16 Hours by Escapade

https://desuarchive.org/mlp/thread/29262537/#q29263245
https://poneb.in/u/Mendicant

---

>”They’re only fillies Nightmare…”
>...
>It has been some time since you summoned your sister to your chambers.
>The cup of coffee sitting before you has long since grown cold.
>”They don’t deserve this…”
>You look across the room toward Celestia, who is seated near a half eaten tray of cookies.
>This… was a mistake.
>You should have sent her away hours ago.
>Yet here you are, alone with /her./
>Your dearest sister.
>…
>Time feels as if it has stopped moving entirely.
>It’s early in the morn; perhaps four past midnight.
>These are the long hours.
>The hours in which both lovers and laborers find rest.
>The hours in which the haunted find doubt — find emptiness.
>…
“They are most wicked mares sister; attempting to slay an sovereign…”
>The words fall from your mouth haphazardly.
>Your mind is not in your words, but somewhere far away.
>”I know Nightmare, but they were young… confused…”
>You can feel the trepidation in her voice.
>She fears you — your wraith.
>Were this a normal night you would dispel her pleas with ruthless abandon.
>A mere glare, or change in you arcane aura would be enough to silence her foalish words.
>But on this morn, you cannot bring yourself to do so.
>You… can’t bring yourself to do much anything. 

>You look back out of the window, and down upon the royal gardens.
>You feel an uneasiness; a restlessness.
>Insomnia perhaps.
>Your eyes guide you to look upon the snow covered canvas before you.
>Nothing is moving.
>“I understand that I misguided them Nightmare, but that’s /my/ fault; not theirs!”
>You continue to stare at the snow.
>It is an… interesting form.
>It’s simple; merely water in another state, lacking it’s normal warmth.
>Yet it does not /feel/ cold.
>Any foal can tell you that their hoof suffers far more greatly in cold water than snow.
>Snow is… gentle.
>It need not draw thy ear as rain to make it’s presents known.
>Snowfall is, to the contrary, a most calming phenomenon.
>“Twilight was my student. I thought she could… I thought she could be something special - something great…”
>A blind pony who lost their sight once explained snow’s effect on the senses.
>That a snow is to the sense of sound what a darkness is to the sense of sight.
>It steals sound from the very air itself.
>”But I was wrong Nightmare, I was wrong and now she’s paying the price!”
>Your eyes lose focus - the snow covered gardens fade from your vision.
>...
>Winter is a… familiar time of year.
>Calm, cold, and dark.
>It doesn't need grand attention offered to it’s warmer siblings.
>Instead it finds pride and purpose in it’s modest gifts.
>A calm walk — a pleasing vista.
>Many a family would retreat to their homes, and find company in their own kin.
>“She’s never seen had friends until the day before you arrived! She hasn’t had the opportunity to live a normal life!”
>And yet somehow, this season is different for you.
>You’re... haunted by it.
>The white plains… the darkness…
>The silence…

>You begin to talk.
“Does thou know what the moon is like dearest sister?”
>Your voice is void of emotion.
>You’re little more than thinking aloud.
“It’s a quiet place.”
“We remember when our hooves first felt the surface…”
"Thin pale powder — just like snow…”
>The fur on your neck stands.
”Our lungs burned...”
”For days — weeks — years we struggled to simply breathe.”
”Death was not a mercy we were to be given."
”Torture was our punishment."
>…
“There’s no sound on the moon."
“We screamed — Cried out for help — for mercy — for murder.”
“No one heard us…”
>Your focus pivots.
“Those fillies were nothing more than pawns in your game sister; crafted to strike us down upon our return.”
“Thou has no right to beg for mercy for thy hired assassins.”
“We were your sister — your blood — yet thou threw us aside for thy petty pride and pleasure...
“Thou knew the law — knew thy place and thy station….”
>You pause, gathering your nerves, and taking a deep breath to calm yourself.
“We... care not for thy weapons of war or thy pleas for pardon.”
“We hath been betrayed dearest sister… betrayed by thy own blood…”
>...
>You close your eyes.
"We cannot forgive such transgressions..."
>...
>There is a heavy silence in the air.

>You... don't care what she may say in reply.
>But then, to your horror...
>...
>”Empress?”

>…
>Everything stops.
>Your eyes refocus, and you turn toward the voice without a moment’s delay.
>You quickly look across the room.
>The cookies are gone.
>/Celestia/ is gone.
>You look down to your side, beneath your window seat.
>It is Octavia; your most loyal earthen maid.
>A book rest in her hooves, though you care not what it contains.
>She gently looks up at you before closing the tome, and standing.
>Your throat is tight.
>She need not speak for you to understand why she is here.
>It… it happened again.
>Your voice is weak.
”Little one… did you... hear-"
>She stops your sentence with a simple nod.
>Your mind struggles for words, your tongue paralyzed with fear.
"How… long was I….?”
>You fail to vocalize the rest of your foalish question.
>Mercifully, Octavia spares you humiliation, and answers, already knowing what you intended to ask.
>She gently raises her hoof, placing it tenderly atop your own.
“Sixteen hours Empress — You’ve been here for sixteen hours…”