Lost in the Garden [Celestia]

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The plausibility of her ill mind could not continue to be a thought for the Princess. One of her citizens was here. Celestia could not show anymore weakness than had already been witnessed. It was not beneficial to her rule. Celestia placed one of her own hooves on Synth's, and smiled at her. Celestia didn't say anything afterwards, and let the silence continue for a few more moments. Minutes passed, until finally a servant levitating a platter of tea entered. "Your Highness." "Thank you, Hors D'oeuvre. I'll send for you when we are done." The stallion looked at Synth with only a flicker of emotion, before returning his gaze to the Princess. "Yes, Your Highness. I shall take my leave." Celestia levitated the pot of tea, pouring them both equal amounts into each cup. "Hm... Perhaps we could play a game to ease the tension? I can sense that both of us are still holding back, slightly, in enjoying ourselves." If this was what she needed to do to lead herself away from morbid thoughts, then that's what she would do. "The game is simple, if you wish to play. We each tell three things about ourselves. They can be as strange, personal, or simple as you like. But, one of them has to be a lie. It's up to the other player to figure out which one it is~. Would you like to play?"

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The Princess took her hoof from the base of the fountain, shifting as she brought back her reach. A few feathery dandelion seeds passed between them, faster than the Princess brought her hoof back. Synth did not remove hers or give her nervousness get a voice. She simply looked to Celestia and waited, ears standing still. When the Princess brought her hoof back, she did not tuck it under herself, but place it on Synth’s. The touch had the effortless gentleness of a fallen feather, without a shake or tremble or force. Synth looked to it, tried to find the meaning of the gesture. Should she have dropped her own hoof from the light weight of Celestia’s? Had she been rude or reassuring in her own gesture? She looked to the Princess slowly, and met her smile, and her doubts did not immediately disperse, but gather. What kind of smile was it? Was it a true smile or a practiced one? In a short moment, all Synth could hear was her thoughts saying I do not know. She did not know about the meaning of any of this, yet there had to be meaning in it somewhere. But, perhaps, there was not. She let her heart decide it all, and all it did was keep her there, holding up the Princess’ soft hoof, looking into her smile, into eyes the color of a daydreamer’s nap among the roses. She felt a smile, a small, but actual smile make it to her face. And then it hit her. It was not yet a word. It was something that pumped out into her body from her heart. It cut a breath short in its tracks as her chest tightened. It brought her shoulders together and back like the first jerk of a train car. It still the little movements of her tail and pivoted her ears towards the Princess as though she were listening for the emergence of some great danger or surprise. A tremble made its way to her hoof that held up Celestia’s, and she felt heat swelling in her cheeks. The tips of her mane tickled her face as breeze ran through it. Synth did not move or look away, and neither did the Princess. All the questions came: what should, could, she do? Why couldn’t she simply move away from the Princess’ look? In the back of the garden, the old, stained-glass doors opened, and a stallion with an elegant platter of white appeared, an ornate, matching teapot letting off vapor from its contents. "Your Highness." "Thank you, Hors D'oeuvre. I'll send for you when we are done." Synth looked to the stallion looking at her under Celestia’s wing, or perhaps rather, her hoof, still holding up Celestia’s, and the look cut the strength out of it, and she slowly lowered her hoof. She found an easier breath and she relaxed even as she looked away. Just like in February, she had run into reality, and it shoveled the coal on her feelings. It was for the best. "Yes, Your Highness. I shall take my leave." Synth did not look to the stallion as he left. She spent the time taking and holding the rose-red scent of her surroundings as she held her eyes closed for just a moment, listening to the pour of tea in front of them. Tea and reality; she needed to stay mindful. She opened her eyes as Celestia finished their pour and looked to her with a polite nod. “Thank you, Your … Miss Celestia.” "Hm... Perhaps we could play a game to ease the tension? I can sense that both of us are still holding back, slightly, in enjoying ourselves." A game. That was right. There were such things as games. There were such things as levity, as integrity, as maturity. A game was lighthearted, and an escape from that feeling lingering in her chest. "The game is simple, if you wish to play. We each tell three things about ourselves. They can be as strange, personal, or simple as you like. But, one of them has to be a lie. It's up to the other player to figure out which one it is~. Would you like to play?" Synth had to look down blinking before looking back up to her accidental host, voice covering her like a vast, cream-colored umbrella under the rain. With a breath, her posture recovered, her back and neck straightened. She could not find any difficulty thinking of things about herself, but an instant’s dip into considering a lie … she would be lying to Celestia. She almost knew how she would play, but she did not want to keep quiet. She would have to do her part to forget the tension; she was better at it now. “A game … sounds wonderful, Miss. I … have never tried this game before, but … it feels like a lovely way to enjoy the tea … to … enjoy being here. Would you like me to go first, or …”

