Celestia’s eyes flashed. “Wouldst thou prefer ponies think of thee as the bringer of eternal darkness? Art thou the nightmare? Yea, thou art—yet thou art also the protector of dreams. One night a year, our citizens pay thee tribute; centuries ago, they burned thee in effigy. You are not your father, and his crimes are not yours. Even now . . . even now, ponies call to you in the night. You.”