Post by Bardigan on Oct 4, 2012 17:17:49 GMT -5
Dawn remains a couple of hours away as the balcony is visited by a shadow. The night shift is going to come to an end soon, but the bustle of servants has waned for a few quiet moments. There aren't any immediate distractions... so far as the hooded pegasus is concerned, reaching over his shoulder and sliding a harp to his chest, clutching it tightly. There's not much time to lose and he has to work quickly, so he can only spare a quick glance inside to make sure that the room is occupied. Or at least, occupied by the one pony that he is actually here to *see.* The hood and cape are probably a little much, but he's not the stealthiest of ponies to begin with, especially in a great big starry backdrop just above Canterlot. As for the eye mask, well, it just seemed to fit the part.
The Princess Is In. She lies on the crimson fur rug in the middle of her bedroom, legs tucked underneath herself and head raised to study three books floating in front of her. The fireplace is out, and the room has no lamps. Instead tall white candles surround the rug in a circle, casting the room and the princess in a flickering patchwork of soft orange light and shadows. Facing the balcony as she is, she notices the intruder immediately but does not show alarm. Rather she raises one eyebrow and watches. Now would be a bad time for performance anxiety!
The intruder feigns nonchalance as he flutters onto the rim of the balcony and just /sits,/ one back hoof dangling down into thin air as the other props itself up on the balcony's railing. He throws his hood back, and to perhaps nopony's surprise at all, Bardigan is underneath, shaking out his immaculately combed and washed mane. It even shines a little in the starlight. Focusing entirely on the harp he props up between his legs and begins to pluck and strum it in a slow, simple melody. After the intro, a voice follows along behind it, singing in a tongue that hasn't been heard in common conversation by anypony save the Princesses themselves. It's foreign, sung in a deep, rolling tone. "Crochfaidh mé seolta, is rachaidh mé siar... Óró mo bháidín o..."
That brings up the other eyebrow. Luna stares, and one by one the books close, laying themselves on the floor. Her huge, bluegreen eyes glisten with the faintest hint of tears, and then gradually her pupils collapse from proper circles into thin black slits like a cat's eyes. In the candlelight her horn's glow isn't visible, but the cast of blue that plays over the harp is, seizing the strings and holding them absolutely still, canceling the music. Luna's head tilts down, then, staring at the floor as she tells Bardigan softly, "Please do not, Playwright. I cannot bear it. Thou are indeed the type of stallion I fall for, but there is barely room between these walls of madness and anger for Firefly and Nettleglum. Do not ask me to drag thee, too, into this endless dark."
Bardigan's hooves drag over the immobile strings for a moment more, as if he's trying to overpower Luna's grip and keep going. He was determined to do this for quite some time, and to be stopped before he can get a full verse out is like tripping a runner at the start of a race. When he realizes it's just not going to work, he holds the harp between his hooves and stares down at the floor. "I wouldn't presume that I could go anywhere you didn't wish me to," he whispers. "I'm not here to grieve you, Princess. If you wish me to go... I will. But since the night we talked... I had to do /something/. I had to see you again. To let you know I was sorry. I just wanted you to *see*... *my* heart. For you," he adds hastily, just above a whisper.
Luna listens to your explanation while staring bleakly at the floor. Her face rises, pupils still slitted as her eyes seek you out once more. Her only other movement is the constant, starry ripple of her spectral mane and tail, but you feel a wing brush softly down your neck. "Not even I can see thy heart directly. Tell me who thou see before thee, Playwright. Who is the Princess Luna that thou see? In those words shall thy true feelings be plain."
Bardigan shivers and sighs when he feels the gentle touch, leaning towards it ever so slightly. His eyes are closed, so he can imagine they are sitting next to each other, that he was brave enough to cross the threshold whatever the consequences. But he must open them again to look at her. "I see a pony who's... made mistakes. Like any other," he says, delicately, but he's not picking his words. There is no script here he's editing. He's trying to be honest with her, and himself. "And one who has gone further than almost any other to defend what she loves... a love that I do not think I could even begin to comprehend in how strong it is. You're a pony who can stand against things even I can't imagine and not even blink. But you can become those things, too. You can be a monster and a hero. A ruler and a tyrant. You aren't an imperishable, untouchable ideal. You feel and fail and... and live like anypony else. The only real difference is the length of that life." He gulps, and he's shaking now, but still doing his best to keep his gaze level. "You have a name behind your title, and I like to think your name is who you are...I don't know all of you. I don't think I *can.* But I like to think ponies can try."
