[MOONDAY] Painting in the Dark


                                            Update 26/08/2021: Revised prose version now on Fimfiction:

                                            https://www.fimfiction.net/story/500441/painting-in-the-dark


                                            ---


                                            >Aniseed’s legs were restless. Her mind raced, heart a persistent thumping in her chest. Yet, she forced herself to lie still.

                                            >The thin cotton sheets were wrapped tight around her, taut under the strain of her hooves dragging them so close.

                                            >A faint, methodical tick was the only thing she could hear besides her own steady breathing. She focused on the expansion and contraction of her chest, thinking wandering thoughts to distract herself from the surrounding darkness.

                                            >How long had it been? Eyes shut and head buried under the sheets, it was impossible to determine how long she’d lain there.

                                            >Maybe she’d been waiting all night. Maybe it was already morning and she’d missed her chance.

                                            >Her legs squirmed again, eager for movement.

                                            >She squeezed them together and scowled in the dark.

                                            >If she looked at the clock on her nightstand, what would it show her? That an hour had passed? Thirty minutes? Ten seconds?

                                            >She huffed and stuck her head out from under the sheets, shooting a petulant look at the sun-styled clock wreathed in an 8-point flame.

                                            >The faintly luminous minute hand was about to strike eleven, and she released a breath she had been holding.

                                            >It was time.

                                            >The resonant bass of her father’s voice rumbled through the floorboards from downstairs, and she ducked her head back below the sheets, struggling to suppress a smile.

                                            >Heavy footsteps treaded up the stairs outside her bedroom door, and the avalanche tone somehow dropped even deeper.

                                            >A softer voice replied, punctuated by a melodic laugh, and Aniseed’s bedroom door squeaked open.

                                            >An orange glow reached through her sheets and she stared, frozen, at the silhouettes outlined by the diffused light through the off-white cotton.

                                            >The figures murmured, watching her, heads tilted towards one another. The smaller shape nuzzled the larger, and with a sigh the larger moved away, grumbling still.

                                            >The door closed with a faint click after a half-minute, and a key scraping against the lock ensured that she wouldn’t be leaving that way again.

                                            >That was fine; Aniseed had no plans to use the door a fourth time.

                                            >She waited for another minute, mouthing down the seconds and not one longer before throwing off the sheets and grinning in the darkness.

                                            >Her elation was muffled by the gloom. She swallowed, a sense of exposure gripping her in that instant. Already her shoulders were colder without the comforting sheets around them.

                                            >She squashed her unease and leapt out of bed, landing on the thick rug that ran the length of her room.

                                            >She scurried to the window, grateful for the rug doing its job at masking her hoofsteps.

                                            >Lucky father hadn’t taken it, too.

                                            >She cast the single curtain aside and beheld first the night, and then the moon, staring at it in trepidation for a breath.

                                            >Its silver countenance leered down at her, and she stuck a defiant tongue out at it with a scowl. It wouldn’t be stopping her this time, not tonight.

                                            >A set of saddlebags was retrieved from the wardrobe and rummaged through, Aniseed eyeing the freshly-installed lock on her window frame with a sour expression as she did so.

                                            >It looked robust, but she’d tinkered with worse.

                                            >A set of hairpins glinted in the moonlight, and she studied the lock with a hoof rubbing her chin. She nodded after a time and set herself to her task.

                                            >Hopefully this lock would be like those at school; they were foal’s play.

                                            >Her tongue pinched between her teeth as she fiddled away, a slow-boiling frustration mounting over the minutes.

                                            >Her hooves slipped once, twice, but she suppressed an aggravated growl. Wouldn’t do to alert her parents.

                                            >The lock was stubborn, but in a way that reminded her of the lock on her teacher’s desk. Perhaps father had meant it this time when he said she’d never get out again.

                                            >A flick of the wrist and a simple click banished that idea, and she punched the air with a toothy smile.

                                            >The saddlebags – stashed earlier that day – were loaded with everything she would need, even a snack she’d pilfered from the pantry.

                                            >Mother wouldn’t mind, probably. Besides, even if she did find out, she was always going on about how Aniseed needed to grow up to be strong like her father anyway, so really she was just being proactive.

                                            >She traced the self-embroidered sun cutie mark on the face of a bag and smiled further. It was a bit wonky, but it was her best attempt at replicating the subject.

                                            >Aniseed reared up against her windowsill and slid the frame up, doing so as quickly as she dared, but as carefully as necessary.

                                            >All it would take was one errant movement, one loud bang, and father would come crashing through her bedroom door again. She shuddered at the thought.

                                            >She hoisted herself out of the window and shimmied across the ledge jutting out over the street, taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and survey the cityscape – or what little of it she could see from her admittedly not-very-high vantage point.

                                            >Canterlot was quiet this time of night. Not as quiet as she’d have liked, but the city’s denizens didn’t all sleep, especially not the patrols spread throughout. She huffed.

                                            >One of father’s work friends finding her outside this late again would ruin her plans as well; she’d have to move quickly, and without any deviations.

