lives of ponies, and it may just be that your lot is to concede to maintaining a constant vigil as the closest thing that you will ever have to a normal life.” Her eyes turned to the thin threads of scattered light creating a startling pattern of dots on the curtains. “Will you ever go to sleep at night with the knowledge that you will not see the sun rise in the morning?”

        My heart weeps at the loss of life, any life, whether it is pony or other; as a mother, my soul cries out at the hateful unknown into which we are all sailing. Many so-called experts say that the worst thing for a parent is having to bury their own child, but they're mistaken: the worst thing is having to bury them before their time has come. I have lost some to war, some to disease, some to accidents, and I will never forget any of them.

        Turning away from the child, Celestia padded back to her impromptu bed – a motley assemblage of sheets and pillows – and collapsed into it in a grateful heap; for the next few months, she knew, she would be snatching sleep here and there in between managing the affairs of the nation and caring for her daughter, so she was determined to get as much of it as possible in now.

        On the periphery between world of sleep and wakefulness, Celestia had a thought, and it was not a nice one either:

        What if I do not like the pony that you become?

        Luna's transformation into Nightmare Moon – to say nothing of her own actions in wartime – had shown her that even the purest of ponies could be swayed to the side of darkness with right application of pressure. Thus far, all of her children had been wonderful: a few artists, several poets, even a Wonderbolt captain or two, but there was always the potential for one of them to choose another path, wasn't there?

        Sleepily, Celestia's eyes flitted between the child and the blank wall in front of her cot.

        Will you be smart? Will you make good life choices? Will you respect yourself and others? Will you be honest and trustworthy? Will you make the most of what gifts you are given, living your life to the best of your ability? To Celestia, the only thing that would be worse than a life brought short: would be a life half-lived.

        A song, half-remembered from her own fillyhood, suddenly lunged to the forefront of Celestia's addled mind:

Little foal, I hear your crying eyes;

what must I do to quell the fear you feel;

you were born into this world of hate,

where pony fights pony,

and we never know why;

what we must become in order to survive;

what we have done to our beautiful land;

all that we have torn down,

you must rebuild one day.

Whenever you cry,

I know that we have failed;

when you begin to sing again,

only then will the world seem right.

Little foal,

show us the way to go,

to a better place for all our children;

you were born,

in sight of all the world;

we can live in love,

we can live in peace;

in a world with no need for princesses,

a world united.

        To all of my lost children, I wish that I could see you all just one more time; holding you close to me, promising you the world, holding your tiny hooves in my own as we navigated the troubled seas of Equestria together. I wish that you were here, nuzzling at my breast as when you were foals.

        To my children sailing those waters now, I want you all to know that you are beautiful, young ponies; a mother could not ask for more than what I have been given, and my love for you is as boundless as the sky. No matter what happens, that will never change. Neither time nor distance will diminish those feelings which swell in my bosom whenever I think of you. Your fears, your anxieties, your insecurities … I feel them as deeply, as keenly, as you yourselves do. You may not always know it, but we are inextricably bound.

        You will never walk alone; wherever in Equestria you are, I am walking the path with you.

        My heart aches for what you will endure in your futures; have faith in yourselves, and I have no doubt that you will succeed, however. Do not let my fears become your own. I pray to the forces beyond myself that you will have the opportunity to live and die as you will, creating memories to pass on to future generations.

        To my newborn, you will give me a new perspective on this world; no matter how many times I do this, every experience is a new and welcome one. We will fight, we will love, we will tear at each other's boundaries. I will do my utmost to protect you from the evil in this world, to show you beauty and wonder, to give you a long and memorable life.

        But my heart breaks knowing that I cannot keep these promises. The fickle hands of fate will do what they will, and we are nothing more than mere puppets dancing on their strings; I will rail, as I have always done, against them, but I shall, as I have always done, lose.

        No longer feeling capable of sleep in spite of her advanced exhaustion, Celestia got up off the bed and walked over to the crib once more; her child's lavender coat seemed to sparkle in the twilight, and she noticed for the first time the strips of pink and purple that highlighted her indigo hair.

        She wanted to pick the foal up, to embrace her, but Celestia decided not to wake the filly. There would be plenty of opportunities to do so in the future.

“I will pray daily that you get the chance to prove yourself to the world,” Celestia said tenderly. “To grow into a fine, upstanding pony that your mother can be proud of. One day, you will be given the chance to spread your wings and experience life to the fullest. There will be much joy and pain in store for you, little one, and the world has so much more to offer besides. I pray that you will find love and grow stronger from it.”

        My child, remember how much I love you. I will be watching over you and protecting you always.