Luna nods slowly, solemnly, her reptilian eyes never leaving yours. "So, thou know Luna the warrior, and Luna whose love would have crushed and destroyed, and Luna who stood, century after century, with the power of her will and magic and body as a wall between thee and chaos. Thou know Luna who hungers and weeps and smiles and can be injured and die like other ponies. Do thou know Luna the arrogant filly who learned love from the humblest of stallions, or Luna who has not just fought but murdered, or Luna who breathes every wisp of magic in this room, even thine, or Luna who leans on and is leaned on by Celestia as we walk through eternity together?" Her voice is quiet as she goes through this list, not angry but asking a calm, affectionate, but very solemn question.
"... No," Bardigan must admit, and this time his posture, if not his stare, wilters. "No, I do not. But... that is the nature of ponies, isn't it? And friendship? We make friends, and we... discover things about each other. We find things as we go along. The journey is what matters, as they say." He sighs quietly, and the strength seems to leave him with it. "It is one reason the play was... less than stellar. Because I haven't been able to here. Like this, with you. I... I had to, Luna," he says, seeming to not notice or care that he left out any honoraries. "After that night, I had to come here and at least try."
Luna finally smiles, giving her head a slow shake. The spectral wing, visible as faint blue highlights on nonexistent feathers, slides around under Bardigan's chin to lift it just an inch, to make sure he's looking right at her smile. "Neigh, I do not disapprove. Passionate artists are like the finest spells - they explode when nudged out of place." The magic wing slides up his cheek to his forehead, and then back over the crest of his head. "I cannot return thy love, Playwright. In better times, perhaps, but not now. Yet though this taste be bittersweet, I welcome it."
Bardigan gulps audibly. Nervousness, anxiety, a strange sense of inevitability, and even a bit of wonderment fills him, expanding his chest until he looks a little prouder than before. He shivers under the invisible wing, tilting his head towards it like a shower of refreshing water, even as he tries to keep his eyes on Luna's smile, the one thing he's been looking for this whole while. "I never expected this to be like a fairy tale," he murmurs, and seemingly emboldened by the sincerity between them, he drops from the balcony, taking a step towards her, his expression solemn under the eye mask. His hooves are unsteady, a sign of how hard he's trying to keep himself together. "But unrequited love is love regardless. I, I can't... I won't... give that up. You will always hold that high place in my heart. You are what I've looked up to for so long now." He licks dry lips, and tilts his head. "... I'm sorry I dropped candy on you last Nightmare Night."
Luna's eyebrows tilt now, one edge of her mouth curling up in amusement. "Why would thou be sorry for that? It was the correct act for that holiday. In any case, I am hardly fragile. My sister drops walls on me. Usually after I have thrown the throne at her." Her wings flutter a bit at her side, and the phantom wing for the moment has disappeared. She only pauses a moment before adding, "I apologize for reacting so strongly. I was not prepared. Enough of what made me Nightmare Moon is still inside me that thy life was briefly in danger. It may seem a strange one, but that is a very rare compliment."
It's Bardigan's turn to smile now, his lips turning up ever so slightly. "I could return that the bats you sent were appropriate for the holiday as well." He takes the mask off at last, tucking it under his wing. "But were it not for that boldness I would not be here. There is..." He bites his lip, taking another step closer. "I had thought I felt love before, Luna. She... left. But your night was *always* an inspiration. A cooling salve for some silly little pony who kept stoking a fire in himself. I often dreamed about taking the plunge, and now... here I am. You were a shelter and a muse to me before we had even spoken." He smiles. "I think you underestimate just how broad your embrace can be, Princess." He then blinks suddenly and his smile slips. "Is it true you can *see* a pony's dreams?"
