Original Versions

by Bradel

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe
Length: 13233

Sometimes, a story needs to be revised. When one of my stories gets a significant revision post-publication, I store the original version here—both for posterity, and so anyone who is interested can compare versions.

Sometimes my stories go through fairly significant edits, either because I decide I can do better after the story goes online, or to bring the story up to external standards (like EqD's posting standards). I hate to lose old versions of my work, though—especially if the original versions enjoyed substantial success in their own right.

This is a collection of original versions for stories that may have been revised. If you're interested in comparing earlier versions of my work to the final versions, here is the place to come.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-15 03:34:45 UTC

A Filly's Guide to Not Making Headlines (Original)

“You’re the ambassador from Saddle Arabia? But you’re not wearing a saddle cloth! My books all said that’s one of Saddle Arabia’s most important cultural traditions. Doesn’t that make you feel… I don’t know… kind of naked? Not wearing one?”

NEW PRINCESS MAKES UNWELCOME ADVANCES TO SADDLE ARABIAN AMBASSADOR

“What do I think about Northern Griffonstan? Well, um, it’s very arid. Sparsely populated. I read that it has great mineralogical wealth, though. I think… deposits of copper in the Feathersharp Valley, wasn’t it? And gold, in the northern parts. Oh yes, and the canyons of the Cold Snap badlands are supposed to be very beautiful. Maybe I can go see them sometime soon.”

PRINCESS SPARKLE EXPRESSES INTEREST IN COLD SNAP REGION

1488th Regiment of Griffonstan Imperial Army Moved to Counteract Equestrian Territorial Pretensions

“You know, I’m not sure I should be talking to you. It seems like everypony keeps taking my words out of context. I mean, really, how is somepony supposed to get anything done if she can’t even open her mouth withou—”

“DOWN WITH THE PRESS,” DECLARES EQUESTRIA’S NEWEST OLIGARCH

With a sigh, Rarity set the morning edition of the Canterlot Times-Picayune back on the table and resumed her breakfast. Twilight was back in the news again, with a banner headline above the fold proclaiming, “SOFA SALES SLIDE AS PRINCESS SPARKLE QUESTIONS LEGITIMACY OF QUILL-SOFA CONNECTION.” The quote that started it all was buried on the eighth page – and perfectly innocuous if one knew the mare, of course. Rarity’s fork cut into her last pancake as, for a moment, her mind wandered into the hypothetical.

Now if it were me, I would have simply told the merchant that – as elegant and enticing as his couches might be – all such acquisitions for princessly residences have to go through… oh, I don’t know… the Palace Office of Domestic Procurements? Yes, I’m sure that would have satisfied him. None of this, “No, I just want a box of fresh quills, and why do all these stores keep trying to sell me furniture anyway?” And perhaps I could have even arranged for a limited trial on a new divan. The red one is getting a little careworn these days, isn’t it? And if it proved satisfactory, why of course then I’d—

A piping voice from the kitchen intruded on her reverie. “’Nother round of apple flapjacks, hot off the griddle! I hope you’re still hungry, ‘cause we’ve got lots of batter left.”

Rarity blinked, and looked down at her now-empty plate. Her stomach gave a quiet rumble at the sight, as much as at the delicious scents drifting from the kitchen, but she did her best to ignore it. “Thank you very much, Apple Bloom, but I simply couldn’t. A lady must not overindulge.”

“Aww,” chimed a different voice. “But I cooked this batch, Rarity. Can’t you at least try them? Please?”

Rarity swiveled on her stool and gave the kitchen an appraising look. It was still surprisingly clean, unlike the three flour-dusted fillies occupying it. Occupying indeed. Sweetie Belle and her friends looked nearly as out of place as a Griffonstan regiment parading through the streets of Camelcutta.

But the pancakes, now those were another matter. Scootaloo had a plate of them balanced on her back, and they looked absolutely scrumptious. Her sister had made those? Some of Apple Bloom’s skill must have started rubbing off on Sweetie Belle. It was the only reasonable explanation. Of course, that stack Scootaloo was carrying looked precariously high, but the little pegasus was taking careful steps, so nothing was likely to go wro—

A loud knock sounded on the door to the boutique, three staccato hoofbeats. Then a louder knock. Then a tremendous crash that seemed to shake the whole structure. Scootaloo stumbled, the plate of pancakes slipping off her back. Rarity stifled a few very unladylike words, quickly snatching everything in a telekinetic bubble and levitating it over to the table.

Of course, there were more pressing matters as well. “Sweetie Belle, be a dear won’t you and see what all the fuss is about?”

“So you’re gonna try one, right Rarity?”

She gave the pancakes another look. Well, I suppose one or two more won’t hurt. “Yes, yes, now go see who that is.”

Sweetie gave a pleased squeal and cantered off to the front of the shop. Scootaloo stared at the plate of pancakes she’d nearly spilled with a look of mild depression, twitching her wings uselessly. Apple Bloom turned off the stove and went to comfort her friend, tracking little flour-filled hoofprints across the blue linoleum.

Levitating two more apple pancakes onto her plate, Rarity breathed deep and savored their wonderful aroma. Maybe this Cutie Mark Crusaders thing really has something to it. She’d have to encourage the fillies to do these little sleep-overs more often.

After about a minute, during which time Apple Bloom and Scootaloo settled themselves around the table for their own breakfasts, Sweetie Belle returned. Behind her trailed a very harried-looking Twilight Sparkle. Her mane was more than a little frizzed, her eyes positively bloodshot, and she kept looking behind her as if expecting to see a hoard of ravening parasprites on her tail.

