Forlorn

written 28-09-2014, only posted in /sun/
Found this recently while surveying the dustier parts of my hard-drive.


>With nary any effort, her pristine horn adopts a faint, gilded shimmer and the door swings closed behind her.
>Hidden from the eyes of the world, she breathes a deep, tired sigh as she allows her posture to sag in stature.
>Her eyes wander the walls of her bedroom chamber as she tries to let go of the day's work.
>She focuses on her breathing, attempting to silence the rumbling inside her head, fighting to forget about the castle, the city, the nation, and all the trouble therein.
>It had been a long, long day.
>But she's had long days before.
>Still, she felt so tired, and yet, the notion of sleep seemed to lack meaning.
>Drawing another sigh, she steps over to the doorway of her balcony.
>She gazes out at the landscape far down below, framed by the spires of the grand city.
>The sun was almost gone from sight -- she had already set it in motion before leaving court -- and its final rays painted the grassy hills in a vivid orange.
>Closing her eyes, she tries again to forget the details of her last meeting.
>But the more she ignores the thoughts, the faster they seem to spin around in her head.
>She's been doing this for so long now.
>So long that she's lost count of the years.
>Some days are worse than others. It's always been that way.
>She often instills herself the notion that she's used to it by now, that she's just being childish whenever she feels herself buckle under the weight of her regalia.
>And yet, today, she can't seem to calm her mind.
>She just feels so... Old.
"Stop this silliness, Celestia," she commands herself in a half-whisper.
>She forces her mind to focus on what she always focuses on during days like this: her reasons for doing her job.
>Her eyes flutter open and begin to scan the countryside below, soon landing on a rural townscape lying on the distant horizon.
>The light of the setting sun still touches the thatch roofs of the humble village, making for a picturesque scene.

>As she squints her eyes, she feels as if she can almost make out ponies milling about the houses, eagerly heading home to their families after a long day.
>She can imagine herself being there among them, standing in the centre of town.
>She sees smiling friends walking the streets, merchants and shopkeepers closing up shop for the night, and laughing fillies rushing to their mothers' arms.
>A warmth began to spread through her chest at the sight playing out before her mind's eye.
>Yes, she thinks to herself, for them, for her little ponies, no day was too hard.
>Still lost in her imagination, she spots her personal student trotting through the town square, a pack of books slung over her shoulder.
>She smiles at the image of her friend.
>It's been so long since she's heard from her.
>She wonders what she's been up to lately?
>What wacky and wonderful adventures has she and her friends experienced?
>She turns her gaze away from the far-off town, not even noticing that the noise in her head has faded away, as she reminisces on her favorite student.
>Her hooves feel light as air as she walks over to her writing desk.
>With her horn, she quickly draws out a parchment and raises a pen into the air.
>She can hardly remember when she last wrote her pupil a letter just asking how she's doing.
>She can hardly believe she didn't think of it sooner.
>Putting the ink-coated tip against the fine paper, she begins writing at a practiced pace.
>First a greeting, followed by general questions of heath and well-being.
>She then asks about her friends, and if she's heard from her family.
>The old alicorn remember that the local bakers had a child recently, and she inquiries about the young filly's state of being.
>She wonders how the school is doing, and if any of the fillies have found their cutiemarks yet.
>Her mind wanders as her pen flicks back and forth, and the questions pile up.

>She jotted down every inquiry pertaining to everyday life that she could think of.
>She wanted to hear about everything that had happened since she last heard from her student.
>Every struggle, every joyous occasion, every grand event and every minute detail; she wanted to know it all.
>Seeing her ponies live happily, watching them learn and grow, was the greatest joy she knew.
>And it was always special seeing these things in her personal student.
>She felt a close bond between them, almost like family.
>With warm feelings fueling her soul, she finishes with her questions and signs off at the bottom of the parchment.
>She lists the address before pausing to proofread her note.
>Her coat goes cold as she runs her eyes over the first line of text.
>"Dearest Midnight Raindrop," it reads.
>The alicorn feels her breath hitch in her throat.
>Her eyes wander to the address she wrote mere moments ago.
>"Manehattan, 8th Mane Street."
>Her gaze falters, seeking refuge among the shadows of the floor.
"Oh, Celestia..." She whispers to herself.
>Manehattan is a huge metropolis these days, not a small farm town.
>The bakers she asked about -- their faces fresh in her mind; they've been gone for a long time now.
>As have the school and the small fillies playing in the fields.
>And Midnight Raindrop passed away centuries ago.
>The princess hangs her head down and presses her eyes shut as she feels a sudden flush of heat behind them.
>Her current student was...
>She was...
>Twilight.
>Yes, Twilight Sparkle in Ponyville.
>How could she forget?
>She struggles to stifle a sob as droplets break free from her eyes.
>It's been so long.
>She should be used to it by now.
>She knows she's just being childish.
>But still, some days are harder than others.

end