Luna chuckles, her voice growing wistful, "Firefly's, perhaps. No others. Mind magic is gentle, delicate, and refined. I am far too much a brute to be more than mediocre at it. Neither is sleep a thing of the night. That is a choice ponies make. A choice as natural, alas, as breathing." Blue-green eyes, clear night-time pools scarred with a snake's pupils, flick back to you. "I do not mean to be morose, and yet I feel also thou desire honesty, which raises one further question. Since I cannot be thy lover, what would thou have of me?"
Bardigan comes close until he is forced to look upward to keep his gaze on Luna's. At last some cracks are starting to show. Wide pony eyes shimmering with vulnerable emotions stare up at her. "How can I ask anything of you?" he breathes out in a frail whisper. "All that you do, every day... everything you are... nothing more and nothing less. That's why I love you." He almost chokes, voice wavering as he struggles not to clench his eyes shut, even as a few tears threaten to leak out. "Whatever you can or cannot do, my heart will cling to those feelings as much as it does my passion for stories and expression." He gulps back the knot in his throat. "But if you're offering... then I would ask only that I may sing for you, without interruption. Perhaps that will relate my feelings better than I could. And I would... dance with you. Just this once."
Luna's faint smile widens, warm and affectionate. "Ah, so it is the princess thou love." She stands up with elegant ease, slowly walking over as she tells you in a hush, "That is acceptable. We ARE that princess, and everything thou know about princesses is but a reflection of ourself and Celestia." She keeps walking, but grows slowly transparent as she does, until she steps so close that her mouth is about to touch yours but passes through it instead. The phantom Luna disappears, leaving the original Princess behind on her rug. "Sing, playwright. We cannot give them back, but we will treasure thy feelings. The dance thou cannot have... yet. We must keep thee coming back, after all."
Bardigan closes his eyes, lips parted ever so slightly. He shivers as the illusion sweeps through him and his wings extend stiffly, as if getting ready to take flight to bleed off the wonderful energy of any kiss, real or imagined. Her words set him all a-quiver again, though he says nothing. Wordlessly, he reaches behind him and takes his harp out again, sitting down before her, eyes still shut. He only stops shaking when his hooves touch the strings, and strum a gentle, steady rhythm. Stuck a trance of music and riven by the Night's affection, he begins to sing. "What if this storm ends?~And I don't see you~As you are now~Ever again...~The perfect halo~Of cold hair and lightning~Set you off against the planet's last dance...~"
Luna's eyes close slowly, her smile small and peaceful and her ears tilted forward to listen. She is silent and still, taking in the words, but the illusions are not over. The candles do not go out, but the shadowsaround the rest of the room fade into utter blackness, and even the world outside of your balcony dims, leaving the two of you alone. Next to you another Luna appears, seated on the railing of the balcony, leaning to one side propped up on her forehooves as she watches you with a coy, pleased smile... and fades away.
Bardigan smiles too, a tremulous, vulnerable thing as the world swirls and changes around him, seemingly aware of what's happening even though his eyes are closed. "~Just for a minute~the silver-forked sky~lit you up like a star~that I will follow~~Now it's found us~like I have found you~I don't wanna run~Just overwhelm me...~"" His wings flare outward to their greatest length as he seeks to show the energy made by his music without leaving his place, one tip seeming to reach for the illusionary Luna at the balcony. His head swings back and forth as he sings, gesticulating in place of his hooves.
With the light leeched out of the world around you, it is awfully dark with your eyes closed, so perhaps there are hints of the blue of the spectral Luna who fades into nothingness beside you - or the shine of white as a bright star flares at the tip of her horn, casting her whole body in pale light that dies like the star and the phantom Luna before it by the end of the verse.
Bardigan cannot resist any longer, and his eyes slide open just enough to take in the world around him. It's an intimidating, bracing, lovely sight, just like he's always known Luna to be. He looks pointedly at her, the only pony that seems to exist in this darkened world. "~I don't want pinned down~I want unsettled~Rattle cage after cage~Until my blood boils...~" As the words so closely match his emotions a bit of magic seems to overcome the bard as well, and he strums the harp with ever greater intensity. He swears his cutie mark tingles as he pours out his heart to the shadows, almost buzzing with energy, vigorously nodding in time with the song, his wings quivering with the desire to fly.