Rarity surreptitiously levitated the Canterlot Times-Picayune off the table, stashing it under her stool. “Why, Twilight! What brings you here, so early in the morning?”

“I was hoping to avoid the reporters,” Twilight muttered.

“Yes, well, that’s quite understandable dear, but it doesn’t answer my question.” As Rarity spoke, Sweetie slipped onto the stool beside her. Giving her sister a quick, affectionate nuzzle, Rarity levitated two of the (frankly exquisite) pancakes onto Sweetie Belle’s plate.

“Oh. Um. Yes.” Twilight cast another look back at the entrance of the boutique and scooted a little further into the room. “Well, yesterday I was talking to Princess Celes— I mean… Celestia. And she said I needed to get a new dress made for this year’s Grand Galloping Gala. After all, the old one doesn’t really accommodate my…” She glanced over her shoulder and fluffed out her wings, a very self-conscious expression stealing across her face.

Scootaloo gave a little sigh, dropping her gaze to the floor. Sweetie Belle took a break from her pancakes to pat the pegasus filly’s mane reassuringly.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to just alter your old Gala dress, darling? I know how much you like it, and it’s just so you. Don’t you think, perhaps, it would be nice if at least one thing were familiar for your first Gala as Equestrian royalty?”

“No!” Twilight shouted. Rarity nearly dropped her fork in surprise at the fierceness in her friend’s voice. Clinks of silverware told her that the three fillies, unsurprisingly, weren’t quite as poised. “I mean, no,” Twilight continued. “I think I need a new one. Please, Rarity?”

“Darling, what’s wrong? I know you love that dress. If you’d like another, I’d be more than happy to make it for you, but somehow I don’t think that’s what this is about.”

Twilight slumped to the floor like a discarded sack of flour and laid her head on her hooves. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I can’t wear it! Rarity, they’re going to laugh at me! Twilight Sparkle, the worst princess in Equestria. My picture is going to be all over the front page of every paper in Canterlot, and Celestia only knows what the headlines will look like this time. I’m going to be a laughingstock. Please, please don’t make them laugh at me in my favorite dress!” She took a deep breath, and when she resumed her voice was tremulous. “I mean... I have other d-dresses. But you m-made that one, and then we... Please, Rarity. Not that dress.”

And then, lying there on the blue linoleum of Rarity’s breakfast nook, the newest member of the Equestrian oligarchy began to cry.

“Oh, darling…” Rarity rose and went to her friend, sitting and stroking Twilight’s mane. The three fillies started to rise as well, but Rarity motioned them back down. Her eyes fell on the newspaper again, and with a grimace she sent it sailing into the kitchen wastebin.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Twilight mumbled. “I’m not cut out to be a princess. Everything I do is just one mistake after another.”

“Shh, shh. None of that, now, darling. You’re a wonderful pony and a wonderful princess.” Rarity felt her expression harden. “And if the Canterlot Times-Picayune can’t see that, well, then we’re just going to have to show them ourselves. Girls, why don’t you get Twili...” Rarity’s voice trailed off as an idea flashed into her head. “Girls...” Yes. Yes, of course.

Eyes narrowing, Rarity studied the three fillies at the breakfast table. The trio seemed to shrink back, huddling together. Rarity’s mouth twitched into a small smile, and Sweetie Belle gave a little squeal of fright.

The last light of the setting sun slanted through the windows of the Apple family barn – but instead of glittering off straw-dust like it would on any other night, this evening the sunlight illuminated the tall columns and sparkling tiles of a Canterlot palace facsimile. How Pinkie could find such convincing decorations on such short notice, Rarity would probably never understand. But find them she did, and even better, Pinkie had been perfectly content to help set up this party without sticking around to see it through. Pinkie didn’t seem to find the idea of party practice one tenth so interesting as the party itself.

Applejack, on the other hoof, was set on seeing what her barn was being used for. She stood over in the corner, chewing on a stalk of tassled prairie-grass and watching the proceedings with scarcely concealed amusement.

A small index card, covered back and front with neat hoofwriting, floated through the air toward a little orange pegasus wearing a miniature suit of armor. Rarity coughed daintily to catch the attention of her audience. “Now, Scootaloo, you will be playing the role of General Eaglebeak, the commander of the Griffonstani Air Corps. Your job tonight is to assess whether Equestria poses any threat to your country and your country’s ambitions. Remember, there have been recent reports suggesting that the princesses have developed a newfound taste for military adventurism. You’re here to see whether there is any truth to those reports.” The cerulean glow around the notecard winked out and Scootaloo caught it with one hoof. She tucked it into her barding and gave Rarity a perfunctory salute.

Turning to her next recruit, Rarity continued. “Apple Bloom. You are Ambassador Walidhani Mkali representing Zebrica.” The filly gave an excited giggle that was cut short by one look at Rarity’s ‘this is serious business’ face. “Once again this year, your country has experienced a severe drought. Your recent trade agreement with Equestria ensures your citizens will remain well-fed. But you want to sound out the princesses and see if Equestria would help in repairing the centuries-old irrigation systems that once made your nation a thriving center of agriculture.” Rarity levitated an extensively foot-noted index card to the grinning, jewelry-bedecked Apple Bloom.

“And me? And me?” Sweetie Belle, next in line, bounced a little as she waited for the details of her assignment.

“Why, isn’t it obvious?” Rarity gave her sister an affectionate smile. “You get to be my assistant.”