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Celestia could sense the unease in Synth. She didn't know if it was from something before, or at the mention of the game. Synth speaking up reassured her otherwise. Now was not the time to think more depressing thoughts. They had tea. They were going to play a game. Celestia was going to have fun! "I hope you don't mind if I start? After all, I did propose the game~." Perhaps it was a little unfair. She was a Princess. She had centuries to practice masking her own emotions. Perhaps it wasn't unfair. Celestia had no idea how well Synth was at reading faces. She didn't even know if Synth knew to read faces. Lying was all about being precise, short, and aloof. Too much or too little eye contact can throw a pony off during a lie. In succession like this, it was best to choose one or the other from the beginning, and stick with it. Then, one needed to make sure they weren't doing any nervous tendencies. Some ponies twirled their hair, some blinked too much, some drew pictures with their hoof... Celestia had a long time to figure out the many quirks of a liar. It was time to start. "Here we go." Celestia looked down at her tea, tracing a hoof around the rim. "I once kissed a mare at the stroke of midnight on New Years." She lifted the cup, staring directly at Synth. "I've dropped the sun a total of six times." Celestia took a slow, deliberate sip, and then set the cup down. She glanced off at a tree. "And... I've been in love a grand total of four times." Celestia glanced back at Synth, with a smile that betrayed no other emotion than practice. She was letting Synth see the mask that she wore, for no other reason than playful bravado.

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The smile that Celestia took on was a calm angle of the lips, a relaxation of the eyes. It was the smile of a gardener upon feeling the softness of the season’s first blossoms. It was neither serene nor predatory to Synth. It was the smile of a craftspony slipping into the task at hoof. "Here we go." Synth’s ears went still and her breath nearly went silent. Celestia seemed perfectly at ease, letting a hoof glide over the gilded rim of her cup. "I once kissed a mare at the stroke of midnight on New Years." She looked directly at Synth. Questions rose up as her upper back started to weaken, her jaw loosened and she could not find a means by which to blink; who had this unusually fortunate midnight mare been? What … had the experience been like? No. Those were not the important questions, Synth reminded herself. The real question was whether Celestia would do that? Her intuition gave no quick answer. "I've dropped the sun a total of six times." As Celestia enjoyed a sip of her tea, and Synth processed the claim, her mind produced a single word: rhythm. Her eyes opened just a bit more as the idea started to crystallize. The Princess gave a look away to a tree. "And... I've been in love a grand total of four times." At this, Synth went well and truly quiet, watching the sparse canopy of the garden trees sway in the reflection of her tea as she considered all three statements. The claim that she kissed a mare by the stroke of Midnight on New Years was likely true. It was surprising and impulsive of a thing to do, and completely unexpected of a Princess … of the Princess. And yet, as much as Synth had experienced of her, Celestia had surprised her. Perhaps, on a lovely New Year’s Eve, she had surprised another … Synth decided that the first statement was true. Then the idea of her dropping the sun … that was likely true. After all, how many times did a pony, sleepy-eyed from their bed, drop something? Some dropped a coffee mug or a cup of tea, others, perhaps the sun itself. Did raising the sun require focus? If it did, that increased the chances. Everypony had rough mornings, presumably even Celestia. Additionally, the first two statements were moments or incidents, lapses and oversights, perhaps. However, the third statement described something much more considerable and abstract. If there was a pattern, it did not fit. Where it did fit was also possibly important if in the perspective of rhythm. The first two statements were straightforward, perhaps even building momentum towards the third. If there were the momentum of truth, it would ease the telling of a lie. Synth had it all figured out. Celestia was lying about being in love four times. Synth took a long sip of her tea, feeling victorious, maybe even smart for once, so for a moment, she relaxed, letting the notes of the tea flow and ease her mind, take her away from critical thinking and towards the moment again. It took her mind away a bit, and as she looked to Celestia and took a breath to give her answer, she paused. Celestia smiled at her. It was a smile made by a pony whose life had been so long that it was measured as much in myth and legend as much as documentation. How many times could she fall in love? How many times could a heart truly fall in love, even if given centuries to heal afterwards? Perhaps the number itself was the lie … some ponies could seemingly fall in love as easily as they took up their breakfast, and Synth herself had … but had that been love? Her ears started to lower from her thoughts, from looking into the Princess’ smile and speculating about her in even the slightest tone of detachment. So Synth just blinked slowly, looked to her practiced smile, and took a breath. What was truth? She felt weight in her chest again, and spoke. “I … believe the final statement is false … you have not been in love four times.” At once, her ears slumped and she held her breath, awaiting to be told that she was quite wrong.