The star, too, fades. Princess Luna sits there on the carpet, curled up and listening. This verse produces no spectacular illusions. No, aside from the enshrouding darkness and Luna herself alone in a circle of candlelight, there's only a subtle phantasm, a slimmer, taller, shiningly black princess superimposed over the real Luna and barely visible at all.
"~I want to see you~As you are now~Every single day~That I am living~" Bardigan is riveted to the scene, back just far enough to watch 'both' princesses at once. He can hear more music in his head, played by unseen instruments until he's the master of a full orchestra, and in his mind's eye a kaleidoscope of colors accompanies the scene. "~Painted in flames~A pealing thunder~Be the lightning in me~That strikes relentless!~" He goes into a a musical interlude, striking the chords with his hooves, vocalizing wordlessly, emulating the endless exploding energy of the stars he's admired from afar.
The black nightmare princess grows clearer as words of fire and lightning go by, and the soft blue Princess Luna underneath begins to turn transparent. Then the verses give way to pure music, and Nightmare Moon dissolves into nothing in a pair of breaths, stripped from Luna by the light of the sparks that dance from the harp strings when you pluck them.
Bardigan is lost, and may as well be invisible himself. All that matters is the music, the emotion, the telling of the story inside of him to the Princess. Even the image of Nightmare Moon doesn't seem to rattle him, or if it does, it just drives him to greater heights, feeling an echo of her exasperation and pure drive. He leans back and flapping his wings to bring him to his hind legs, playing furiously until the sparks are as a fountain. "~What if the storm ends~And leaves us nothing~Except the memory~A distant echo?~" And on it goes beside that small interruption, burning the bard from the inside out, even as the end of the song approaches like a brick wall.
The other verses produced gentle, mild illusions. This one is much more vivid. It might have something to do with the way the princess's closed eyes tighten, squeezing roughly shut, but around the room faint clinking and tapping lies under the harp music. Barely visible phantom ponies flicker in and out of existence, chipping at walls that turn into pale, rough stone. They leave behind sillhouette after sillhouette of stallions, roughly a dozen. The first is an earth pony and the last a pegasus, but they're all heavily stylized. Only their cutie marks are clear, the first a crude pickaxe made of stone tied to a branch. Others include a spiral around a star, a flat line bisecting a sphere into white and black halves, and at the very end a pair of masks, smiling and weeping. All of the portraits age and weather into barely visible lines in seconds after they're finished, and the stone walls start to fade away again.
Bardigan's eyes flicker around the room, barely able to keep up with the ghosts as well as the song as it comes to a furious climax. They catch on a cutie mark that is uncannily familiar, and there he draws it all to a close with one final rake of his hooves over the strings in an explosion of light and color. "~What if the storm ends~And I don't see you~As you are now~Ever again?~" he utters in total silence, before beginning to play quietly again. "~The perfect halo~Of cold hair and lightning~Set you off against the planet's last dance~" He comes back down on his haunches, mane damp with sweat as the sparks fade to simple flashes, dimmer and dimmer. "~Just for a minute~The silver-forked sky~Lit you up like a star~That I will follow~But now it's found us~As I have found you~I don't wanna run... just overwhelm me." The last words are spoken as the final notes cling to existence before disappearing in a final glow of cool navy blue.
When the last word is spoken and the notes stop, so do the illusions. The room is lit once again with candlelight. Luna unfolds from her rug, standing up with liquid grace, and this time there is no princess left behind. Like the first phantom she walks towards you, but not quite straight on. She only speaks when she reaches you, walking right past so close that her upper legs brush across the length of your body. As she does her wings unfold, one of them looping around you. Long feathers trail back over your face, down your neck, enclosing you as they're pulled past by her steady steps. "We thank thee, playwright, very much. As a princess, we tell thee now that we are not ready to be loved again, and as Luna I hope that thou never cease, even if I spurn thee." With the last words her hoofs rise up onto the railing, and she leaps up and away into the night, disappearing into the indigo sky in an eyeblink.
