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Her Eyes Contained Heaven
The cake was absolutely delicious.
“Right. Um.” Princess Celestia, age fifteen, looked at the table. “This cake is terrible.”
Luna, age eight, beamed at her. “Is it?!” Heaven in her eyes. Ears perked up. Tail wagging. “Is it?!”
“Uh, yeah. I mean.” Another bite. Chocolate and filling—the one dark, the other creamy—mixed in Celestia’s mouth and taught her that life had meaning. It wasn’t ‘great’. ‘Great’ was just a word. The cake transcended language. “Blegh.”
“So you don’t like it?!”
And look at that tail wagging. Luna was going to sprain it at this rate. So Celestia spoke. “No, no. Terrible cake.” Another bite. And another. And another. Oh, Stars, this was what bliss felt like, wasn’t it? This was love in culinary form. “Can’t stand it.”
“Hahah! Good!” Now Luna was jumping around. “Good! You don’t have to finish it, if you don’t like it!”
“No, no. I need to appreciate how terrible it is.” Another bite. Princess Celestia was an elegant mare; she had been raised as royalty, she did not speak in uncouth language. That said: unf. “To. Uh. To understand the depths of its…” Pause to swallow. She tried not to moan. “Hnng.”
Luna cocked her head to the side. “Sister?”
“Its badness! To understand the depth of its badness.” Another bite. The last one. Pain, the poet had said, is pleasure—remembered. Remembering the cake, now, brought Celestia a lot of pain. But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, just to know happiness a second time. “Yeah, wow, that was very very bad. I should, ahahah. Never bake again.”
“Hahah!” Luna, jumping again in glee. “You’re so bad! Okay! Mine now!”
“Right.”
Celestia looked down at the table again. Next to her empty plate was another—with a monstrosity on it. A mass of blackened crust, of spoiled milk and dirty flour. Uncooked, and burned, both.
Despair, made food.
Celestia swallowed, and then licked her lips. “Oh wow. This sure looks good.”
“I think it’s my best yet!”
“Certainly looks the part.” Celestia braced herself, grabbed the fork, and gave it a bite.
She winced.
She literally, physically, winced.
“Wow,” she said then, after swallowing. “This is delicious. Yummy yummy.”
“Yeah!”
“You are so good at this.” Celestia took another bite, and the only thing that made it remotely palatable was looking at Luna and focusing on her eyes. They still contained Heaven. “I think you’ve won this cook-off too. Congratulations. Fifth time in a row.”
Luna went on high gear after this. “Yes! Yes!” Jump, jump, bounce, bounce, wag, wag, where do kids get all that energy from anyway? A mystery for the ages, surely. “Can I try my cake too now?!”
“Nu-uh. You know the rules, Luna. Only the judge can taste.” Then, after another bite, and oh, Stars, why. Why would she do this to herself. “Maybe when you’re older, and, uh. More experienced.”
“More experienced? I don’t know if I can get any better at cooking after this!”
“Right. Well.” Celestia looked at her plate. The cake seemed infinite in its foulness. “You can certainly try.”
The cake looked terrible.
“Wow.” Princess Celestia, age one thousand and twelve, looked at the table. “This looks wonderful.”
Twilight, age eight, beamed at her. “Does it?!” Heaven in her eyes. Ears perked up. Tail wagging. “Does it?!”
And Celestia smiled at the little kid.
The weekly cook-offs hadn’t been meant to become routine, but they had anyway. Only this time—at night. Under the Moon and its watchful Mare, her eyes now empty. It was how Twilight and Celestia spent their Wednesday evenings.
Twilight loved the cook-offs. Celestia did not. To pick at an old would stings, but it’s worse than that. It’s unhealthy. It brings nothing but sorrow.
It is addictive.
So Celestia had allowed them to become routine, and so she picked the fork, and brought Twilight’s absolute abomination to her mouth, one bite at a time. One wince at a time, one sting at a time, one little needle in her heart at a time.
Because pain, the poet had said, is pleasure—remembered. Remembering, now, brought Celestia a lot of pain. But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, just to know happiness a second time.
“Yes, Twilight,” she said. And she did not know if the smile on her face was real or not. “Truly, absolutely wonderful.”