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Synth took her time thinking over the three statements Celestia had given. In the meanwhile, Celestia took a few sips from her tea, and looked at the scenery. When Synth had spoken, Celestia smiled. She didn't know if it had been a guess, or an act of intelligence from the mare, but she had gotten it right. "It had been a crystal clear night. My assistant for that set of decades had been named Silent Lakes. At the time, we were sitting out on a balcony, and she was attempting to go over plans with me. I, of course, wanted to pay attention to the holiday." The memory flashed in her mind. The night sky, the scribble of Silent's quill, the yearning to be partying with her ponies... "For having the name of Silent, she was quite the opposite. I watched the clock tick away from inside, and the ponies below preparing for the moment that midnight would strike. She was so focused on the next day's plans..." Celestia chuckled, and took a sip of her tea. She swallowed, with a smile, and launched back into the story. "I don't remember if I had been drinking... But, as midnight found us, I found myself with my lips pressed against hers, her tongue dancing with mine, and our bodies pressing together in a heated moment that was onlyamplified by the crowds cheering below, and the fireworks exploding across the sky. I don't know what spurred it... But, for the remainder of that night, she had been silent, like her namesake." Celestia placed her cup back down onto the tray. "Raising the sun is a difficult task. The first time, it had just been me holding onto it for the first time. The second time had been when Discord first showed himself. The third was from the stress of losing Luna..." Celestia took a moment to gather herself. She took a few slow breaths, and continued. "The fourth time I had been drinking. The fifth had been from pure exhaustion... And the sixth was because a pony scared me, as I was raising it." By this time, Synth would know that she had been right. "Ponies say that love lasts forever. I can tell you, from first-hoof experiences, that they're right. Love does last forever. But, love isn't always enough. You can love somepony... But after you attend their funeral, and decades pass, you find yourself with the same yearning and the same need of companionship." Celestia didn't look as happy as before. "I have been in love a grand total of three times. The first,I watched be put into the ground. The second was a love that was most likely unshared. The third... The third was enough to stop me from pursuing love for centuries." Celestia felt her eyes grow misty, but she refused to cry. It was a game. They were playing a game. This was no time for tears.