Bardigan tilts his head into the feathery embrace, as short as it is. He looks up at nothing as Luna speaks to him, normal words sounding somehow dull and muted. He remains where he is on the floor as Luna departs, and gently curls around his harp, hugging it to his chest, listening to the gentle whisper of burning candles. Before Luna comes back or the sun begins to creep over the horizon, he is gone. The harp rests on the rug, still quietly humming with the energy that coursed through it not long ago, content to wait for the next player.
The Princess Is In. She lies on the crimson fur rug in the middle of her bedroom, legs tucked underneath herself and head raised to study three books floating in front of her. The fireplace is out, and the room has no lamps. Instead tall white candles surround the rug in a circle, casting the room and the princess in a flickering patchwork of soft orange light and shadows. Facing the balcony as she is, she notices the intruder immediately but does not show alarm. Rather she raises one eyebrow and watches. Now would be a bad time for performance anxiety!
The intruder feigns nonchalance as he flutters onto the rim of the balcony and just /sits,/ one back hoof dangling down into thin air as the other props itself up on the balcony's railing. He throws his hood back, and to perhaps nopony's surprise at all, Bardigan is underneath, shaking out his immaculately combed and washed mane. It even shines a little in the starlight. Focusing entirely on the harp he props up between his legs and begins to pluck and strum it in a slow, simple melody. After the intro, a voice follows along behind it, singing in a tongue that hasn't been heard in common conversation by anypony save the Princesses themselves. It's foreign, sung in a deep, rolling tone. "Crochfaidh mé seolta, is rachaidh mé siar... Óró mo bháidín o..."
That brings up the other eyebrow. Luna stares, and one by one the books close, laying themselves on the floor. Her huge, bluegreen eyes glisten with the faintest hint of tears, and then gradually her pupils collapse from proper circles into thin black slits like a cat's eyes. In the candlelight her horn's glow isn't visible, but the cast of blue that plays over the harp is, seizing the strings and holding them absolutely still, canceling the music. Luna's head tilts down, then, staring at the floor as she tells Bardigan softly, "Please do not, Playwright. I cannot bear it. Thou are indeed the type of stallion I fall for, but there is barely room between these walls of madness and anger for Firefly and Nettleglum. Do not ask me to drag thee, too, into this endless dark."
Bardigan's hooves drag over the immobile strings for a moment more, as if he's trying to overpower Luna's grip and keep going. He was determined to do this for quite some time, and to be stopped before he can get a full verse out is like tripping a runner at the start of a race. When he realizes it's just not going to work, he holds the harp between his hooves and stares down at the floor. "I wouldn't presume that I could go anywhere you didn't wish me to," he whispers. "I'm not here to grieve you, Princess. If you wish me to go... I will. But since the night we talked... I had to do /something/. I had to see you again. To let you know I was sorry. I just wanted you to *see*... *my* heart. For you," he adds hastily, just above a whisper.
Luna listens to your explanation while staring bleakly at the floor. Her face rises, pupils still slitted as her eyes seek you out once more. Her only other movement is the constant, starry ripple of her spectral mane and tail, but you feel a wing brush softly down your neck. "Not even I can see thy heart directly. Tell me who thou see before thee, Playwright. Who is the Princess Luna that thou see? In those words shall thy true feelings be plain."
Bardigan shivers and sighs when he feels the gentle touch, leaning towards it ever so slightly. His eyes are closed, so he can imagine they are sitting next to each other, that he was brave enough to cross the threshold whatever the consequences. But he must open them again to look at her. "I see a pony who's... made mistakes. Like any other," he says, delicately, but he's not picking his words. There is no script here he's editing. He's trying to be honest with her, and himself. "And one who has gone further than almost any other to defend what she loves... a love that I do not think I could even begin to comprehend in how strong it is. You're a pony who can stand against things even I can't imagine and not even blink. But you can become those things, too. You can be a monster and a hero. A ruler and a tyrant. You aren't an imperishable, untouchable ideal. You feel and fail and... and live like anypony else. The only real difference is the length of that life." He gulps, and he's shaking now, but still doing his best to keep his gaze level. "You have a name behind your title, and I like to think your name is who you are...I don't know all of you. I don't think I *can.* But I like to think ponies can try."