“Rarity! That’s no fair!” Sweetie stomped her hoof petulantly. “Scootaloo and Apple Bloom get big important roles, and I have to be your… your assistant!?”

“Who says being my assistant isn’t a big important role?” Rarity’s eyes twinkled as she floated a third index card to her sister. “I am famed shipping magnate Catalina Cruz after all. And I have a lot of things I’d like to get done at this Grand Galloping Gala. See lines three through eleven. I’ll need somepony to help me, and maybe if that somepony is very creative, she can find ways to accomplish those goals that even her sister didn’t think up. It’s a very good part, I promise.”

That seemed to mollify Sweetie Belle a little, who slunk back to her friends muttering, “It’d better be good.”

“Ya got anythin’ for me there, Rarity?”

The voice brought Rarity’s head around. Applejack was striding across the barn toward her, Stetson pulled low and a wide grin splitting her mouth. Rarity gave a nervous laugh. “Oh Applejack, I didn’t think you’d be interested in something as silly as our little role-play. I must admit, I was only expecting there to be four of us – and Twilight – so those are all the roles I’ve scripted. But surely there’s some work around the farm you’d rather be doing?”

“Nah, Big Mac’s got everything under control. But shucks, if you’re all out of parts I s’ppose I’ll just have to come up with my own.”

Rarity fought down the urge to try shooing Applejack out of her own barn. She’d spent all morning prepping Sweetie Belle and her friends for what they’d be expected to do here, and Rarity was relatively confident they wouldn’t make a hash of it. But Applejack, ever-honest Applejack, butting in on Rarity’s carefully crafted scenario to help Twilight learn to navigate the dangerous currents of Equestrian politics?

It was a disaster waiting to happen. Rarity had to find some way to get rid of Applejack before she derailed the entire exercise.

Applejack mussed Rarity’s mane affectionately and seemed to read her mind. “Oh don’t worry, sugarcube. Everything will be as fine as frog’s hair.” She trotted past and gave the barn a quick study. “Hey! Twi! Where are you at?”

A muffled voice from outside the barn answered her. “I’m out here. Does that mean you’ve got everything set up?”

Rarity turned toward the voice, trying to smooth her mane back into its proper coiffure. She spoke quickly to wrest back control of the situation. “Yes, darling. We’re ready for you now.”

The barn door swung open and Twilight stepped inside, wearing her full royal regalia – though no dress just yet. She closed the door behind her and approached the others in a stately walk. Rarity clapped her hooves and turned back to the three fillies. “All right, girls! Remember, this is a party, so we mingle with each other too. No standing around watching Twilight the whole time. Apple Bloom, why don’t you introduce yourself first?”

Irritatingly, Applejack was the one who responded. “Sure thing, sugarcube,” she said as she walked over to Scootaloo and struck up a conversation.

As for Apple Bloom, the little filly did a wonderful imitation of a stately promenade, approaching Twilight and giving a very respectful bow.

Twilight returned the bow, not quite as deep – at least she had the behavioral niceties down, it seemed. Rarity had given her some limited clues about what to expect, so Twilight began the exchange. “Ambassador Mkali, isn’t it? Thank you for joining our celebration tonight. I hope you find it as enjoyable as we do.”

Rarity nodded along. The greeting could be more polished, of course, but Twilight had said nothing that could give offense yet.

“Thank you, Princess Twilight Sparkle. Your greeting… um… really makes my heart full.”

A cold shudder ran through Rarity. “Apple Bloom! Just because Zecora talks that way doesn’t mean all zebras do!”

Apple Bloom turned her head to glare back at Rarity. “Are you playin’ the ambassador now? ‘Cause if you’re not, why don’t you… go milk a cow!”

Twilight tried to stifle a laugh and get back into the role-play. Rarity huffed and turned away from the pair. Well, as long as Apple Bloom played her part well, it didn’t really matter if she mimicked that particular vocal tic.

“Madame Cruz,” piped a familiar voice beside her. “Shouldn’t we be discussing tonight’s arrangements, so I know what you’d like me to talk about at the Gala?”

“Hush, Sweetie. I need to listen to Twilight.”

“But Rarity, you said we were supposed to—”

“No no no, I said you were supposed to go mingle with the others. I have to watch out for mistakes so I can correct them.”

“Well, then why aren’t I playing Catalina Cruz?”

“Because you’re my assistant. Now run along and play with Scootaloo.”

“Rari—” Sweetie began, before dropping off into a heavy sigh. “Oh, forget it.”

The filly’s departure went largely unnoticed, however. Rarity was too busy listening – with mounting horror – to Twilight’s interaction with the simulated Mkali.

“I don’t know, it seems so gaudy to me, all that gold jewelry. I feel funny just wearing a tiara. I have to admit, I think it looks a lot better on you than it’d ever look on me, but I still don’t know how you zebras can stand the weight of it all.”

Before Apple Bloom could respond, Rarity leapt into the space after Twilight’s words. “Darling! No! You simply don’t say things like that!”

“But that’s what I think, when I see all that jewelry.” Twilight lowered her eyes and scuffed at the tiles with one hoof.

“Don’t you see how you’ve managed to simultaneously insult her and her culture, and make yourself out to be superior to them?”

“I… what?” Twilight blinked.

“Well, you complained about Mkali’s jewelry. Surely you see the insult in that. And then you expressed a lack of understanding for why the zebra culture would engage in the practice of wearing such jewelry. That suggests they’re frivolous, or perhaps just mentally infirm.”

