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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Effluvium
The star’s ethereal effluvium issued forth into the darkness, brandishing incomparable light and energy against the winking expanse of space. Soundless, sleepless, soulless. Its death was not unexpected. Its life well-lived, she drew back into the void which bore her corporeal form all those millennia ago. Time had collapsed her memory into a soupy den of ageless, faceless voices from the night. The most severe evisceration of her mind had come when she and her sister forced together into the same being.
Her mind was now little more than the vapors which once might have streamed from the bogs. Once, before the world washed away; once, before the night came to stay; once, before the fire scorched the day, she had been happy.
They were left bereft.
Useless, formless, winding kindness. Once more the life lived long ago rises to her eyes.
Her subjects, her ponies, her friends—
Quiet now.
Her energies had run their course. Her sentience now lay exhausted in the tendril strands of conscious thought reaching out into the desolation.
The tombstone was cold.
Twilight rested a hoof against it, feeling the weight of the object protruding from its loamy soil, the dirt which grasped the bodies of her beloved friends.
What had she become?
The innocent unicorn, Celestia’s brightest pupil, mediator of nightly gloom and sunny doom.
She didn’t know who she was anymore. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember. There was only the constant beating in her chest ticking away the moments. All the faithful faces of her subjects now seemed to blur into a mocking façade. She learned all their names.
Behind the stone was a tree, planted there before the graves were dug. It was a cypress. She still remembered the prayer cards fluttering in its branches. She still remembered the bouquets of poppies scattered about the stones.
A phoenix in the tree cooed a soft coo. She looked up at it.
It was a regal bird, a noble bird. Its red, orange, and yellow feathers glimmered gleefully in the light. It smiled its birdish smile and began pruning itself.
Somepony had scored the trunk of the tree with a circle, and in the circle was a crown.
She bowed her head, trying to calm herself.
What had she become?
With some concentration she was able to remain meditative. She wished she could say that time had worn away the sadness, too. But it hadn’t.
In the end, she was here and they were there. There were no deals about fairness.
What had she become?
Out of the darkness came a thought:
Hello?
Her mind was now little more than the vapors which once might have streamed from the bogs. Once, before the world washed away; once, before the night came to stay; once, before the fire scorched the day, she had been happy.
They were left bereft.
Useless, formless, winding kindness. Once more the life lived long ago rises to her eyes.
Her subjects, her ponies, her friends—
Quiet now.
Her energies had run their course. Her sentience now lay exhausted in the tendril strands of conscious thought reaching out into the desolation.
The tombstone was cold.
Twilight rested a hoof against it, feeling the weight of the object protruding from its loamy soil, the dirt which grasped the bodies of her beloved friends.
What had she become?
The innocent unicorn, Celestia’s brightest pupil, mediator of nightly gloom and sunny doom.
She didn’t know who she was anymore. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember. There was only the constant beating in her chest ticking away the moments. All the faithful faces of her subjects now seemed to blur into a mocking façade. She learned all their names.
Behind the stone was a tree, planted there before the graves were dug. It was a cypress. She still remembered the prayer cards fluttering in its branches. She still remembered the bouquets of poppies scattered about the stones.
A phoenix in the tree cooed a soft coo. She looked up at it.
It was a regal bird, a noble bird. Its red, orange, and yellow feathers glimmered gleefully in the light. It smiled its birdish smile and began pruning itself.
Somepony had scored the trunk of the tree with a circle, and in the circle was a crown.
She bowed her head, trying to calm herself.
What had she become?
With some concentration she was able to remain meditative. She wished she could say that time had worn away the sadness, too. But it hadn’t.
In the end, she was here and they were there. There were no deals about fairness.
What had she become?
Out of the darkness came a thought:
Hello?