Luna nods slowly, solemnly, her reptilian eyes never leaving yours. "So, thou know Luna the warrior, and Luna whose love would have crushed and destroyed, and Luna who stood, century after century, with the power of her will and magic and body as a wall between thee and chaos. Thou know Luna who hungers and weeps and smiles and can be injured and die like other ponies. Do thou know Luna the arrogant filly who learned love from the humblest of stallions, or Luna who has not just fought but murdered, or Luna who breathes every wisp of magic in this room, even thine, or Luna who leans on and is leaned on by Celestia as we walk through eternity together?" Her voice is quiet as she goes through this list, not angry but asking a calm, affectionate, but very solemn question.
"... No," Bardigan must admit, and this time his posture, if not his stare, wilters. "No, I do not. But... that is the nature of ponies, isn't it? And friendship? We make friends, and we... discover things about each other. We find things as we go along. The journey is what matters, as they say." He sighs quietly, and the strength seems to leave him with it. "It is one reason the play was... less than stellar. Because I haven't been able to here. Like this, with you. I... I had to, Luna," he says, seeming to not notice or care that he left out any honoraries. "After that night, I had to come here and at least try."
Luna finally smiles, giving her head a slow shake. The spectral wing, visible as faint blue highlights on nonexistent feathers, slides around under Bardigan's chin to lift it just an inch, to make sure he's looking right at her smile. "Neigh, I do not disapprove. Passionate artists are like the finest spells - they explode when nudged out of place." The magic wing slides up his cheek to his forehead, and then back over the crest of his head. "I cannot return thy love, Playwright. In better times, perhaps, but not now. Yet though this taste be bittersweet, I welcome it."
Bardigan gulps audibly. Nervousness, anxiety, a strange sense of inevitability, and even a bit of wonderment fills him, expanding his chest until he looks a little prouder than before. He shivers under the invisible wing, tilting his head towards it like a shower of refreshing water, even as he tries to keep his eyes on Luna's smile, the one thing he's been looking for this whole while. "I never expected this to be like a fairy tale," he murmurs, and seemingly emboldened by the sincerity between them, he drops from the balcony, taking a step towards her, his expression solemn under the eye mask. His hooves are unsteady, a sign of how hard he's trying to keep himself together. "But unrequited love is love regardless. I, I can't... I won't... give that up. You will always hold that high place in my heart. You are what I've looked up to for so long now." He licks dry lips, and tilts his head. "... I'm sorry I dropped candy on you last Nightmare Night."
Luna's eyebrows tilt now, one edge of her mouth curling up in amusement. "Why would thou be sorry for that? It was the correct act for that holiday. In any case, I am hardly fragile. My sister drops walls on me. Usually after I have thrown the throne at her." Her wings flutter a bit at her side, and the phantom wing for the moment has disappeared. She only pauses a moment before adding, "I apologize for reacting so strongly. I was not prepared. Enough of what made me Nightmare Moon is still inside me that thy life was briefly in danger. It may seem a strange one, but that is a very rare compliment."
It's Bardigan's turn to smile now, his lips turning up ever so slightly. "I could return that the bats you sent were appropriate for the holiday as well." He takes the mask off at last, tucking it under his wing. "But were it not for that boldness I would not be here. There is..." He bites his lip, taking another step closer. "I had thought I felt love before, Luna. She... left. But your night was *always* an inspiration. A cooling salve for some silly little pony who kept stoking a fire in himself. I often dreamed about taking the plunge, and now... here I am. You were a shelter and a muse to me before we had even spoken." He smiles. "I think you underestimate just how broad your embrace can be, Princess." He then blinks suddenly and his smile slips. "Is it true you can *see* a pony's dreams?"
Luna chuckles, her voice growing wistful, "Firefly's, perhaps. No others. Mind magic is gentle, delicate, and refined. I am far too much a brute to be more than mediocre at it. Neither is sleep a thing of the night. That is a choice ponies make. A choice as natural, alas, as breathing." Blue-green eyes, clear night-time pools scarred with a snake's pupils, flick back to you. "I do not mean to be morose, and yet I feel also thou desire honesty, which raises one further question. Since I cannot be thy lover, what would thou have of me?"