“But I never meant anything like that! And how does that make me superior to them, anyway?”

“You feel funny wearing a tiara, dear. You’re an alicorn princess. You have no need for jewelry. It’s a quaint affectation of the lower classes.”

Twilight threw back her head and groaned. “Aagh! You sound just like the newspapers. I hate this all so much. So what, I’m not even allowed to have opinions any more, now that I’m a princess?”

“No, darling, you can still have opinions. You just need to express them positively. Watch.”

Rarity turned around to stand beside Twilight, flank to flank. She gave a little bow of her own to Apple Bloom. “Ambassador! How nice it is to see you here tonight. I trust the festivities are to your satisfaction?”

Apple Bloom gave a little cough. “Yes, dear princess, they are most engaging. But I must say, your dress is really amazing.”

Rarity clicked her tongue idly, but forced herself to continue. Her words came at a brisk pace, to keep anypony from having too much time to think about them. “And your jewelry as well, ambassador. I’ve always wondered what it must be like to wear Zebrican jewelry, but I must say I don’t believe it would look half as good on me as it does on you. That gold goes so well with zebra coloring, but I’m always afraid that it wouldn’t look as good with my own mane. What do you think, ambassador?”

“I could prob’ly get you some if you really wanted to try it out.” Apple Bloom shook her head as if dazed. “I mean… Aw heck, Rarity, now you got me too confused to rhyme with ‘out’.”

Rarity gave the filly a smile. “Thank you, Apple Bloom. I think that’s enough for now. Why don’t we give one of your friends a chance to talk with Twilight, and we’ll come back to Ambassador Mkali later.” Apple Bloom nodded and trotted back to where Scootaloo and Sweetie Bell stood chatting beside one of the imitation columns.

“I don’t get it,” Twilight said. “That was awfully close to what I said, wasn’t it? Why was yours okay when mine… when mine would just get me back in the headlines again?”

“Why don’t we break it down, darling? First of all, I started out with a compliment where you started out with a criticism. That puts me on solid ground to start, while you have to make up ground you’ve already lost. When I phrase my own criticism – that I’m not sure Zebrican jewelry would look very good on me – I couch it in yet another compliment. It’s not that it won’t look good on me so much as it won’t look as good as it does on the ambassador. Finally,” and here Rarity couldn’t keep a small smirk on her face, “I invite the ambassador’s opinion, effectively ensuring that the next steps of the conversation will stay in innocuous territory. Never let others dictate the conversation for you, dear. It only leads to barbs and traps, and yes, ugly headlines.

“Now why don’t we give you another dignitary with whom you can interact?” Rarity turned back toward the assemblage of fillies and called out. “Scootaloo? How would you like to introduce your General Eaglebeak to Princess Twilight?”

Scootaloo stepped out from the group, her decorative barding clanking as she moved. “Actually… I don’t think I need to, Rarity. I think Sweetie Belle and I already got all our objectives sorted out.”

“You can’t sort them all out,” Rarity said. “You have to talk to Twilight.”

“I guess, if you say so… But I’m just supposed to make sure we know whether Equestria means to attack us, right? And make sure they can’t interfere with our nation’s agenda, right?”

“Well, yes…”

“And Sweetie’s mostly supposed to make sure your shipping business becomes more profitable, right?”

“That is what my assistant should be doing.”

“Well, we did that.”

“How?”

Scootaloo paused for a moment to take a deep breath, and then her words came out in a rush. “Well, we want to make sure Equestria isn’t invading our territory, so we could sound out the princesses and the bureaucrats or we could just make sure for ourselves. Since your company does both shipping and luxury cruises, Griffonstan agrees to give your company… (’reduced port fees and tariffs,’ prompted Sweetie Belle) …yeah, in exchange for permission to put spies… (’discretely station military observers’) …on your trips between our nation and Equestria, giving us the chance to watch for any potential military buildup ourselves. Spying is always better than diplomacy, right? And then Catalina Shipping gets a big new customer with the ar— (’Griffonstani Ministry of Preemptive Defense’) —yeah, what Sweetie said. ‘Cause we’ve never been very happy with how the last Camelu war turned out. So they help us ship our… our… (’materiel’) up and down the coast, as needed, so it’s available if Equestria moves on our northern border, or for when the time comes and we decide to push south into Camelu. So even if the princesses have a problem with what we want to do, we’re firming up our position so they won’t get much of a window to interfere with our agenda. And Catalina Shipping and Catalina Cruises both get a bunch more business from our national patronage. It’s a win-win, really.”

Rarity gave an irritated shake of her mane and sent out wisps of telekinesis to find the notecards she had given to Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle. She found them and snatched them back, setting them side by side in front of her and scanning quickly.

“So did we get them!?” Sweetie Belle piped.

“Just lemme look… Darn! No cutie marks for political intrigue.”

“Maybe it’s because we were only role-playing?”

“Soo…”

“Rarity! Rarity! Can we go to Canterlot after this?”

“Absolutely not!” The two notecards shredded themselves in midair, their pieces falling to the tile in a flurry of confetti. “You… you may have executed your agendas, yes, but you both completely missed the point of the exercise!”

Applejack grinned and stepped forward to stand in front of Rarity and Twilight. “Well, in that case, I s’ppose that means it’s my turn to greet the new princess, ain’t it?”

Twilight turned to Rarity with an uncertain look. “Who’s Applejack playing? I don’t remember a fifth role.”