“Right. Um.” Princess Celestia, age fifteen, looked at the table. “This cake is terrible.”
Luna, age eight, beamed at her. “Is it?!” Heaven in her eyes. Ears perked up. Tail wagging. “Is it?!”
“Uh, yeah. I mean.” Another bite. Chocolate and filling—the one dark, the other creamy—mixed in Celestia’s mouth and taught her that life had meaning. It wasn’t ‘great’. ‘Great’ was just a word. The cake transcended language. “Blegh.”
“So you don’t like it?!”
And look at that tail wagging. Luna was going to sprain it at this rate. So Celestia spoke. “No, no. Terrible cake.” Another bite. And another. And another. Oh, Stars, this was what bliss felt like, wasn’t it? This was love in culinary form. “Can’t stand it.”
“Hahah! Good!” Now Luna was jumping around. “Good! You don’t have to finish it, if you don’t like it!”
“No, no. I need to appreciate how terrible it is.” Another bite. Princess Celestia was an elegant mare; she had been raised as royalty, she did not speak in uncouth language. That said: unf. “To. Uh. To understand the depths of its…” Pause to swallow. She tried not to moan. “Hnng.”
Luna cocked her head to the side. “Sister?”
“Its badness! To understand the depth of its badness.” Another bite. The last one. Pain, the poet had said, is pleasure—remembered. Remembering the cake, now, brought Celestia a lot of pain. But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, just to know happiness a second time. “Yeah, wow, that was very very bad. I should, ahahah. Never bake again.”
“Hahah!” Luna, jumping again in glee. “You’re so bad! Okay! Mine now!”
“Right.”
Celestia looked down at the table again. Next to her empty plate was another—with a monstrosity on it. A mass of blackened crust, of spoiled milk and dirty flour. Uncooked, and burned, both.
Despair, made food.
Celestia swallowed, and then licked her lips. “Oh wow. This sure looks good.”
“I think it’s my best yet!”
“Certainly looks the part.” Celestia braced herself, grabbed the fork, and gave it a bite.
She winced.
She literally, physically, winced.
“Wow,” she said then, after swallowing. “This is delicious. Yummy yummy.”
“Yeah!”
“You are so good at this.” Celestia took another bite, and the only thing that made it remotely palatable was looking at Luna and focusing on her eyes. They still contained Heaven. “I think you’ve won this cook-off too. Congratulations. Fifth time in a row.”
Luna went on high gear after this. “Yes! Yes!” Jump, jump, bounce, bounce, wag, wag, where do kids get all that energy from anyway? A mystery for the ages, surely. “Can I try my cake too now?!”
“Nu-uh. You know the rules, Luna. Only the judge can taste.” Then, after another bite, and oh, Stars, why. Why would she do this to herself. “Maybe when you’re older, and, uh. More experienced.”
“More experienced? I don’t know if I can get any better at cooking after this!”
“Right. Well.” Celestia looked at her plate. The cake seemed infinite in its foulness. “You can certainly try.”
The cake looked terrible.
“Wow.” Princess Celestia, age one thousand and twelve, looked at the table. “This looks wonderful.”
Twilight, age eight, beamed at her. “Does it?!” Heaven in her eyes. Ears perked up. Tail wagging. “Does it?!”
And Celestia smiled at the little kid.
The weekly cook-offs hadn’t been meant to become routine, but they had anyway. Only this time—at night. Under the Moon and its watchful Mare, her eyes now empty. It was how Twilight and Celestia spent their Wednesday evenings.
Twilight loved the cook-offs. Celestia did not. To pick at an old would stings, but it’s worse than that. It’s unhealthy. It brings nothing but sorrow.
It is addictive.
So Celestia had allowed them to become routine, and so she picked the fork, and brought Twilight’s absolute abomination to her mouth, one bite at a time. One wince at a time, one sting at a time, one little needle in her heart at a time.
Because pain, the poet had said, is pleasure—remembered. Remembering, now, brought Celestia a lot of pain. But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, just to know happiness a second time.
“Yes, Twilight,” she said. And she did not know if the smile on her face was real or not. “Truly, absolutely wonderful.”