                                            >She pawed at her window and slid it back down, taking care to press herself against the wall as she did so.

                                            >With a quick glance, she spied the drainpipe hanging off the side of the house by the ledge and coiled herself up like a spring.

                                            >She leapt.

                                            >Hooves thudded against brick and her heart stopped at a bout of freefall, but she managed a grip, and slid down just like she had practiced at Gale Force’s house the other week.

                                            >He’d be proud of her if he saw that. Or claim it was just ‘okay’ and that he could do better; one of the two, he acted strangely around her these days.

                                            >Aniseed beamed at the pipe and looked around to make sure no one had seen her. She faltered.

                                            >She found herself staring into an alleyway across the street, and the shadows beckoned.

                                            >She urged herself to move but her legs were lead.

                                            >Something had moved over there, hadn’t it?

                                            >A heavy gulp - her throat was dry.

                                            >It took stubborn will, but she crept closer to the safe umbrella of light provided by the streetlight by her house, eyes fixed on the urban maw opposite her as if it would swallow her if she blinked.

                                            >All was still. She looked away from it and focused on her mission, mumbling a quiet mantra to herself.

                                            >Canterlot may have been easier to navigate at night on account of the fewer ponies around, but the lengthened shadows and odd noises caused her to flinch at every corner.

                                            >The few adults that did see her thankfully weren’t wearing plumed helmets, but they cast concerned looks at her all the same.

                                            >A few quizzical glances preceded the opening of mouths, but any calls were duly ignored as she scampered away through the streets along her pre-planned route.

                                            >In her excitement she made an incorrect turn, and she skidded into the back of a stallion bedecked in gold.

                                            >His ears flicked, turning towards the sound of her scrambling, and his gaze snapped to her, eyes narrowed.

                                            >Aniseed’s fur bristled, and a swift back peddling carried her from him before he could make her out in the shadows she had emerged from.

                                            >He called after her; it might have been her name, but there wasn’t anything in Equestria that could make her go back.

                                            >She ran until her lungs burned.


                                            *


                                            >She eventually stumbled from behind a house before a towering stone edifice, blinking in momentary disorientation from her flight, but nodding in eventual recognition.

                                            >Good, she’d reached the wall, now for the next step of the plan.

                                            >She shrugged off her bag and rooted through it, retrieving a coil of rope clumsily fixed to a vicious hook.

                                            >The rope had been generously (or, unwittingly) donated by a mountaineering shop across the quarter, and the hook she’d found in the basement under her kitchen.

                                            >She tugged on the rope a few times, testing the knot she’d fashioned earlier that day.

                                            >Fortunately, father had taken her sudden interest in knots as sign of her long-awaited interest in military matters, and had eagerly shown her what to do.

                                            >If he could see her now he’d be less than pleased, so it was for the best that he never found out.

                                            >She gave the hook a few practice swings, getting used to its weight in her hooves, and cast it towards the lip of the wall.

                                            >It clattered back down, nearly bonking her on the head, and she cringed at the sudden clattering in the empty street.

                                            >Her head twisted about. Were there any lights in the windows? Doors opening to inspect the noise? She half-expected to see her parents thundering down a nearby alleyway.

                                            >Nothing.

                                            >Aniseed relaxed after a half-minute, her little heart hammering away in her chest.

                                            >With a grimace she tried again, casting the hook high above her. The hook didn’t reappear, and she punched the air again.

                                            >She’d like to see Gale Force do that, although he’d probably have just flown, then made sure she didn’t forget his superiority for at least a week.

                                            >Well, earth ponies might not have wings, but they have “spunk”, or at least that’s what father always said.

                                            >The sheer face of rock drew a gulp from her.

                                            >The smoothed brickwork suddenly looked a lot taller, though perhaps that was a trick of the moonlight.

                                            >She craned her head back to look at the moon, and stuck her tongue out at it again. She’d come far tonight, farther than she’d been able to date, she wasn’t going to let the moon get the better of her now.

                                            >She gripped the rope and tugged, tugged, and tugged again. It held fast; it would carry her. She sucked in the deepest breath she could and released it.

                                            >No going back once she started the climb, certainly no wings to bail her out. A moment of hesitation came and went, wherein she reminded herself of her mission. It was too important to back out now. She had to see it through.

                                            >Ignoring the more squeamish inner voices, she began her ascent.


                                            *


                                            >Aniseed flopped onto the top of the wall panting and coated in sweat.

                                            >Her run through the city had left her flushed, but the climb had exhausted her. She stared at the stars for a good few minutes, regarding them with growing unease.

                                            >She never liked to stare at the night sky for too long; there was nothing there.

                                            >There were no clouds or birds, there certainly wasn’t a sun.

                                            >There was only an all-encompassing black canvas, speckled with meagre lights that did nothing to help anyone, dominated only by the haunting presence of that damned moon, and even then it didn’t fully show its face.