“There isn—”

“Well! I’m mighty pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty. I ain’t but a simple miner from down south, am I. Treasure Trove’s the name. Don’t do a whole lotta minin’ m’self, these days, though. It’s a young colt’s game, and this ol’ stallion’s gettin’ a bit long in the tooth.” Applejack gave a braying laugh.

Rarity jumped into the opening. She didn’t like where this was going. “The proper form of address for a princess of Equest—”

“—ria is ‘Your Highness’, yes, I know, I know. I hope you’ll pardon an old miner his country ways, Your Majesty, but y’see, I gots me a question. Now, the Treasure Trove Quarrying and Mining Corporation ain’t the biggest operator in Ee-questria, o’course. Nothin’ like your friend Catalina’s shipping company, tho I’ve heard some mighty suspicious rumors about their dealin’ of late. No, no, we’re just simple miners, but we heard you was fixin’ to get us access to them there gold deposits up in North Griffonstan.”

“I never said we were going to—” Twilight began.

“Well, I was just thinkin, if’n we’re gonna lay claim to those deposits, somepony ought to be responsible for the extraction and refinement, right?”

“I suppose, but it’s really not my place to award—”

“What, with all that talk about us gettin’ involved up there, you ain’t tellin’ me that were all hogwash, are ya? We gots allies that need protectin’, don’t we? Them griffons, them’s a dangerous folk. I always figured we’d be layin’ plans to deal with them as were proper, if push came to shove. Why just the other day, me an’ old Golden Horde were—”

“No!” Twilight said, horrified. “There are absolutely no plans to—”

“T’invade Griffonstan? Well, that’s a shame. Guess I’m out fifty bits!”

Applejack stopped to take a breath, and Rarity swooped in once again. “Ahem. Mr. Trove, it was very nice of you to favor the princess with your presence, but she has many ponies to see tonight, and—”

“And she still ain’t answered my question. If the princess can’t divvy up the minin’ rights, beggin’ your pardon Your Majesty, who does a stallion see about that sort of thing?”

Oh, but this was frustrating. Twilight stood speechless under the onslaught of words. This, Rarity decided, had gone on long enough. “Applejack, I really don’t think you’re—”

“What’s this, then? Princess can’t answer a simple pony’s question? What’s high-an’-mighty Missus Catalina Cruz doing, answerin’ for her. You’re manipulatin’ her, ain’t you? Poor little impressionable thing. New to princessin’ and all.”

The first shades of panic had appeared in Twilight’s eyes. “I— No! I—”

“Oh, so you’re in cahoots!” Applejack crowed. “Well you can bet folk are gonna hear ‘bout this, mark my words. This here’s colludin’ in the highest levels of governmint. There’s colludin’ going on, and the people of Ee-questria ain’t gonna stand for that!”

“Stop it!” Twilight wailed, her back legs collapsing to sit her down hard on the tiles. “Stop it, Applejack! This isn’t funny! If I can’t figure this out, they’re going to tear me apart at the Gala!”

Rarity shoved her way between Applejack and Twilight. She fixed Applejack in place with an icy stare. “Darling! You. Are. Not. Helping. Twilight needs to prepare herself for refined social interaction. Now yes, I’ll give you that she may have to deal with some uncouth louts like captains of industry from time to time, but first of all she needs to learn how to handle foreign dignitaries and other very important ponies. You just don’t understand what we’re trying to do here!”

“No, sugarcube, I don’t think you understand. This ain’t the kind of princess Twilight is, and it ain’t the kind of princess she outta try to be. I’m sure, if it were you with the wings and all the reporters trailin’ after you like a passel of farm critters, you’d be doin’ just fine. But this is our Twi, and she doesn’t see the world like you. She’s all about books, an’ schooling, an’ magic. And Equestria’s just gonna have to learn that that’s who she is.”

“But I need to do something,” Twilight said. “I’ve tried being myself for the last four months, and all it’s done is make them hate me more each day. If I can’t find some way to fix this, they’ll… Or Princess Celestia will… Oh, I don’t even know what they do with bad princesses!”

“Whoa there, girl. The press don’t hate you. They just don’t know you yet. They ain’t had a new princess in what, near enough twenty years? Most of these reporters were probably still in school back then. You don’t know how to deal with them, but they don’t know how to deal with you either. And so they’re just looking for every story they can write, no matter how bad it may make you look.

“But you’re right about one thing. You do need to do somethin’. You can’t let ‘em keep pushin’ you around like this. You gotta stop givin’ them such easy pickings on the bad stories. Just stop an’ think a couple seconds before you speak. See if you can find some way your words might be easy to misinterpret. Don’t worry about this political intrigue business of Rarity’s. Maybe you can try it in a few more years, when you feel more comfortable. But Rarity’s been thinkin’ about this sort of thing all her life – don’t you deny it, sugarcube – and it’s askin’ a lot for you to learn it all overnight.

“So, stop an’ think before you speak. And give ‘em some good stories to write about, too. Didn’t Princess Celestia ask you to cut the ribbon on that new foals’ hospital in Canterlot last week? Why don’cha try inviting a few reporters to events like that, instead of avoidin’ them all the time. Let ‘em know that you know they’re gonna be a part of your life from now on, and start showin’ em when and where you wanna deal with them. Meet ‘em on your own turf. Give ‘em some positive stories to write about for a change. I think that’ll go a long way toward fixin’ the problem.”

Rarity blinked, feeling dumbstruck. The whole barn was silent, with Twilight and the three fillies all staring at Applejack like she’d suddenly torn off her hat and revealed she was none other than Celestia herself. Finally, after about half a minute, Rarity managed to find her voice again.

