The Waning Moon: Epilogue

Epilogue

I returned from the Grand Galloping Gala in high spirits, which was unusual for me. This was the first time in my five years in Canterlot that I had truly enjoyed myself on this assignment. Big Scoop had come with me, and we talked and laughed loudly as we came back to the office.

"But Fountain Pen, it's the biggest social event in Canterlot! You have to let some of your professional air go!"

"Scoop, you know I'm a workaholic!" I chuckled, opening the main door.

"Well," he laughed, running his hoof through his slowly graying mane, "then I suppose you'll be preparing your piece to be run first thing tomorrow!"

"Right away, boss," I said smiling. We said our good nights, and I returned to my office. I sat down at my desk only to find out that my typewriter was out of paper. "Shoot." I headed over to my overstuffed shelf, and tore through its contents, trying to find a ream of paper. I grabbed an old box, hoping there might be something in it, and brought it down. It looked like I hadn't touched it since I moved into my new office, and was far too light to contain enough paper, but I opened it anyhow. Inside was an old parchment scroll with the seal of the Equestrian Royal Family. "Princess," I said out loud. I read the seal's motto again: ubi concordia, ibi harmonia. I carefully opened the scroll, and read what was inside, as if for the first time. I remembered the poem from Scribble the Younger. It was my favorite, and I knew it backwards and forwards. This time, however, I kept getting hung up on the last lines:

The night, some say, is to be feared,
For its darkness and unknown,
For it holds many secrets
Where most refuse to go.

But I, resolute, do not despair.
I have no cause to fear.
I take comfort in the night,
So lovely, calm and clear.

The moon and stars show me the way.
My spirit burns to light
The fire that roars inside of me,
For I—I am the night.

I remembered the events which had transpired five years ago. Every painful memory came flooding back in a sea of doubt, self-loathing, and sadness. I reread the poem from start to finish again, and the last line still sprung out at me.

For I—I am the night.

My eyes were drawn to the signature.

Princess Luna

"Princess Luna...I am...she is the night," I mused. I felt better as I carefully rolled up the scroll, returned it to its box, placed it next to my typewriter, and stood up to find more paper. Luna would come back. I knew it.

After all, she is the night.

Fountain Pen
Canterlot
Fifth Year of the Reign of Princess Celestia