Bardigan comes close until he is forced to look upward to keep his gaze on Luna's. At last some cracks are starting to show. Wide pony eyes shimmering with vulnerable emotions stare up at her. "How can I ask anything of you?" he breathes out in a frail whisper. "All that you do, every day... everything you are... nothing more and nothing less. That's why I love you." He almost chokes, voice wavering as he struggles not to clench his eyes shut, even as a few tears threaten to leak out. "Whatever you can or cannot do, my heart will cling to those feelings as much as it does my passion for stories and expression." He gulps back the knot in his throat. "But if you're offering... then I would ask only that I may sing for you, without interruption. Perhaps that will relate my feelings better than I could. And I would... dance with you. Just this once."
Luna's faint smile widens, warm and affectionate. "Ah, so it is the princess thou love." She stands up with elegant ease, slowly walking over as she tells you in a hush, "That is acceptable. We ARE that princess, and everything thou know about princesses is but a reflection of ourself and Celestia." She keeps walking, but grows slowly transparent as she does, until she steps so close that her mouth is about to touch yours but passes through it instead. The phantom Luna disappears, leaving the original Princess behind on her rug. "Sing, playwright. We cannot give them back, but we will treasure thy feelings. The dance thou cannot have... yet. We must keep thee coming back, after all."
Bardigan closes his eyes, lips parted ever so slightly. He shivers as the illusion sweeps through him and his wings extend stiffly, as if getting ready to take flight to bleed off the wonderful energy of any kiss, real or imagined. Her words set him all a-quiver again, though he says nothing. Wordlessly, he reaches behind him and takes his harp out again, sitting down before her, eyes still shut. He only stops shaking when his hooves touch the strings, and strum a gentle, steady rhythm. Stuck a trance of music and riven by the Night's affection, he begins to sing. "What if this storm ends?~And I don't see you~As you are now~Ever again...~The perfect halo~Of cold hair and lightning~Set you off against the planet's last dance...~"
Luna's eyes close slowly, her smile small and peaceful and her ears tilted forward to listen. She is silent and still, taking in the words, but the illusions are not over. The candles do not go out, but the shadowsaround the rest of the room fade into utter blackness, and even the world outside of your balcony dims, leaving the two of you alone. Next to you another Luna appears, seated on the railing of the balcony, leaning to one side propped up on her forehooves as she watches you with a coy, pleased smile... and fades away.
Bardigan smiles too, a tremulous, vulnerable thing as the world swirls and changes around him, seemingly aware of what's happening even though his eyes are closed. "~Just for a minute~the silver-forked sky~lit you up like a star~that I will follow~~Now it's found us~like I have found you~I don't wanna run~Just overwhelm me...~"" His wings flare outward to their greatest length as he seeks to show the energy made by his music without leaving his place, one tip seeming to reach for the illusionary Luna at the balcony. His head swings back and forth as he sings, gesticulating in place of his hooves.
With the light leeched out of the world around you, it is awfully dark with your eyes closed, so perhaps there are hints of the blue of the spectral Luna who fades into nothingness beside you - or the shine of white as a bright star flares at the tip of her horn, casting her whole body in pale light that dies like the star and the phantom Luna before it by the end of the verse.
Bardigan cannot resist any longer, and his eyes slide open just enough to take in the world around him. It's an intimidating, bracing, lovely sight, just like he's always known Luna to be. He looks pointedly at her, the only pony that seems to exist in this darkened world. "~I don't want pinned down~I want unsettled~Rattle cage after cage~Until my blood boils...~" As the words so closely match his emotions a bit of magic seems to overcome the bard as well, and he strums the harp with ever greater intensity. He swears his cutie mark tingles as he pours out his heart to the shadows, almost buzzing with energy, vigorously nodding in time with the song, his wings quivering with the desire to fly.
The star, too, fades. Princess Luna sits there on the carpet, curled up and listening. This verse produces no spectacular illusions. No, aside from the enshrouding darkness and Luna herself alone in a circle of candlelight, there's only a subtle phantasm, a slimmer, taller, shiningly black princess superimposed over the real Luna and barely visible at all.