“That’s… that was… very good advice, Applejack. I think you’re right.” She turned her attention to the three fillies for a moment. “Girls, thank you for your help. And thank you, Twilight, for letting me try to assist you in fixing this problem. But maybe you should listen to Applejack.”

“Are you sure about that, Rarity? You really think I’d be better off following Applejack’s advice?”

Rarity bit her lip. It wasn’t easy to admit – that she was just trying to make Twilight more like herself. But she was. Applejack’s advice really had been better. She swallowed a bit of her pride and nodded. “Yes. Yes, darling. Applejack has the right of it. I’m… I’m sorry I’ve wasted so much of your time.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, sugarcube.” Applejack gave her a firm pat on the back. “It was a good idea. I just don’t think it was the best idea for Twilight. But,” she added with a meaningful look at the princess, “it’d probably be good for you to start thinkin’ like this from time to time, Twi. ‘Cause there are still ponyfolk out there who’ll try to manipulate favors an’ the like out of you if you ain’t careful. An’ if you wanna be prepared for them, you’re gonna have to learn how to think like them. An’ I hope you don’t take no offense, Rarity, but you make a mighty fine teacher for that kind of thinkin’.”

Rarity blushed a little and smiled, taking the compliment as it was intended.

The great oak doors to the palace ballroom stood shut. Twilight could hear the cocktail-party chatter of hundreds of ponies just beyond them. The Grand Galloping Gala. This was it.

She strode forward, like the unicorns of old preparing to do battle. She strode forward… and was joined by an actual unicorn with a yellow coat and a perfectly coiffed fire-colored mane.

“Princess Sparkle? The Cabinet Office sent me to accompany you tonight. You seem to have gone into seclusion for the last three weeks, and the Secretary just wants to make sure the press don’t become overexcited by your return to public life.”

Twilight glanced over at the unicorn without breaking stride. She gave the mare one careful look before turning her attention back to the doors at the end of the hall. “Doctor Spinning Top, isn’t it? I’ve seen you at some of Celestia’s press briefings, I think.”

Twilight thought she heard the unicorn’s hoofsteps fall minutely out of rhythm at the words “some of”. Perhaps. Perhaps not. In any case, she couldn’t let herself dwell on things like that tonight. It had taken a long time to reclaim her composure to the point where she was willing to face the press again, but she’d taken Applejack’s advice to heart. And, she admitted, she’d spent a bit more time studying up on the various Canterlot dignitaries who usually attended these sorts of functions. Rarity’s ideas hadn’t been wholly wrong, not by any means.

Knowledge, after all, had always been Twilight’s weapon, and clear thinking her armor. Being a princess didn’t change who she was. It just placed her under deeper scrutiny.

“Yes, Princess,” the unicorn replied. “I am—”

“Head of the Press Office. And remarkably good at your job, from the reports I’ve read the last three weeks. I’ve been… making a bit of a study, you see.”

“Highness! I assure you, despite your previous encounters with the media, it’s hardly necessary for you to take such burdens on yourself. We are here to help you.”

“I know, doctor. But at the end of the day, you can only help me so much. The rest I have to do myself.” Nearing the doors now, Twilight turned her head and smiled at Spinning Top. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. I think you’ll be surprised what a princess can do when she puts her mind to it.”

The doors opened to a barrage of flashes. Twilight Sparkle stepped out into the glare, wearing her favorite dress.

The Rose (Original)

It was a few minutes after two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon when the rose began to change. I knew because the big cabinet clock beside the door had just chimed the hour.

I was at home, in the kitchen, getting an early start on dinner: a pumpkin-and-daisy-petal stew. Something new for my restaurant’s autumn menu. One of my better ideas that year, to be honest. Just a little sweet, with a hint of savory and a bit of a tang. Spicy miso base. The sort of thing you want when the air gets cool and the leaves start turning. It wound up as one of our best sellers. San Palomino Chorba, I think I called it.

The rose was in a glass vase on the counter, alone. An anniversary gift from my wife. She always had a deft hoof with roses, though that shouldn’t surprise anypony. You don’t get a name like Roseluck without a bit of talent.

She was out on the patio with her friends, gossiping about some new stallion in town. Can’t remember his name, not that it matters. She and Daisy were trying to get Lily interested, I think. Daisy’d had a steady for about a year then, as I remember. I heard they got married a couple months back. Big Canterlot affair. Lots of guests. Lily never showed much interest in dating, though. Didn’t stop my wife and Daisy from trying to set her up, but none of the stallions they pitched at her ever lasted more than two dates.

I remember the whole thing very clearly. I ladled up some of the stew and took a taste. Hot enough to burn my tongue. There was a hint of cumin in the flavor—I was working on getting the spices right. Outside, I heard Daisy laugh. “Oh, you should see the cannons on him, Lily. He could be a show horse, with legs like that.”

Roseluck snickered. “If you don’t want him, maybe I’ll take him. With Ember spending more time away at the restaurant, I could use an extra pair of hooves around here.” I felt my barrel tighten, and had to remind myself she was making a joke.

“You think you might keep him on for a little detail work?” Daisy asked, and her tone made it very clear what she was suggesting.

On accident, I dropped the ladle into the soup. I stared at it for a moment and then turned away. I stuck my head out the patio door and smiled. “Dinner’s ready. You three been enjoying yourselves?”