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And Synth’s ears slowly rose with Celestia’s smile. She watched it carefully. Was it a smile showing her that her answer was right? Or was it a smile of forgiveness, a magnanimous gesture for a wrong answer. "It had been a crystal clear night. My assistant for that set of decades had been named Silent Lakes. At the time, we were sitting out on a balcony, and she was attempting to go over plans with me. I, of course, wanted to pay attention to the holiday." Celestia’s eyes may have moved, but Synth wasn’t sure. Even if they didn’t, for a moment, they did not seem to be looking at her or the garden. They saw someplace else in space and time. "For having the name of Silent, she was quite the opposite. I watched the clock tick away from inside, and the ponies below preparing for the moment that midnight would strike. She was so focused on the next day's plans..." She gave a chuckle as supple as a pile of pillow feathers and yet it did not seem old or frail. There was energy in the remembrance, but not harsh energy. Synth felt like she was watching a memory fly towards the setting sun on a great eagle's wings. As she brought her teacup to her lips, Synth’s ears pivoted as the wind wandered about the top of the garden. A bird that almost sounded like it would have been more at-home in the jungle went on a manic series of looping squawks and the heavy chimes from before sounded with deep but quiet tones; light chimes came alive that she had not heard earlier, their crystalline tone tickling at her ears. “I don't remember if I had been drinking... But, as midnight found us, I found myself with my lips pressed against hers, her tongue dancing with mine, and our bodies pressing together in a heated moment that was only amplified by the crowds cheering below, and the fireworks exploding across the sky. I don't know what spurred it ... But, for the remainder of that night, she had been silent, like her namesake." Without asking her mind to, it immediately gave her the scent of a winter’s night, the kind that finds hot chocolate, mulled cider and wine sloshing up the walls of waved mugs, spilling on the ground and coursing through the veins of smiling ponies. She imagined Celestia looking out to that colorful night from a marble balcony under a thick blanket, hearing songs muddled by the planning of the next day’s affairs from a pony with locks of mane out of place, worn quill nib scratching across parchment. And then, a soft touch happened, a gentle and firm pull, and gasping, warming silence. Songs flowed over them up towards the stars, and a new year began. Synth looked down to the grass with a shortness of breath and a few blinks, looking downwards yet more and tilting her head so her mane would roll to the other side of her face, hiding the surge of warmth in her cheeks from Celestia, if possible. She heard the cup tap on the tray as it was put down. "Raising the sun is a difficult task. The first time, it had just been me holding onto it for the first time. The second time had been when Discord first showed himself. The third was from the stress of losing Luna..." There was a long pause then. The chimes tinkled on rudely. Of course, Synth had read the stories about what happened in Ponyville. For weeks, papers, tabloids, leaflets, everything was about Princess Luna. There were accounts from citizens of Ponyville, endless speculation, fashion articles arguing how the new Princess ought to accessorize, and among it all, careful and caring comments from Celestia herself. Synth was not sure what to think of it all, so she let her mind be content on the facts as she knew them. Her Princess had a sister that she had banished, but the lost sister returned after a millennium and now watched over the night. She could feel that there was so much more to it, but her mind left the matter alone. Sometimes, she felt, saying that one did not know was the best answer. "The fourth time I had been drinking. The fifth had been from pure exhaustion... And the sixth was because a pony scared me, as I was raising it." It occurred to Synth then that her answer was right, and while she looked back to Celestia, her face cooled if still concealed on the left side by her mane, she did not respond in excitement. Being right meant that Celestia had not fallen in love as many times as she claimed, but it also meant that Synth had made an assumption, however guided, on Celestia’s history with love, which felt like a rudeness. It took the warm fantasy from before out of her mind and body, and she felt instead a certain hollowness. "Ponies say that love lasts forever. I can tell you, from first-hoof experiences, that they're right. Love does last forever. But, love isn't always enough. You can love somepony ... But after you attend their funeral, and decades pass, you find yourself with the same yearning and the same need of companionship." Again, Synth felt that she was looking to eyes that looked nowhere, more so because it felt like they had taken on the slightest shade to their soft, fluttery rose-pink hue. "I have been in love a grand total of three times. The first, I watched be put into the ground. The second was a love that was most likely unshared. The third... The third was enough to stop me from pursuing love for centuries." Her eyes took on reflection, growing wet enough that Synth could just barely see herself reflected, a bit of black and grey amidst the green, and for a time, Synth and was still and quiet, and the world went on. Water slid down the green-coated slick stone of the fountain and trickled and dripping into its pool at the spots where it simply didn’t roll into the pool silently. The tinkling chimes were still again, but the deep ones continued to bump into each other like lovers in their sleep, letting out their solemn notes, and Synth’s heart fell a little more. She loved places like this, places that swallowed her thoughts and feelings, reminding her that her thoughts had no form, no graspable presence in the world. The world was the wind and light of sun and moon. These things were real and eternal and she and her thoughts weren’t. When she was alone on one of her trips away from Canterlot, walking snowy paths among evergreens, actively alone, passively lonely … was this the look in her eyes, the same as what was held by Celestia? What did it mean to know that one was not temporary, to know that loves found and lost would stay in the heart and mind forever? Or was Synth even supposed to wonder about these things? Was she supposed to say, “I don’t know,” to this as well? Somehow, she didn’t think so. This was not a cosmic event to consider in this way. This was a pony with a heavy heart. Synth was not sure how to help heavy hearts … she turned sadness, ennui and rage to songs that beat the heart for itself, but she was Celestia’s company, and she would try to be good company. But what to do? She hid behind her mane as she thought, complex sequences of words feeling drab and lame … perhaps she could not say anything. Words would have come up short, so, after her eyes searched left and right for an answer, she felt the soft wing at her back and she nearly smiled at the impulse that came to her, yet it felt like the right, even correct and proper thing to do for her host. She scooted an inch closer to Celestia, twisted, coming up a bit from the wing, and with a shaking foreleg, reached for a hug, gently pressing the side of her face that her mane was flipped to into Celestia’s shoulder ahead of her wing. She was likely and frankly crazy for presuming to comfort her Princess, but … they were just ponies at the moment. Was this the right thing to do?