                                            >It hid away behind its own shadow, only sometimes daring to reveal its true self to the world. Father had told her that you can’t trust anyone that sneaks, and personal hypocrisy aside, she wholeheartedly applied that adage to the moon.

                                            >You couldn’t trust it. She would never trust it.

                                            >She shook a hoof at the moon, albeit in a floppy, haggard sort of way.

                                            >Another minute to catch her breath, and she glanced off the other side of the wall. Darkness, as assumed, but she could see enough by moonlight to pick out a tangled mess of plants and trees.

                                            >A garden wasn’t what she had expected, but it was better than a courtyard full of guards waiting to cart her off to the dungeons. Or worse, back home.

                                            >Perhaps her parents had already discovered that she was missing again. Best case scenario, she’d sneak in through her window and they’d be none the wiser. Worst case? Well, one thing at a time.

                                            >Aniseed hesitated before making her next move.

                                            >She sat up and stared from her high perch atop the wall.

                                            >It was the outer perimeter for the grounds of Canterlot Castle, the rest of the city cordoned off behind a mighty wall made of some sort of stone that Aniseed truthfully had never bothered to remember. It wasn’t important.

                                            >What was important was that Princess Celestia lived here.

                                            >Aniseed saw to her bags and retrieved a folded piece of parchment, handling it as though it was made of glass.

                                            >The moon helpfully provided enough light to read its contents, but far be it from her to provide the cursed thing a compliment.

                                            >She reviewed what she’d written closely, chewing her lip and once again checking to make sure she hadn’t misspelt some of the longer words.

                                            >She nodded along with her liberal use of the word “ergo”. It had sounded like the sort of thing upper-class ponies said, so she had been sure to pepper it throughout the text as much as possible.

                                            >Hopefully the Princess would appreciate her efforts.

                                            >She stashed it away in her bags again and peered over the lip of the flat stone she was crouched on.

                                            >It was an unnervingly long drop, but there was a creeper dangling from a nearby tree that was close enough to her. If she could catch it, it would serve as a floral drainpipe.

                                            >There wasn’t any better option besides casting herself off the wall and hoping a chivalrous bush would catch her, so she slowly backed away from the edge.

                                            >Then she bolted forwards and leapt.

                                            >Earth ponies were not meant to fly, of that she was certain.

                                            >All four hooves on the ground was the best place for a filly like her to be, and her special talent regarding small plants only cemented in her mind that she belonged with solid earth beneath her hooves.

                                            >Definitely not dropping through the air with her stomach in her mouth, legs flailing before her to grab the creeper she’d aimed at.

                                            >Her hooves grazed the hanging vine to no avail. Another desperate grab, but the slick surface of the plant provided no purchase, and her eyes widened as the rushing air pressed against her belly and her thrilled heart threatened to burst.

                                            >She was only airborne for but a brief moment, but watching the dull surface of the earth rising to meet her stretched each second until she was yanked back at the last moment, her face inches from the grass.

                                            >She blinked, baffled by her sudden ability to levitate. A tightness gripped her rear leg, and she twisted herself around to see that her rear hoof had become entangled in the creeper on the way down.

                                            >She sighed, her whole body going like jelly, and she allowed herself to hang there, swinging listlessly for a half-minute as she mumbled her mantra and held a hoof over her breast, willing the frantic beating to slow down.

                                            >It took more than a few grunts, but she freed herself and landed flat on her back.

                                            >The garden loomed around her, many of the thick trees bearing canopies so wide they blocked out the stars.

                                            >Less of a garden and more of a jungle; why would a place like this exist within the castle walls?

                                            >During her many visits to the palace – usually to deliver lunch to father – the entire complex had expressed an orderliness that made mother look messy by comparison.

                                            >But Aniseed had never seen this jungle.

                                            >She took a tentative step forward with a scowl.

                                            >None of the maps in father’s study had shown it, or had she just not remembered?

                                            >Regardless, there she was, and she’d have to deal with it.

                                            >She crept through the undergrowth, flinching at every random noise and hoot from a hidden bird.

                                            >There were creatures in here with her, but they kept their distance, and just as well – Aniseed was hardly fond of animals, even if mother would have had a thing or two to say about that, but then that was to be expected from veterinarians.

                                            >As long as the myriad eyes – caught in the moonlight but shrouded amidst the green – stayed away, there wouldn’t be any problems.

                                            >Always there was the darkness.

                                            >Picking her way through the leaves and branches of the unkempt floral mess, Aniseed muttered her mantra with increasing urgency.

                                            >It struck her suddenly – she had never been this far from home on her own before, she had never been in a place she did not know at least tangentially, and she’d never done so in the dead of night.

                                            >Her voice wavered with each recitation, her steps shallow and frequent.

                                            >All at once, it stopped.

                                            >She stumbled, quite unexpectedly, into a clearing.

                                            >The trees and grasping branches fell away from her, and she stood atop neatly trimmed grass, staring in dumb shock at the looming presence of Canterlot Palace, the white stone glowing by lunar effulgence.