Roseluck smiled back at me. “Oh yes, honey. Just talking about the weather.”

My smile slipped a little. Just another one of Rose’s little white lies. She didn’t want me to know she and her friends had been talking about other stallions again. I turned back toward the kitchen.

Outside, I heard Roseluck laugh again. Then there was a grunt, and the laughter changed into something else. A cough, dull and liquid. It stuck in my head the way it stuck in her throat. I looked up from the stove for a moment, and I saw the rose.

It had been a deep crimson when my wife gave it to me. Almost an unnatural color. Too vibrant. She’d told me it was special, a type of rose that only grows in the heart of the Everfree Forest, a type that would stay fresh and never wilt. I don’t know how she got her hooves on it. She’d only ever seen one other, she told me. And it had some sort of magic to it, but what that was she couldn’t say. Or wouldn’t, maybe.

It had been a deep crimson. I know it had. But now it was burgundy. Darker, closer to purple. I blinked, tossed my head, stared at it. A trick of the light, I told myself. Roses don’t change color.

The coughing stopped. The voices from the patio grew softer. I couldn’t make out the words.

I fished the ladle out of the soup, and began to stir.

A month passed, and the rose slipped my mind.

Then, late on a Saturday, I found myself alone at the restaurant. Closing up for the night. I remember Roseluck and I got in a spat that morning, before work. Something unimportant—something like whose turn it was to buy fresh hay that week. Put me in a sour mood all day.

I’d just finished mopping the dining room’s hardwood floor when I heard the phone ring. The kitchen phone, not the main phone. It must have been after ten-thirty at that point. I remember the sky outside was black. I leaned the mop against one of the tables and trotted back to the kitchen, curious about who could be calling. A wrong number, maybe? The kitchen phone rarely rang at all, and never this late.

When I picked it up, I heard a clatter on the other end of the line. Something falling, something breaking. Then Lily’s voice, worried. “Ember?”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “I didn’t think you had this number.”

“I didn’t. Rose just—” Another clatter. “Ember, I think you should come home.”

I felt my brow wrinkling. “Lily, what’s going on?”

“It’s Roseluck. I stopped over to say hi, and I found her passed out in the bathroom.”

“Is she all right?”

“I don’t think so. I saw a lot of blood in the sink and—” There was a thump. “Hold on, Ember. She keeps trying to—”

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I opened my mouth to say something; I don’t know what. Then I heard a loud crash through the line. Then, silence.

A second later, a different voice spoke through the phone. “Hi, honey.”

“Rose?”

She laughed. “Of course it’s me, silly.”

“Do you want me to call the—”

“No, no, everything’s fine. I’m fine.” There was a pause, and I thought I heard her cough. “Lily just has an overactive imagination.”

Bile rose in my throat, burning. “Rose, I want to talk to Lily.”

“I told you, honey, there’s nothing wrong. Why don’t you finish up at the restaurant and—”

“Put her on the phone.” I felt my hoof twitch, like it wanted to kick.

There was another cough, clearer this time. Then her voice came back, nervous. “Sorry, honey. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later tonight, okay? Bye.” The phone clicked once and fell silent.

I held the phone for half a minute, staring at it, wondering what had just happened. I felt dazed, at first. And then angry—so angry. I don’t know where it came from. I mean, Roseluck always had her little secrets. I knew that before I married her. Some things, she only shared with Daisy and Lily. Some things, she didn’t even share with them. She had her secrets, but never about anything important. Just little things, like where she went to collect the blue roses she sold every winter, or how she always knew where to find the mayor at every hour of every day.

But this? I couldn’t stop worrying about what Lily had said. Passed out. Blood. And whatever it was, Rose didn’t want me to know about it. I felt the bile rise again. I felt a pounding ache in my temples.

I threw the phone. I don’t know why—I’m not usually a violent stallion. But it felt like the only thing I could do. I threw it, and it clanged against a large iron sauce pan. The pan fell over, and the remains of a thick tomato borscht sloshed onto the floor, leaving a red splatter across the white tile. I stared at it for a moment, and I felt a stab of rage. Then, as quick as a whinny, it subsided. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and went back into the dining room to fetch the mop.

When I returned home, close on midnight, Roseluck was already asleep. And the rose—sitting in its glass vase and looking as fresh as the day it was cut—the rose was an ugly purple color, like a day-old bruise.

The next morning, Roseluck didn’t wake up. Usually she rises a couple hours before me, but that morning I woke to see her still in bed beside me. I smiled, at first, blinking away the sleep in my eyes. Then the memory of the previous night came back, and with it, the taste of bile. I called her name softly, but she did not stir. I felt my heartbeat quicken again, and I reached out a hoof to shake her awake. She didn’t respond. For a moment, I began to panic—but she was still warm. Her barrel still rose and fell with steady breaths. If anything, she looked peaceful.

I leapt from the bed and called over to the hospital, and they sent Doctor Horse out to our home. I went back to our bedroom and sat, watching Roseluck. She seemed smaller than I remembered, but fear has a way of clouding your vision and making you see things that aren’t there. The doctor arrived after about five minutes, blowing as if he’d galloped the whole way from his office. A little surge of relief shot through me, to see him like that. It made me feel like I was right to worry, like that moment of panic was justified. I’m not the kind of stallion who panics easily—though I suppose that may be hard to believe, after everything that happened.