Pics
This was nice! The bad/good cake, paired with Luna being so excited the good cake was bad, made for an effective hook. The beginning, middle, and end of the story all clearly served their purposes well, and the overall theme, which I read as something like 'better to have loved and lost', came through clearly. This really only felt like it had one joke in it, and I've always felt the 'deathly cooking' trope was a bit ridiculous, but I did smile.
Overall, I don't really have much in the way of criticism to give. This is a very well put together piece.
Overall, I don't really have much in the way of criticism to give. This is a very well put together piece.
You know what? I changed my mind.
I do have to comment on this one.
There's more to this story than the surface layer. Like cake. The connection to the prompt is deeperthan Celestia pretending to like bad cake. She's pretending so much more.
And the line from the poet ties everything together. As much as I say that nobody should have to read a story a second time to "get it," I just wanted to read it again.
I do have to comment on this one.
There's more to this story than the surface layer. Like cake. The connection to the prompt is deeper
And the line from the poet ties everything together. As much as I say that nobody should have to read a story a second time to "get it," I just wanted to read it again.
Genre: Cake Eater
Thoughts: I love it how the informal early style of this story sets up an emotional sucker punch toward the end. I suspect that the Author is deliberately taking advantage of the expectations of silliness that they play up with Young Celestia's cake-obsession and "unf"-ing around. Rereading this with the knowledge of where it's going only heightens its poignancy.
Well done, Author. There's one pretty significant typo though: "would" instead of "wound." But by that point I was hooked enough that it wasn't going to throw me.
Tier: Top Contender
Thoughts: I love it how the informal early style of this story sets up an emotional sucker punch toward the end. I suspect that the Author is deliberately taking advantage of the expectations of silliness that they play up with Young Celestia's cake-obsession and "unf"-ing around. Rereading this with the knowledge of where it's going only heightens its poignancy.
Well done, Author. There's one pretty significant typo though: "would" instead of "wound." But by that point I was hooked enough that it wasn't going to throw me.
Tier: Top Contender
I don't think I'd mention Celestia's age at youth; you diverge a bit from canon anyway given that alicorns age very slowly, but not mentioning Celestia's initial age would help mute that concern.
This might be a pinnacle example in how to pack maximum emotional impact into a minimal word count.
Concept-wise, it's not anything super stand-out, but the writing is excellent absent that, and the layers of pain and repeated line from the poet drive all the emotions home with pinpoint precision right into my left ventricle. That's my favorite ventricle, by the way, so good work. I really want cake now.
Concept-wise, it's not anything super stand-out, but the writing is excellent absent that, and the layers of pain and repeated line from the poet drive all the emotions home with pinpoint precision right into my left ventricle. That's my favorite ventricle, by the way, so good work. I really want cake now.
Alright, I'm falling in line with everyone else here.
Like >>Rao said, concept is simple, but hey, if it works, it works! And boy, does this concept work. The characters really shine through, the premise made sense, the flow and structure was brilliant... seriously, I don't really have anything bad to say without it looking like nitpicking.
Which is why I shall now nitpick.
I'm with TQ in that you shouldn't mention the age. It's a shortcut, sure, but I think the behavior of Luna itself already gives proper context on how old they were without needing a mention.
Also, this:
Considering the title, I think there'd be a greater emotional effect if 'Heaven in her eyes' was placed last in the trifecta.
Nitpicking done. All in all, lovely story! Well-deserving of the second place!
Like >>Rao said, concept is simple, but hey, if it works, it works! And boy, does this concept work. The characters really shine through, the premise made sense, the flow and structure was brilliant... seriously, I don't really have anything bad to say without it looking like nitpicking.
Which is why I shall now nitpick.
I'm with TQ in that you shouldn't mention the age. It's a shortcut, sure, but I think the behavior of Luna itself already gives proper context on how old they were without needing a mention.
Also, this:
Heaven in her eyes. Ears perked up. Tail wagging.
Considering the title, I think there'd be a greater emotional effect if 'Heaven in her eyes' was placed last in the trifecta.
Nitpicking done. All in all, lovely story! Well-deserving of the second place!