                                            >Aniseed’s eyes wandered down and her muscles tightened.

                                            >Her jaw clenched.

                                            >At the centre of the clearing was an octagonal dais. Carved from the same white stone as the rest of the palace and polished to near-mirror sheen, it rose a dozen hooves off the ground with deep, wide steps leading to its plateau.

                                            >Upon the dais, before a painter’s easel, sat a pony.

                                            >She was larger than any pony Aniseed personally knew. Her mane was held aloft on some unseen current and glistened in the spectral light of the moon. Her horn was longer than the filly herself, and great wings were tucked at her side.

                                            >She was an alicorn.

                                            >But she was not Celestia.

                                            >Of all the things Aniseed had wanted to encounter tonight, this was the last.

                                            >She could run. Scramble up the wall again and throw herself off the other side.

                                            >Or scream for a passing patrol to take her home to father.

                                            >His wrath would be terrible, but it would be better than this.

                                            >The pony did not move from her position. Had she seen Aniseed?

                                            >She didn’t know. If she had, then fleeing was pointless. She would never escape.

                                            >Everyone at school had heard the tales of the beast that lurked within Canterlot Palace, the surreptitious ‘sister’ of Her Highness; the black mark on the throne’s honour.

                                            >The mare that father would whisper dreadful things about to mother under his breath.

                                            >Aniseed took a single step back, and one of the alicorn’s ears flicked.

                                            >“Good evening.”

                                            >It was a polite, dreamy greeting – a clear voice that carried across the way to her, but Aniseed’s fur stood on end.

                                            >She remained rooted, silent.

                                            >“Have you been enjoying my garden? It does not see any visitors, even by daylight.”

                                            >What could she do? There was no clear way out, and if she ran she’d be hunted.

                                            >“Come closer, foal, I would speak with you.”

                                            >Aniseed trembled. Her mouth worked to try and mutter her mantra, but she couldn’t muster the words.

                                            >The moon’s herald was asking to speak with her; visions of Nightmare Night and all its ill omens circled, and she took great, shuddering breaths.

                                            >If she disappeared, would father look for her?

                                            >His stern face entered her mind, but in spite of his chiselled features and numerous scars received in the service, his eyes were always gentle.

                                            >Most of the time, anyway.

                                            >Somehow, the thought of him hugging her close lit a fire in her belly. Memories resurfaced of powerful hooves – strong enough to crush boulders – holding her as though she was the frailest piece of china.

                                            >Aniseed nodded. She would see this through, and the first thing she would do when she got home – if ever – would be to promise to never sneak out again, father’s wrath be damned, it couldn’t be worse than this.

                                            >With jerky movements, she staggered towards the dais and its sole occupant.

                                            >All the while, the alicorn’s eyes remained fixed on the easel before her.

                                            >A paintbrush, animated amidst an ethereal blue, danced across the canvas, which was already awash with deep, rich colours.

                                            >What was most strange was that despite the easel, the pot of muddy water, and the arrangement of paints on either side of the dark figure, there was not a single light.

                                            >The moon stood ahead of the easel, casting no light on its surface. For all intents and purposes, she was painting in the dark.

                                            >Aniseed gracelessly climbed the steps and came to the alicorn’s side. She stood a rigid as possible, not daring to move.

                                            >The brush hovered above the canvas for a little while, then floated to the water pot and dropped in with a faint splash.

                                            >Even if she squinted, making out what was on the canvas was difficult. She could just about make out reds and yellows, but anything darker was captured by the night and rendered illegible.

                                            >“Do you like it?” The figure absently queried, “It’s somewhat of an abstract take on the Canterlot basin, but it’s inspired by what I saw in a subject’s dream the other night.”

                                            >Aniseed swallowed.

                                            >Perhaps joking around with Gale Force at the back of Miss Daisy’s art class wasn’t such a good idea in retrospect, though she can’t really be blamed for not expecting to be queried about art just before her demise at the hooves of an angry moon god.

                                            “It’s dark,” she said, haltingly.

                                            >The alicorn cocked her head to the side, as if trying to see what she had created from another angle. She hummed to herself, a ghost of a twitch tugging at the corner of her mouth.

                                            >“Yes, I suppose it is.”

                                            >Aniseed peered at the art again.

                                            >Surely there must be something about it that made it the “Canterlot basin”, she’d just need to delve a bit deeper.

                                            >After a few seconds of intense scrutiny, she glanced away and froze.

                                            >The alicorn was staring down directly at her, her expression unreadable, though there was a glint in her eye.

                                            >Aniseed held her gaze, a rabbit before a dragon.

                                            >“May I ask why you were sneaking through my private garden at such a late hour? I should have thought that fillies your age ought to be in bed by now.”

                                            >The eyes of the alicorn bored into her. Several considerations crossed her mind, but running was probably a poor decision at this point.

                                            >Aniseed took a deep breath. May as well go all-in.

                                            “I want to speak to Princess Celestia.”