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For moments that never seemed to end, silence deafened the Princess. Stillness found the garden. The loud, exotic birds and low, resounding chimes even seemed to pause for a moment. There was nothing but the fight of Celestia trying to hold back her emotions. Amidst all the harmonic chaos within Celestia's thoughts, a single question begged to be answered. Why? Why wasn't Synth saying anything? It sent a more powerful message than a pony screaming could muster. Was this silence on purpose? Was she thinking of what she could possibly say? Perhaps words failed her. Words failed the Princess at the moment, too. It was just silence and stillness. It had all been brought on by her clarifications. Maybe they were too personal... Suddenly, an arm were thrown about her neck. She felt fur brush against hers. Warmth that did not belong to her blended with her own. The stillness shattered before her eyes as she craned her neck to see what was the cause of this. Synth was hugging her. It had not been something that the Princess expected. Synth was so subdued, so indirect... This may have been something insignificant. This may have been a simple gesture of comfort. For Celestia, it was more than that. Her wing pulled up to caress the mare. Her forehooves wrapped around Synth and joined her in the hug. For a moment, it was though Synth truly cared for Celestia and the only way she could show it was through this simple gesture. Tears retreated. They did not threaten to come again. A smile graced her lips. Nothing could ruin it. "Thank you, Synth." The words slipped out as soft as a breeze. It was questionable if she had actually said the words. All Celestia knew was the she appreciated what this mare had brought to her. But, all things come to an end... Her arms lowered, but she did not remove the wing. "Synth Pop... If it is no trouble to you, I would appreciate if you remained at my side for the remainder of this game we play. Do not think of it is as an order from a Princess. Think of it as a request from a friend who would cherish the comfort you brought."

