Luna had never believed in breezie tales. There were many reasons for this. Among them, from the moment her extended, divine foalhood had started to pale, she had been told in a thousand different ways that she was not the sister who was meant to have a happy eternity. So Luna had endured being the feared and forlorn goddess whose art was left to languish, and her along with it.

That was a catalyst of madness, for what was her art but a reflection of herself? How could she turn to anything else in a backward age that imposed medieval mortal social confines upon the divine? She spent ages perfecting a craft that was dear enough to be her irreplicable talent and honing her equally unique dream-craft, in an effort to have the dual dance of escapism and the one thing she loved.

Her art had lost itself before she had lost her mind. Celestia had always known all the constellations that Luna had invented. Luna had only been telling their sagas to her sister since she could first make a story. When the only thing Luna had in her heart was despair and envy that she was unloved as her sister was lauded, Luna let her stories reflect the tragedy on her mind.

In all that time when Luna could only offer calls for help, Celestia never asked her why Orion was slain by Scorpio or why Orpheus was longing for his love. Instead, her elder sister asked Luna why the star-creatures were always male.

The second reason was one that revolved around a matter of encouragement. Breezie tales told primitive ponies not that dragons existed, for they already knew that. They existed to also say that dragons could be beaten, as the old adage goes. Legends nurtured embers of hope, and she had always needed something to hope for.

Luna had always preferred experiments with magic over the company of others. Meditation was an activity she held dear to her heart, and adventure had much meditation in itself. Thus, she loved all that she could do alone. Her art was the sole exception, for though she crafted it alone, it was her lifeline.

Unfortunately, Luna cast her lifeline into a world where her only friend had ever been her sister and expected it not to be trampled. When she cast it within herself, she hadn’t expected to pull back the thought of a dragon who could not be beaten.

This was the dragon whose hoard was all of the worst of Luna. It was only fitting that when she thought of what could be the most wrong, most vile thing about her life, Female in all its cruelness reared its ugly head. None could see Female the way Luna could. To everypony else, it had been invisible just how harsh the torment of the Female monster was.

Nopony else saw how Luna did not find it normal to be addressed with such a curse, she was numb to it for reasons no book or being could find a name to. Who could see the fangs around Luna’s throat every time she heard her own voice? How was it that Luna wished the Female beast would cast its wings over her so that she might be shadowed from her own looks?

Why could she not have that mercy? What was it about the words she mumbled out that made Celestia send her to a physician that only half-paid attention to her? She pleaded over and over with the parade of ponies her sister assigned to ‘treat’ her that she needed no tonics to get her humors balanced and that she did not hate her body so drastically that she was convinced she was the size of a whale or some other malady.

All Luna had ever wanted was to rip away the curses that mares had. She wanted to watch herself wither away to ashes if only it meant that she could be pieced together again with all the things that hurt her less… a broad jaw to bring about recognition when she looked in the mirror… a voice that let her recognize her own words… a body that conveyed anything but the weak desire to crumple, except when it had too much Female lies to show her… and a mind that did everything but drown in all the worst parts of itself, whispering with all the terrible things Luna should do and all the ways she would never be able to shed her skin.

Eventually, the doctors prescribed a new round of herbs and concoctions. They informed her that she possessed melancholy and dysmorphia of the body. Her prognosis was simple: take all her medications, confront her aversion to femininity, and get rid of all her unhealthy babblings about why being female is supposedly awful to curb her self-loathing.

Celestia was quick to tell Luna about how she was delighted all baby sister had to do was take her medicine, and that there was little reason for good ol’ Tia to have invested in so much worry in the first place.

Luna was at the point where she was ready to beg Celestia to worry about her every waking moment, if only it meant that Celestia would not let her do something rash and really, truly pay attention to her. These were the same experts that Celestia had sent Luna to when Celestia felt there was a cause to be worried over Luna’s lack of lovers.

Luna had told them she felt no physical stirrings for stallions and was promptly diagnosed with lesbianism. When she informed them she felt no such irrational cravings for mares either, the diagnosis was revised to lesbianism with frigidity as a result of internalized homophobia. At that time, Luna was advised to take different medicines and that her homosexuality was nothing to be ashamed of.

All Luna was told was that her problems were not at the magnitude she reported, and further visits to doctors were only done out of hopelessness. They provided the only real social contact she had, and yet, because they were her subjects they still feared her on some level.

She knew she was waning.

She told anypony she could, even when Celestia urged her not to be too dramatic.

Five years later, there was nothing Luna could say.

Not from the moon.

Author's Notes:

haha dysphoria go brr

I'll add character tags if they become relevant. But because I'm Ice Star Sombra/Luna is going to be the focus. The rest of the story will be 1st Person POV after this, so don't feel disappointed if you wanted that. It'll happen.

Yes, this was named for the Nightwish song.