                                            >“Celestia is asleep. You will have to come back tomorrow morning.”

                                            >The answer was blunt; delivered as though the Princess was commenting on the weather.

                                            >Aniseed blinked and flapped her jaw for a second, struggling for a retort.

                                            “I... would like to wake her up, then.”

                                            >The Princess’ expression twisted into a bemused smirk.

                                            >“And what reason do you have to awaken my sister? Surely it must be something important if you would risk sneaking in here, no?”

                                            “I have,” Aniseed paused. She glanced back at her saddlebag.

                                            >The Princess didn’t need to know what her letter was, it would only enrage her. She forced herself to smile in spite of herself and stared into the withering gaze of her elder.

                                            “I have a letter for her. It’s important princess stuff.”

                                            >“Sounds serious. And may I read this letter? Anything worthy of my sister’s attention is worthy of mine.”

                                            “No.”

                                            >She spoke before thinking.

                                            >Her throat was dry, beads of sweat forming over her coat.

                                            >The Princess’ mirth vanished, and a cold, imperial look descended over her features.

                                            >She loomed above Aniseed, her wings spreading like the hood of a cobra.

                                            >Still Aniseed held firm, though her lips trembled and she did her best not to show that her teeth were chattering.

                                            >“I will ask you again, child,” her tone was ice. “Show me your letter.”

                                            >Memories of other such looks flashed behind Aniseed’s eyes in the presence of the alicorn’s glare.

                                            >She had stood her ground before her teachers, mother, and even her father before, and to her father’s eternal consternation, she seemed to have inherited his stubbornness.

                                            “N-no. It’s not for you,” defiant her words may have been, she could only whisper them.

                                            >The Princess did not move. She remained immovable, a midnight statue, wings spread and depthless eyes crushing Aniseed under the weight of her disapproval.

                                            >And then, she snorted.

                                            >Aniseed blinked.

                                            >The Princess’ wings sagged to her sides, and she held a steel-shorn hoof to her lips, a stream of half-stopped giggles dancing past Aniseed’s ears.

                                            >She could only stare in mute bewilderment.

                                            >“You—you must forgive me, little one,” she fought to regain her composure, “it’s been quite some time since I’ve had the pleasure of sparring with a filly such as yourself.”

                                            >She tucked in her wings and laid down on the polished stone, motioning for Aniseed to do the same.

                                            >Still blind-sided, she did as she was told.

                                            >“You must tell me your name—Ah, but where are my manners,” she cleared her throat with a smile. “My name is Princess Luna. What is yours?”

                                            “An... Aniseed,” she said quietly.

                                            >“Aniseed,” the name was savoured like a novel taste. “Would you believe that you’re the first foal I’ve spoken to since my return from exile?”

                                            >This wasn’t part of the plan.

                                            >Aniseed glanced up at the moon, still leering down at her from on high, the suffocating darkness that she’d journeyed through still all around her.

                                            >And yet, sat upon that gleaming white dais, there was a sort of sanctuary.

                                            >Luna’s eyes were inquisitive, darting over her features with no hint of malice. Father’s harsher words in regards to the Princess seemed hollow in her presence.

                                            >Against her every instinct, Aniseed was intrigued.

                                            “You were in exile?”

                                            >“I was. It was a sentence I did nothing to mitigate, it must be said, but it is good to be back under my stars, rather than amongst them.”

                                            “Amongst...” Aniseed stared back up at the speckled canvas above, “up there?”

                                            >“Up -there- specifically,” Luna nodded at the moon.

                                            >The Princess held her gaze on it for a while, apparently lost in her own thoughts.

                                            >A chill swept across the garden, frigid fingers digging into Aniseed’s extremities and prompting a shudder. Luna’s eyes switched to her, and she frowned.

                                            >“But of course; you’re only young, and I forget myself at times.”

                                            >Before she could protest, a flare of deep blue magic snared Aniseed and lifted her to Luna’s side, and she found herself tucked beneath a blanket of feathers.

                                            >Admittedly, it did much to ward off the probing cold, and she took the opportunity to nestle closer against the Princess’ hard but warm body. The wing squeezed in reassurance.

                                            >Luna looked back at her painting, and the brush in the pot hovered from the water, a firm flick discarding the moisture before it darted back to the paint pots. It only stoked Aniseed’s curiosity.

                                            “Princess Luna?”

                                            >“Hm?” Her attention remained on the canvas.

                                            “Why are you painting out here?”

                                            >“Because I enjoy it.”

                                            “But it’s dark, can’t you see what you’re doing?”

                                            >“I can see it clear as day – a perk of my particular talents, you understand – though I prefer to work in the dark regardless.”

                                            “Why?”

                                            >Luna’s eyes wandered away from the painting, staring off into the floral gloom.

                                            >She returned to her task after a time and carried on dabbing at precise spots with the tip of the brush hairs.

                                            >“It helps me to think. I can seldom concentrate as keenly under the harsh glare of the sun. What about you, young Aniseed, do you prefer the dark too? I should think so, given that you seem keen on scurrying about at this hour.”