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Who was she right now? She thought that question to herself as two long forelegs held her close and the wing covered her again. Like this, everything she ever wished to say to another, every yearning she would only ever dare to express with the squealing and pulsing of transistors at the command of glossy keys … it welled up in her chest and threatened as pressure behind her eyes. And then it all fell down again into that calm, dark and cool, that kept her safe. For a moment, she had felt herself a part of a grand painting, made of and surrounded by warm, colorful oils. Now, she felt like a viewer of the painting instead. There was safety and perspective. That way, she was not lost in herself and noticed more. She took a deep breath. Celestia did not seem tensed by her gesture. Against her foreleg, she barely felt the Princess’ coat or body move as she breathed. Her hold on Synth was firm, but safe and soft, like she had rolled Synth up in one soft blanket before tucking her into another. Had … she done well? “… Thank you, Synth …” The words glided past her ear, no louder or harsher than the beat of butterfly wings, yet felt like the fading vibration of a held piano note in her chest. At once, she became a part of the painting again. Just who was she right now? She did not answer the question. She forgot the question. Closing her eyes, a world of cares faded like smoke. There was, then and simply, the shade of a wing and the tickle of the scent of honey upon Synth’s nose that she did not remember being there before. When Celestia’s forelegs let go of her, she felt heavy and for a moment, she could not make herself do the same. The thought felt like a goodbye to something that would go and never return, but has the wing kept her close, she let go and tried to look up to Celestia respectfully, but she could not look higher than the Princess’ upper neck. "Synth Pop... If it is no trouble to you, I would appreciate if you remained at my side for the remainder of this game we play. Do not think of it is as an order from a Princess. Think of it as a request from a friend who would cherish the comfort you brought." Synth’s eyes drew up at the word “friend,” and at Celestia’s last word, Synth looked to her, not quite casually, that smallest of smiles forming from her lips. Somehow, things had simply become light again, with all the heft with a dandelion seed. What had just happened? She gave a small, slow, but unshaking and untrembling nod. “It … there is not any trouble. A game with … with a friend …” She looked away for two blinks and a curious decline of her ears, then looked back up to her host. “… To … be honest … I cannot recall the last time … I participated in a game with a friend—not that I am mistreated, but … I am often … alone and busy … s-simply as a matter of circumstance.” The last thing she wanted to do was add weight to things; the spirit of games was supposed to be playful, and at that thought, ideas of how she would donate to the game appeared, and so she settled back to a restful position on the grass, but remaining close to Celestia like she asked, side-to-warm-side. She looked just a bit to the side. A ladybug had climbed up onto her sunglasses as was resting on the nosepiece. Next to her sunglasses, vapor ceased to radiate up from her teacup. Looking towards the cup, she spotted the wing at the corner of her vision, and as she thought for a moment, she forgot to tug her look away from it. Then, as the first of her three tellings was ready in her mind, she finally caught herself and looked back to Celestia. “I … I will say three things about myself … one thing … one thing is false.” “The … the first thing … sweat … sweat streaming down and filling the tiny scratches of an old lens, scattering, streaming stabs of electric flashes prismatic … mane clinging to the face, blindness and a winding, oscillating slam of sound … The crowd ripples upwards like puddlewater shot by bolts of rain but is no more … heavy. By teeth bared, voice loud and strange carried on copper, everything is pulled from everypony, all unwound without choice. It is a three-hour life with ninety-decibel years at one-hundred-thirty beats per second … the weather is sweat, and it cools upon dizzied panting.” Synth gave her sunglasses another look. The ladybug opened its spotted backside then closed it. On the breeze, a blade of the garden’s grass touched the plastic frames. The ladybug reached out with tiny limbs, caught the tip of the grass, and wandered down the blade and out of sight. Synth took in a breath, letting out a tension she had not taken the time to notice. Again, she looked to Celestia. “Um … second …” “With … a tickle and twirl of high ivories, right hoof, F and G, a … night made timeless. She … knows what she has done … smiles a crescent of the moon pointing earthward … I … smile back. A … curl of candleflame whips from the last light on the candelabra on the piano lid … a slip of smoke sails upwards, threads of silk ascending in the moon’s blued silver shine. The nocturne fades … her notes limp through the dust of ages across the room … sadness, threats of final dances and songs that shall go unsung … it is … a taunt. In strides, her … the piano seat … promises made with touch … not a word … that is what the stars tell … not a word … not so much as a whisper to tell the truth … only touch. An evening breeze caresses a flame to a seconds-living ember, and … the balcony door goes ignored.” She let out the remainder of a breath while looking downwards a bit. She breathed in honey and with a few blinks, looked back up. “Third …” She brought in a breath deep enough to raise her shoulders. She gave another glance to her sunglasses. The ladybug had not returned. Perhaps she was near. “Horizons … a farewell made to horizons with a step through a sheet of white … a deep, dull crunch underhoof. The wind sails with ice on its wings … but now, evergreens comb through it … the air here is still. Steps more, a tuft of snow perches on an uncovered ear … and is not shaken away. A vacuum flask clinks against tent spikes in a bag. Inside the flask, a friend of hibiscus flowers warm and waiting. Another step … wood cracks somewhere, frost falling in a hiss, a crow lets out a squawk … welcome and no others, welcome to no sorrows of spring, welcome to a silent home, welcome to lost alone. A sign of red-painted wood … its top poking out of the snow. A step sinks deep, a ring of cold comes down into the boot … no eyes have urge to read the sign or to know its words. Above, drifts of rimesong hide twilight stars … miles yet go to … breath turning to crystal a second after the mist, and … yet it is still not far enough. Steps more go into the coming night … a lantern is lit to life.” By then, Synth had settled and her shoulders were as softened as tufts of the garden’s fluffy catkins. “One … one is a lie.”

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Celestia stared at Synth. Three stories. One lie. The first story is a tale of chaos. Sweat. Moving bodies. Sound loud enough to drown out voice and thought alike. The second story is a tale of intrigue and music. Two mares. The night. The third story is a cold morning. Preparation. Distances... It was time to eliminate something. The third story. Very familiar. Many details and specific things. Practical. Familiarity too true to be anything but true. The third story is eliminated from being a lie. That left the first two. The first story was a club. A rave. The entire experience seems alive, yet detached. Like it's happening but the teller isn't. There was a release of tension in Synth afterwards...The other one. Personal. The only story with an 'I'. Many pauses taken. An exhale and a downwards look. "I believe I have my answer. The third story is most definitely true. Perhaps a path you have walked many times before? A beautiful scene with familiar details. Hm... Anyways. It came down to the first two. The first. I felt you were almost detached, through the entire telling. The second. You, specifically, mentioned yourself, where the others merely mentioned details. And you took time to tell it. Pauses... I believe the second is a lie. The first is a truth, however, there was a release of something in your telling. Perhaps there is something you feel strongly and strangely about in it. I'm not sure." Celestia finally sipped a little more tea, and swallowed. She had no way of knowing for sure with Synth's unique telling. Most ponies gave too many details or made strange movements. Nervous eyes. Synth was rather calm through the entire thing. She didn't care much if she got it wrong. It was merely a game. She was intrigued to know.

