This was not a person—Princess Luna was an ideal. Her mane was not hair, it was a window into the vastness of space. Through there were stars, planets, swirling galaxies. The eyes looking down on her were a little like Deadlight’s—old, worn, weary. But more compassionate than Princess Celestia had looked on drone footage. “I could not lie to Harmony,” she said. “I could not tell it those things, and believe them.”