                                            “Oh, no, I’m...” Aniseed trailed off.

                                            >Luna’s brush hesitated an inch above the canvas, and she glanced down.

                                            >“Is something the matter?”

                                            “I don’t,” Aniseed swallowed, “I don’t like the dark very much.”

                                            >Luna watched her carefully, a wan smile forming.

                                            >A brisk breeze stroked across the garden, and one of the closer trees swayed, leaves rustling and branches creaking – its silhouette in the half-light a grim pantomime.

                                            >Aniseed shuddered, pressing herself closer to the Princess.

                                            >“Neither do I,” Luna whispered.

                                            >Aniseed blinked and looked up at her.

                                            “Really?”

                                            >“Indeed. It sounds counter-intuitive, does it not? One would expect the mistress of the night to enjoy its shroud, but truthfully, I find it rather oppressive.”

                                            “But then, why are you out here?”

                                            >“As I said, because I don’t like it.”

                                            >Aniseed’s confusion was writ across her face, and Luna breathed a soft laugh.

                                            >“Being drenched in shadow does put me on edge, but it also focuses the mind. I am alert in the dark, and with a sharper focus there is more opportunity for meaningful contemplation. The light of the day is warm, and comfortable, but all too often it breeds a sort of complacency.”

                                            “I... I’m sorry, Princess, but you’re kind of hard to follow. I-I’m afraid I don’t get it, I’m sorry.”

                                            >It was a good thing it wasn’t brighter out there, or Luna might have seen Aniseed’s reddened cheeks.

                                            >Or maybe she’d already seen it with her alleged night-vision.

                                            >Still, all that reading of father’s old books and preparing for upper-class speaking was for nothing.

                                            >The Princess hadn’t even said “ergo” yet.

                                            >“That’s alright; Celestia tells me the very same thing. Consider this; if you live all your life behind the safety of Canterlot’s walls, can you ever truly consider yourself to be prepared for what lurks beyond them?”

                                            “I don’t think so.”

                                            >“So would you agree that it would be better for a pony to live with two hooves in safety and two amidst the uncertainty of the outside? To risk not being safe?”

                                            “I guess? But what if you get hurt?”

                                            >“Pain is inevitable. A tree that grows in a meadow can only be as strong as the meadow allows it to be, but a tree that grows on the rocks of a stormy mountain range will become hardy. Its roots will dig deep; it will become resilient against the winds that howl around it. Do you understand?”

                                            “I think so, but what does that have to do with Canterlot?”

                                            >Luna’s gentle expression contorted into something layered. There was a melancholy there, but also sadness and a familiar frustration father sometimes wore.

                                            >Aniseed couldn’t quite fathom it.

                                            >“The ponies of Canterlot remind me much of the ponies of the old world. They lived behind walls and played in the sun. They lived comfortable lives, did comfortable things. They were content to be mediocre, and never tested themselves where it was not necessary to do so. I see the same behaviour in Canterlot ponies, even after all these centuries. My sister adores her subjects, she is a mother to them, but she still does not push them like I once did.”

                                            “Is that why you were exiled?”

                                            >Luna winced. Aniseed tensed, expecting a rebuke. None came.

                                            >“I... was exiled because I thought I could do better. I thought the soft, fat ponies of yore would thrive in a world of hardship. A world cut off from the sun. I thought, If they would not improve themselves willingly, then I would force it upon them. I would see them evolve into something greater in a world of darkness. Through suffering, they would become unstoppable. I was wrong.”

                                            “But why? Isn’t improving ponies a good thing?”

                                            >“Of course, but a life lived in hardship for its own sake is just as wretched as one spent in ceaseless luxury. My greatest mistake, and the mistake my sister made, and continues to make, was thinking that one way was better than the other.”

                                            “But ponies being unstoppable sounds really cool! I’d love to be unstoppable!”

                                            >“And would you endure hardship to become so?”

                                            “Totally!” Aniseed was getting excited; if she was unstoppable she might finally be able to beat Gale Force in their increasingly regular impromptu wrestling matches.

                                            >“And what do you know of hardship, Aniseed?” Luna said steadily.

                                            “Well, um, one time, me and Gale Force stayed outside when it was raining. We were climbing rocks in the park, and Gale thought he could do a trick but hurt his leg and wing, and I had to carry him home in the rain and I caught a cold.”

                                            >“But you still went home?”

                                            “Well... yeah?”

                                            >“And what if you did not have a home to go back to? What if there was no Canterlot, no city walls, no guards and no warm beds. What if there was no food? Have you ever been hungry, Aniseed?” Her tone was hardening, voice rising.

                                            “Sometimes I mess up and I have to skip supper as punishment—”

                                            >“But have you ever gone a week without eating? Have you ever been so hungry the pain kept you from sleep, like you were being devoured from the inside? Have you ever had to scavenge for a family member at the risk of starving yourself just to give them the barest sustenance in order to keep them alive?”