"~I want to see you~As you are now~Every single day~That I am living~" Bardigan is riveted to the scene, back just far enough to watch 'both' princesses at once. He can hear more music in his head, played by unseen instruments until he's the master of a full orchestra, and in his mind's eye a kaleidoscope of colors accompanies the scene. "~Painted in flames~A pealing thunder~Be the lightning in me~That strikes relentless!~" He goes into a a musical interlude, striking the chords with his hooves, vocalizing wordlessly, emulating the endless exploding energy of the stars he's admired from afar.
The black nightmare princess grows clearer as words of fire and lightning go by, and the soft blue Princess Luna underneath begins to turn transparent. Then the verses give way to pure music, and Nightmare Moon dissolves into nothing in a pair of breaths, stripped from Luna by the light of the sparks that dance from the harp strings when you pluck them.
Bardigan is lost, and may as well be invisible himself. All that matters is the music, the emotion, the telling of the story inside of him to the Princess. Even the image of Nightmare Moon doesn't seem to rattle him, or if it does, it just drives him to greater heights, feeling an echo of her exasperation and pure drive. He leans back and flapping his wings to bring him to his hind legs, playing furiously until the sparks are as a fountain. "~What if the storm ends~And leaves us nothing~Except the memory~A distant echo?~" And on it goes beside that small interruption, burning the bard from the inside out, even as the end of the song approaches like a brick wall.
The other verses produced gentle, mild illusions. This one is much more vivid. It might have something to do with the way the princess's closed eyes tighten, squeezing roughly shut, but around the room faint clinking and tapping lies under the harp music. Barely visible phantom ponies flicker in and out of existence, chipping at walls that turn into pale, rough stone. They leave behind sillhouette after sillhouette of stallions, roughly a dozen. The first is an earth pony and the last a pegasus, but they're all heavily stylized. Only their cutie marks are clear, the first a crude pickaxe made of stone tied to a branch. Others include a spiral around a star, a flat line bisecting a sphere into white and black halves, and at the very end a pair of masks, smiling and weeping. All of the portraits age and weather into barely visible lines in seconds after they're finished, and the stone walls start to fade away again.
Bardigan's eyes flicker around the room, barely able to keep up with the ghosts as well as the song as it comes to a furious climax. They catch on a cutie mark that is uncannily familiar, and there he draws it all to a close with one final rake of his hooves over the strings in an explosion of light and color. "~What if the storm ends~And I don't see you~As you are now~Ever again?~" he utters in total silence, before beginning to play quietly again. "~The perfect halo~Of cold hair and lightning~Set you off against the planet's last dance~" He comes back down on his haunches, mane damp with sweat as the sparks fade to simple flashes, dimmer and dimmer. "~Just for a minute~The silver-forked sky~Lit you up like a star~That I will follow~But now it's found us~As I have found you~I don't wanna run... just overwhelm me." The last words are spoken as the final notes cling to existence before disappearing in a final glow of cool navy blue.
When the last word is spoken and the notes stop, so do the illusions. The room is lit once again with candlelight. Luna unfolds from her rug, standing up with liquid grace, and this time there is no princess left behind. Like the first phantom she walks towards you, but not quite straight on. She only speaks when she reaches you, walking right past so close that her upper legs brush across the length of your body. As she does her wings unfold, one of them looping around you. Long feathers trail back over your face, down your neck, enclosing you as they're pulled past by her steady steps. "We thank thee, playwright, very much. As a princess, we tell thee now that we are not ready to be loved again, and as Luna I hope that thou never cease, even if I spurn thee." With the last words her hoofs rise up onto the railing, and she leaps up and away into the night, disappearing into the indigo sky in an eyeblink.
Bardigan tilts his head into the feathery embrace, as short as it is. He looks up at nothing as Luna speaks to him, normal words sounding somehow dull and muted. He remains where he is on the floor as Luna departs, and gently curls around his harp, hugging it to his chest, listening to the gentle whisper of burning candles. Before Luna comes back or the sun begins to creep over the horizon, he is gone. The harp rests on the rug, still quietly humming with the energy that coursed through it not long ago, content to wait for the next player.