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Synth Pop closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a nearly meditative breath. It wasn’t an action meant to prepare her for her response. Rather, it was a moment of whimsy as the element of fantasy to it all tickled her. She was not an avid reader, yet the premise of the moment, having this game of experiences and lies with a Princess of some sort of secret garden … it was something from a young pony’s fable. A part of her cast a shadow on her emerging smile. What did it matter? Wasn’t this all just a moment that would become inconsequential when she left that place? A crutch with which to walk through the month while all the while seeping nostalgia and longing into her mind when she faced the shadows of home? Maybe, she thought. She opened her eyes and her smile, however subtle, remained. “The … third story … is true as you said. I … f-frequent distant places. Mountains are my f-favorite. I … feel like other ponies … the city … their expectations … my expectations … all our beliefs and tastes … I … feel that the air becomes clouded. I … feel like … when I’m walking the streets … that … I do so wandering in a stifling, too-hot haze.” Her smile faded and she looked to the Princess as if to show that she was still involved in the conversation, that she had not detached. “Mountains … cold … I f-feel like the last pony in the world … it is … perhaps … a sad thought, but … the air is so crisp, clear, and cool … it is waking into life again, e-every time I leave this city.” But then she considered that the city she loved to leave was her host’s city, her capital, and her home as well. She twitched and glanced to the side in embarrassment. “Th-The first tale … it is also true. Once a week, I … can attack that haze … I can … clear it with storms … condense every scream … every … longing, love … hate … music … it is force … it feels like … creation … freedom … conquering instead of fleeing. Music … is every missed caress and … every cry for war.” She started to feel heavy again. Saying these things about herself, however poorly. Weren’t they her secrets, the very things that felt more real because she kept them to herself? Had she cheapened herself? “The second … is a lie, shallow if sweet … a candy shell, and nothing more.” Again, she felt the weight of disappointment in herself. All tellings of love were, in the end, just fantasies, lands lying at the end of half-built bridges. Still, she had let grey out into a world of the softest colors and angelic feathers. She closed her eyes for another moment. “I … apologize. My … explanations were … ribboned in curls of pathos.”

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Celestia listened carefully. She was correct. It appeared they were on par thus far with their ability to lie. However, that didn't quite matter as much as she watched Synth's facial expressions through the explanations. Synth felt deeply about these things. The feelings differed greatly but the amount of care did not change. Celestia only paused when the last few statements reached her ears. Celestia tightened the hold of her wing on the mare. It was a mixture of unconscious maternal instinct and a purposeful movement to relay something to Synth. "Do not apologize. One should never apologize for the way they feel inside, no matter the pathos. I'd hope you would explain why there are such feelings in your explanations." Their game kept giving way to these hard feelings. Perhaps if they aired out the problems they could get to enjoying each other's presence. If not, Celestia would still try her hardest to enjoy her time with Synth Pop. "I did say hope. If you do not feel comfortable saying, I shall not press on the matter. Your thoughts are your own and nopony can take that from you."

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The wing held her closer. The Princess’ down seemed to mold to her neck and shoulder, softer than a breeze shifting sundried linens, warm as the sunset sands outside Las Pegasus. Her flight feathers flexed as they too took to the contours of Synth’s side and flank, not a single cloud-white barb out of place, yet unlike other feathers, their edges did not feel like they could cut into her coat. Rather, they only felt the slightest less soft than the down feathers at the edges, no harsher than a wrinkle in a skirt of linen and silk flapping in a daisy-petal gust. It all made Synth’s ears grow lazy and lower, and the side of her head close to the Princess felt like it was made of dense sandbags. "Do not apologize. One should never apologize for the way they feel inside, no matter the pathos. I'd hope you would explain why there are such feelings in your explanations." The words felt smoothed, consonants rounded, their meaning dancing in her chest instead of being dissected in her mind. She let herself soften under the wing and lean against the Princess, let her head rest on the side of her chest just below her long, almost swan-like neck. "I did say hope. If you do not feel comfortable saying, I shall not press on the matter. Your thoughts are your own and nopony can take that from you."