                                            >She loomed over her charge, her glare scouring Aniseed.

                                            >“Have you ever failed, and watched them fade in spite of your efforts? Have you ever awoken beside the cold, emaciated body of a pony you promised you would protect?”

                                            >Aniseed cowered, eyes wide and fixated on Luna. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t move. She was rooted in the face of her Princess’ sudden fury.

                                            “I-I...” It was the barest sound.

                                            >Luna blinked. Her expression softened, and she looked over her trembling companion with mounting revulsion.

                                            >She shook her head, grimacing, and caressed the trembling Aniseed with a tentative hoof, her voice wavering slightly.

                                            >“My... my apologies, Aniseed. I-I did not mean to—to push you so hard. That was wrong of me, I am sorry, truly. Please, forgive me.”

                                            >Her wing squeezed Aniseed, and she leant down to nuzzle her. The trembling stopped.

                                            >The two watched each other, one in silent awe and the other in nostalgic reminiscence.

                                            >“You must understand that the world we live in today is a veritable paradise. Yes, there are struggles to be had in life, but I was born into a world unrecognisable from this one. The world I grew up in was one of darkness and cold, of short summers and brutal winters. It was unforgiving. Each day was a new mountain, and few survived the climb. In a way, I suspect that this is what led me to think the way I did, but I had not lived long enough to understand the true nature of life before I made my greatest error.”

                                            >She fell silent, looking away from Aniseed and regarding her painting with an unfocused gaze, a distant look in her eye once more.

                                            >Aniseed glanced from her, looking back at the painting.

                                            >She was starting to make out a mountain, and a silver smudge to the right of the peak that must have been the moon. Perhaps the meandering smear near the base of the mountain was a river?

                                            >Luna’s outburst had been rattling, but Aniseed still had nagging questions. She cleared her dry throat and spoke, her voice low so as not to break the tranquillity that had settled around them again.

                                            “So what are we supposed to do? Push ourselves, or not?”

                                            >“Both,” Luna whispered.

                                            “I don’t understand.”

                                            >Her Princess found her smile again, her wing ruffling before resettling across Aniseed’s back.

                                            >“We must cherish the few, fleeting luxuries we are blessed with, but never allow ourselves to overindulge. A pony cannot become everything they can be unless they push themselves, but needlessly suffering for suffering’s sake is self-indulgent and narcissistic.”

                                            “What does that mean?”

                                            >“It means that you must not fall in love with the idea of suffering in some misguided pursuit of empowerment. Suffering will make a pony stronger, but doing so needlessly will deprive one of the pleasures that make life worth living. You must suffer so that you will have a warm bed to rest in at night. Pain is the cost of security.”

                                            “But how does that explain you painting in the dark?”

                                            >Luna’s smile broadened, and she looked to Aniseed.

                                            >“I think you can answer that now.”

                                            >Aniseed furrowed her brow and stared at her hooves, mulling over all that had been said.

                                            “Because it scares you,” she said finally. Luna gave her an encouraging gesture.

                                            >“Go on?”

                                            “You’re scared of it, but you force yourself to do it anyway because it’ll make you stronger. You’re painting because it’s something you enjoy, but... you’re doing something you enjoy at the same time you’re doing something you hate. You’re using your love of painting to overcome your fear of the dark.”

                                            >“Exactly. We’re similar, in that respect,” she said. Aniseed blinked.

                                            “But, I’m not brave like you, Princess Luna.”

                                            >“Have you not been doing the same thing tonight?”

                                            “What do you mean?”

                                            >“You flinch, Aniseed. Each rustle of the leaves or creak of a branch has you twitching, and yet you came here tonight because you had an objective. Something you felt was important enough that you were prepared to brave the dark to see it done. Is that correct?”

                                            “Yes...”

                                            >“Then you’re far braver than you give yourself credit for, little one. You and I are kin.”

                                            >Kin.

                                            >Aniseed peered up at Luna. She radiated warmth, but it was tempered by the cold around them.

                                            >Upon the dais, the two of them found comfort in each other even in an ocean of black. Aniseed sat up straight, and Luna retracted her wing.

                                            >Though the frigid air gripped her, she did not shiver.

                                            >With delicate intent she took a step forward, then another, and another.

                                            >Aniseed walked away from Luna and down the steps, approaching the beckoning tangle of the jungle garden.

                                            >She came to a stop just before the undergrowth, and as she stood before its writhing mass, mired in shadow and uncertainty, she smiled.

                                            >An owl, or something similar, appeared on a branch, its head cocked slightly, staring at her.

                                            >She held its look and even approached it.

                                            >The bird gave a soft hoot and retreated. Aniseed followed, trepidation falling away with each step.

                                            >More animals in the undergrowth shrank back from her approach.

                                            >Every new pace into the dark was a little death – an ember of uncertainty snuffed out.

                                            >She walked until no embers remained.

                                            >She re-emerged from the jungle, and with none of the dread-driven haste that had carried her through Canterlot, she returned to Luna’s side, beaming up at the alicorn.

