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“You have to wonder…” Heathspike said wistfully, running a hand through the purple hairs of his mane.
“Wonder what?” Flurry Heart asked.
Heathspike didn’t answer for a moment. “Alicorns don’t perish with time,” he said at last. “Celestia, Luna, Twilight, you and your mother… even I.” He put a hand against his belly scales. “The only immortal dragon in known existence.”
“Hundreds of years we’ve lived about – perchance even thousands of years in the Royal Sisters’ case – and life’s not worth much once all the rest is gone.” Heathspike turned his orange gaze upon the forest outside. “Eventually, you get bored of it all: of the wind and the birds, of the sound of laughter and the smell of pine.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
“Where are you going with this?” Flurry asked.
“Life… is like a blank page,” Heathspike answered after a time. “A page upon which are written the words of our lives – our stories.” He gazed wistfully at the moon, his orange gaze turning to silver in the moonlight.
“Whence you only live so long,” he said at last, “The ink turns to gold. So valuable, all the words… the days you live… because ‘twill all end eventually. Your story will come to an end and nothing will remain but what others heard you say and what they thought you meant by it; what they saw you do, and what they learned from your actions.”
He looked back at Flurry Heart, who lifted her gaze from the ground to meet his eyes. “But what if you have a never-ending page? A bottomless inkwell? The more you write, the less ‘t all means.”
“There’s no such thing as living forever, Flurry Heart,” he said softly. “It is our sacrifice: Eventually, we live so long that ‘tis not even life anymore. We stop living forever… and continue dying forever.”
Heathspike looked back at Flurry Heart, who had begun to weep. “All of which… does not matter to you, young Flurry Heart. Not yet.” Flurry looked up at the dragon, her confusion barely visible through the tears streaming down her face.
“How old are you now, Princess? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
Flurry Heart sniffled. “F-fifteen.”
Heathspike smiled and draped an arm over her shoulder. “Precisely. You’re still young even by mortal standards. You have plenty to do with your life even if you weren’t immortal. The time may come when your life stops feeling like it has any value, but that will not come for a long, long time.”
“B-but what about my friends‽” Flurry exclaimed, blinking back her tears. “How can this be anything but a curse when I have to see everyone I care about wither and die‽”
“Ah, yes; the great deal-breaker when it comes to immortality.” Heathspike raised a claw to his chin in thought as he went silent for a moment. Finally, he replied. “As I said prior,” he began at last, “Immortality is not a blessing, nor is it a curse; but a sacrifice.”
At Flurry Heart’s confused expression, he continued. “Though ‘tis true that you will feel the heartache of losing your friends and family, yes, your immortality spares them that same grief. Your parents will never feel the inconsolable grief of seeing their baby girl die before their eyes. Your sons and daughters will never know the pain of knowing their mother is dead and wondering how life is supposed to go on without her. Your grandchildren will get to know and love their grandmother all their lives, as will their children and their children’s children. Every descendant of yours will leave a legacy behind, and you will get to see them all play out.”
“When the stories of those who come after you have come to an end,” Heathspike continued, “You will be there to write their epilogue; you will write of them and the legacies they have left behind. Even when their pages have yellowed and crumbled to dust, they will have still words written of them as long as you still live.”
Heathspike stood up and made to leave. “You still have plenty of gold left in your inkwell, young Flurry Heart,” he said with finality. “So choose carefully what you want to write on your page, and what you want your words to mean… for as long as that choice still matters to you, some gold yet remains in your ink.” With that, Heathspike left the room, leaving Flurry Heart alone with a million thoughts swirling around in her head.
After spending some time processing what Heathspike had told her and trying in vain to form some sort of conclusion, she ultimately decided to sleep on it. She would speak to her mother in the morning.
Flurry Heart stood to leave but had barely taken a step before noticing a small pot at her hooves. The pot became enveloped in a gilded aura as Flurry brought the object to her face, only to discover that ‘twas, in fact, an inkwell. Suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity, she slowly tipped the inkwell toward her to get a better view of its contents.
Inside, among the shining black of the ink within, were flecks of shimmering gold.