“Your … beautiful city is … gilded and dresses in violets. It gleams by day … enchants by night.” Her tone came out softer than usual and her breaths flowed as calm as sapphire waters lazing in an out of a cove. “But … it is cold. To be warm in the cold … it is the comfort of watching snows fall … of watching scarves billow … but left bare in this cold, however crisp and sculpted … a heart bare here grows barren. B-But … I can never leave for long. Your home is … not bittersweet, Miss Celestia. It is … honeyed tea warm in the heart and frost reddening the cheek. There are … non-poetic specifics, but …” She breathed again, slow and long, and with her ears still completely settled, settled more with the Princess. Her concern was a distant squeak. Her memories had fangs, but it just … did not matter right there. “… this garden … regrets can take to the breeze. Miss Celestia … may I ask you … a personal question? I … I am afraid that I do not know how to frame it as a game, but … I am curious.”

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The eternal alicorn felt herself go back. That first day for Canterlot... She wondered how it became what it was now. Her mind jumped a century. The styles. The ponies. And another. The progress. The advancements. And another. Flashes of fads and a myriad of construction transformed Canterlot into the present day city she called home. A product of this very city was this mare. Synth Pop shared the truth of the city. Canterlot was a fire. It could be a warm place. It could be a refuge in the storm. It could illuminate. But it could be the storm itself. Canterlot could burn and scorch without a second thought. It was honeyed... But it was not tea. Perhaps a honeyed ale. Sweet and intoxicating, but handle it wrong and it could end badly. Sometimes it was better to just pour it out than to drink it. The earth pony continued to mention her garden. Regrets taking to the breeze. Hm. Regrets never faded. They only became numbed. Forgotten. But still there. Whether what came next became a regret, Celestia readied herself for it. "Ask whatever you wish to know. Except for the combination to the royal vaults~. You'll have to butter me up more for that." She winked. Jokes to ease and fun to fill the heart. What more could one need? "But, in all seriousness, do not hesitate to ask me a question of whatever gravity and necessity you want. Do know I will ask my own if I see fit."

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"This ... is as ... general a question as it is ... p-personal." Synth Pop didn't tense as her question formed in her heart, but it was a question that she knew could lead one to miss the point of things. "... Do ... the shooting stars grow dull? Does the morning's first breath still meet you more crisp yet than ice? D-Does ... one grow numb to the textures? The soft of familiar sheets? The gloss of polished tiles? The damp of soil underhoof? Does thunder cease to s-stir or the waves cease to inspire? Is ... all this ... is b-being Princess and w-watching over us ... is it w-what you want? Is th-there something you still want even as c-comets pass and glow hellos to you with their tails century after century? Is there s-something you dream of experiencing?"

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She wanted to know about time. Time... Time was a tricky subject. There wasn't enough. There was too much. Time passed too quickly. Time dragged on too long. Time flew. Time died. Celestia held memories of each integral moment of time's personal manipulation in her life and she truly pondered the eternal question that plagued the alicorn. Had too much time passed? Ponies were... Ponies were not immortal. They weren't meant to be immortal. There was only Celestia and Luna. The exceptions. The 'paragons'. The immortal. When she saw the world grow and blossom, did the effect cease to affect? Was the world any less vivid and raw and real because Celestia had been looking at it for so long? There's only so many times one could be surprised. But interested? Enthralled? Did she hold the same wonder in her chest she held centuries before? Celestia had to wonder. Sunrises. Eclipses. Newborn foals. Meteor showers. Volcanic eruptions. Perhaps simpler. Fresh cut grass. The idea that a bumblebee could actually fly. A piece of cake. A kiss... But, there was more. Synth asked a very personal question that ceased all further thoughts. Was being Princess what she wanted? Did she want to do something else? Did she have a dream? "Time... can dull. Not everything. There are certain things that cease to be as interesting as they used to be. But, there's still some wonder. Still some excitement to see what the new day shall bring... As for being Princess... The answer changes almost daily. I'm not sure what to tell you. I love helping my citizens and watching over them... But there are times where the tension and pressure is just too much to want to bother. I just... I hope that one day the ponies of Equestria will not need Princesses. They won't need us... We can... do whatever it is we wish. Whatever that may be. I'm not sure what I'd do if I wasn't Princess. I'd have to think over it..."