                                            >The Princess stroked her cheek with a hoof clad in icy steel.

                                            >“Well done, Aniseed,” her words were music.

                                            “So...” she paused, and chewed her lip with a frown. “What do I do now? I’ve never been a kin before.”

                                            >The Princess grinned.

                                            >“You can do whatever you like, as long as you do so with your head held high. Though now that we’re kin, I expect you to always be on your best behaviour. No more sneaking into ponies’ gardens at night, for one.”

                                            >Aniseed’s face scrunched up. Slim chance of that happening, though perhaps she could make concessions.

                                            >Maybe she’d stop picking the locks at school to start with and see where she’d go from there. Or at the very least stop scaring father to death every other week.

                                            >A thought crossed her mind however, and she traced a circle in the stone with her hoof.

                                            “Princess?”

                                            >Luna cocked her head, the gesture prompting her to continue.

                                            “In my letter... I was gonna ask Princess Celestia to get rid of the moon.” Luna arched an eyebrow, bemused.

                                            >“And why would you want her to do that?”

                                            “It... scared me.”

                                            >A hoof found her chin, and her head was tilted back to meet the Princess’ affectionate gaze.

                                            >“But how do you feel now?”

                                            >How -did- she feel?

                                            >The chilling touch of the night was still all around her, but it didn’t faze her.

                                            >The moon still leered from on high, but her heart no longer leapt at the sight of it.

                                            >Shadows closed in from all sides, but the reflexive tension she now felt was almost a comfort.

                                            >She looked with keen sight into the shifting shades and saw them for what they truly were; no longer malignant figures about to grab her, but simple phantoms in her mind.

                                            “I’m still scared, but I don’t think I’m bothered by it much anymore.”

                                            >“Your roots have grown deep indeed.”

                                            >Maybe she hadn’t found what she was looking for tonight, but she’d found what she needed.

                                            >Aniseed’s eyes became misty, and she wiped them with a foreleg, doing her best to mask a sniff.

                                            “Than—thank you, Princess,” she choked out, then found herself swept up by the Princess in a tight hug, the alicorn nuzzling her ear and muttering gentle things as Aniseed buried her face against Luna’s neck.

                                            >“Just call me Luna, Aniseed,” she murmured. “We’re bound now, you and I.”

                                            “...Luna?”

                                            >“Yes?”

                                            “Would... you like an oatcake? I swiped some from home to eat on my way here but forgot until now.”

                                            >“An oatcake sounds lovely, my little friend.”

                                            “Luna?”

                                            >“Hm?”

                                            “What does ‘ergo’ mean?”

                                            >“I haven’t the faintest clue.”


                                            *


                                            >The lights were on when Luna landed outside the house.

                                            >The heavy thud of her hooves on the flagstones alerted the occupants, and the door was flung open in short order, flooding the outside with an orange glow.

                                            >The bulk of her father filled the doorway, and he glared down at a sheepish Aniseed.

                                            >“Again!” he was clearly doing his best not to shout, it was early in the morning, though the moon was still visible above. “Gleaming Spear came and told us he saw you— You promised us that you wouldn’t! You’d better have a good excuse, young lady, your mother and I thought you’d—“

                                            >He was cut off by two things, the first being Aniseed hugging him as hard as she could, the second being him only just noticing the silent figure watching him from the dark.

                                            >Aniseed heard him draw a sharp breath.

                                            >She twisted from her position to see Luna nod at her father, and with a fleeting smile directed at her, she took flight, arcing through the air en route to the palace – most likely to return to her unfinished work.

                                            >The stallion stared after the Princess with worry etched across his features.

                                            >A hoof powerful enough to break granite gingerly moved Aniseed’s mane out of her eyes and caressed her.

                                            >“What have you been doing, Ani?” he said, voice strained with worry.

                                            “I, um, I made a friend?”

                                            >He sighed, but chuckled despite himself and held her close.

                                            >She could hear his heart thundering below the surface. Had she done that, or Luna?

                                            “I’m sorry,” she sighed into him.

                                            >“Just... don’t do it again, Ani. Please. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

                                            “I promise.”

                                            >He snorted in her ear.

                                            >“Yeah, right. This time next week you’ll be out of that window again, I’ll have to nail the bloody thing shut.”

                                            “No, not anymore. I don’t need to.”

                                            >“And why’s that?”

                                            “My friend told me to be on my best behaviour.”

                                            >He thought to himself for a few heartbeats, and let out a muted ‘Ah’.

                                            >“Yes, I don’t think you’d do well disappointing a friend like that, Ani.”

                                            “Father?”

                                            >“Yes?”

                                            “Do you think we could go to Deft Bristle’s art shop tomorrow?”

                                            >“Oh? This some new scheme you’re thinking of?”

                                            >Aniseed turned her head and looked up at the moon.

                                            >Its silver countenance smiled down at her.

                                            “I think I’d like to try out painting.”


                                            The End.