---------- Melody's Tale: Epilogue, Rising Sun, Rising Moon ----------

The sleep had been truly restful. Slowly, and very marginally, consciousness returned to the two of them. Like rising from the depths of a dark lake, both women roused from sleep and into the world of the living. Sitting up, Celestia stretched her arms above her with a wide yawn, feeling the bones in her back pop in sequence.

“Ooh,” She moaned, cracking her knuckles next, and then stretching her legs before her. “Oh, that feels incredible.”

“Always does,” Luna mirrored her, rolling her neck in a circle. “I remember the last time we slept like this… felt like an orgasm coming out of it.”

“Ooh, don’t even say that word to me right now.” Celestia shuddered, her wings flaring out behind her. She flapped them a few times, feeling strength and blood flow return to parts of her body that had been dormant for far, far too long. “Hmm, where are we?”

“Canterlot, near as I can tell.” Luna yawned, glancing out of the nearby balcony at the night sky.

“Aye, ye be in Canterlot.” The third voice caused both sisters to whirl on the intruder, their hands already glowing densely. There in the light of their magic stood a figure, wrinkled and stooped with age, clutching a knobbled old walking stick. The woman was far beyond decrepit, her bones knobby and her knees swollen. She raised her weathered hands defensively, and behind them sat her face, old, but wise beyond measure. “Easy, ladies, easy.” She cooed, stepping back slowly. “’Tis naught but a friend, a steward to help.”

“Who are you?” Celestia demanded, firm, but inquisitive. As always when they awoke, things were blurry. There were memories from long, long ago; eons upon eons of their millennia-long lifespan. But specific things, like names and minor places, happenings of a bygone era, were slow in returning to her. She did not remember what put her to sleep, or even the things that had happened in the handful of years leading up to that particular situation. Already, she could sense things about the world were different than before, the texture of magic all around them so much more thick and prevalent than ever.

“I told ye,” the crone growled, pulling up a nearby stool. She dusted the top of it and plopped down, her bones settling in such a world-weary way that made even Celestia grimace. “… I’m a friend of yers. A steward.”

“Someone assigned by the castle?” Luna inquired, slowly lowering her hand. “To help us out of our slumber?”

“A steward, yes.” The old woman hacked a wet cough, and in her hand was blood mingled with spittle. “But not assigned by any castle. No castle to assign anyone. No sovereign power. No rulers. No government or military, at least, not one that’s yours to command, anyways.” The crone chuckled faintly, wiping the spittle off on their tunic. Surprisingly, the clothing she wore was still vibrant and new, her boots well-fit, and the leather britches still covering her frame warmly. The red-and-yellow color scheme melded well with the soft brown of the leather, and a shawl of beads draped over her shoulders.

In this old woman, Celestia sensed magic, as mysterious and powerful as the magic of the world around them. It was new to her, as was the very texture of the air she breathed. The crone was speaking strangely, and in general the confusion that came with waking after such a long sleep had her mind reeling.

“What happened, friend?” Celestia sat back down on the bed, which sat sunken into the floor around it. Now that she saw, the room was decrepit and old, the drapes rotted off of their rusted rods, the carpet eaten by moths decades ago. Dust and dirt were everywhere. A small hearth crackled merrily, shedding a warm light into the otherwise depressing room. Someone had been living in here, if the greasy stains around the hearth were any indication, along with the bedroll and pack nearby. They were meager belongings, but undoubtedly those of the woman before them.

“Aah, ‘tis a long story, Celestia, Luna.” The woman sighed, nodding sagely. “War. Peace. Turmoil. Magic. Aye, the world has changed since ye last spent yer wakin’ days among it. Here.” The woman’s hand glowed, a dense aura that affirmed Celestia’s thoughts about this woman’s power. She lifted a loaf of bread from her pack, floating it towards them neatly. The bread was warm and fresh, likely baked earlier that day. Celestia broke it in half and gave Luna a fair portion, sitting on the untouched bed to listen to the old woman.

“This story,” Luna mumbled between ravenous bites. “Will it take long?”

“As long as it has to.” The crone grumbled. “It’s your story, you know.”

“Our story?” Celestia arched an eyebrow. She didn’t know this woman, and neither did Luna. And yet, something about her seemed hauntingly familiar.

“Aye, yours… A story of impossible magic, an age-long war, blood and destruction, life and love…” The crone inhaled, closing her eyes and craning her face to the ceiling. “’Tis a tale of the gods themselves. Wind and rain, magic and power, chaos, order, hatred, time, and yes,” she opened her eyes and smiled at the pair. “Even the sun and the moon. ‘Tis a story of epic proportions, many, many years in the makin’. Is the story of a love so true it bent the will of magic to its own purpose. Of a changeling queen so desperate for power and love she plunged the world into war just to have it for herself. It’s the journey of a family, away from the tides of violence, at their attempt of a civil life to raise their blessed children alone and unbiased.

“Your story is a story of tragedy, and death. Violence, blood, and strife. Aye, ‘tis a sad story… but a good one, and there is happiness in it as well. There be love, and joy, and camaraderie as well. As much as there is betrayal and pain, there too is alliance and truth. Solace, and happiness.” The crone inhaled a breath through her nose, closing her eyes and hanging her head.

“’Tis a long, long tale… And as much as it is yours, it is mine too.”

“Your story?” Luna glanced out of the window. “Shiphtur’s light is gone from the night; it’s been at least six hundred years since we slept, that much I remember. Arcanos is wavering as well, and the constellation Mir’nas has faded. Ages have passed since we slept, old one. Nobody can live that long.”

“Oh, it’s no secret I’m on my way out.” The old woman chuckled, looking up at the pair. “But ‘tis true, I’ve lived as long as ye’ve slept. Seven hundred and forty-three years, I’ve walked on these old bones. That’s seven centuries of blood, sweat, and tears.” She tapped her walking stick into the ground. “This story be mine, as much as it be yours.”

“Wait…” Celestia blinked at the old woman. Her hair, though faded, retained a faint tinge of its original, teal color. Her eyes were the same, faded, but teal as well. And inside of this woman, Celestia could feel it…

Two souls.

“Aye, this be my tale.” The crone smiled at them.

“Melody’s Tale.”

Author's Notes:

In loving memory of Tasha Williams, beloved sister, friend, and mentor. Formerly the co-author of the entire A Different Kind of Love series, Tasha passed before we could finish The Lost Chapters, leaving me to handle the bulk of writing between it and Melody's Tale. Her condition was as much a mystery to me as it was the professionals who conducted her autopsy, and her passing still haunts me to this day. She was too young, and far, far too vibrant to be taken so early.

Thank you, Tasha. I'll always miss you, and I hope you're proud of what I've done.