I don’t remember a whole lot of what followed. The doctor poked and prodded at her, like doctors always do. He said a few things I didn’t really understand, with words like tachycardia and syncope. And then a pair of burly stallions in white smocks arrived, with a stretcher slung between them. The doctor and the stallions maneuvered Roseluck onto the stretcher, and carried her away. I told them I wanted to come with them, but one of the stallions frowned at me and shook his head. They left me alone, in a home that felt more empty than one mare’s absence could explain.

Still I sat, on the bedroom floor. Minutes passed. An hour. The phone rang, but I didn’t answer it.

I should have gone in to work. I know that. The restaurant opens at half past eleven, and it always draws a good crowd for lunch. Soup Spoon would be there to look after things, of course, but it was my restaurant. My job. And yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it—to rise and leave, to trot halfway across town, to face the vacant stares of hungry ponies, ignorant of any problems but their own. What right did they have to demand my time? Roseluck was… I didn’t even know. Sick? Dying?

I wanted to yell. I wanted to throw things. The phone rang again, and I felt the overwhelming urge to smash it, to rip it from the wall and try to crush it beneath my hooves. The urge was wrong, I knew. Civilized ponies don’t lash out in anger. Civilized ponies control their tempers. Thoughts stampeded through my mind—dark thoughts. What was wrong with Rose? Why didn’t she want me to know? Was she… would she be okay? What had happened between her and Lily, the night before?

Why was— I felt a hitch in my throat. I tried to swallow it down, but found only a raw pain. Why was she lying to me?

The word stuck in my mind. Lying. Ugly, sharp, and barbed. Lying. Why was she lying?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I looked for calmness, for emptiness. Gradually, I found it. It came in a rhythm with the tick of the old cabinet clock Rose kept by the door. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Lying.

The phone rang again, and I rose at last. My withers were stiff, and I had to roll my neck before I could get comfortable. I walked to the kitchen and picked up the phone.

“Ember Stock?”

“Yes?”

“This is the Ponyville Hospital.”

I took another breath, but said nothing.

“Sir? Are you—”

“Yes. How is she?”

“Your wife is… She’s fine, sir. She’s sleeping, now, but we had her awake for about half an hour. She’ll have to be careful in the future, but Doctor Horse doesn’t think there will be any lasting damage.”

I glanced up, and my eyes settled on the rose. Bruised purple, the same as last night. Rose had said it was special, magical, but she hadn’t said how.

“Sir?”

I stared at it, and felt a sudden wash of fear. Hadn’t it begun changing color the evening I’d heard that awful cough from Rose? I was sure it had been red, a beautiful crimson, when she first gave it to me. And it had darkened again last night, after… after whatever had made Lily panic and call the restaurant. I probably should have talked to her, tried harder to find out what she knew.

“Mister Stock, maybe it would be best if you stopped by the hospital in person. You could see your wife and talk with Doctor Horse yourself.”

“She’s fine? You’re sure of that?” My eyes narrowed.

A pause. “You should talk to Doctor Horse. But yes, your wife is fine.”

I stared at the rose and felt my barrel tighten. Again, the sound of the cabinet clock sounded in my ears. Tick. Tick. Lying. Tick. Tick. Lying.

“I’ll come by in a little while. When I get off work. Will the doctor still be there tonight?”

“I… I think so, sir. If you’ll give me a minute to check—”

I turned away from the rose to replace the phone on its cradle. When I looked back, the rose was black as midnight.

So I went to the restaurant, same as any other day. Soup Spoon was relieved to see me, even though the midday rush had passed. He asked me whether there had been some sort of problem, and I told him no, everything was fine, though I’d probably leave a little early that evening. He took it in stride.

We cooked, we cleaned, we waited tables. It’s a small restaurant, and two stallions are plenty for the work that needs doing. It was a slow day, a Sunday, when most ponies were out enjoying the early autumn air and watching the leaves creep from green to gold to red. For a while, I was able to lose myself in the steady rhythms of the job. But the image of the black rose was burned into my mind, and no amount of chopping carrots could make it go away.

Black. When had a rose ever been black? They were white, or pink, or yellow. Red or purple. Roseluck had told me about a green rose, once, that grew far away in the Griffon kingdoms. But black? Never black.

A part of me knew what it must mean. Roseluck wasn’t getting better. She was getting worse, much worse. The hospital was wrong, or—Tick, tick, lying. I turned away from the stove, looking for the clock, but there was no clock in the restaurant kitchen. My hoof brushed against the stove top. Pain. I pulled back with a hiss. Looking down, I saw a black scar across the hoof. Some of the hairs in my fetlock charred and curled. Burnt. I roared, and kicked the hoof into a stock pot, and for a moment the pain seemed to vanish. The pot crashed against the wall behind the stove, and a viscous orange sludge spilled out from the top.

Soup Spoon poked his head into the kitchen, wide-eyed. “Ember? Are you sure you’re all right?”

I reached down and turned off the stove, ignoring the pain in my hoof. “I’m fine, Soup. Just a bit of a burn. Nothing to worry about.” Tick, tick, lying. My ear twitched.

He glanced at the stock pot, frowning. His lips tightened, but he said nothing. I walked to the sink, plugged it, and started to run a bath of cold water. I set my hoof in it, and after another brief shock of pain, the sensation began to ease. I felt the blood vessels near my hoof begin to throb, in another steady rhythm.

“Y’know, Ember, we’ve only got three customers out there. If you want to get going, I think I can manage.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “What about the dinner rush?”

Soup frowned at me. “It’s eight o’clock. This is the dinner rush.”

I stared at the water for a while, silent, letting the pulse of blood rumble in my ears.

“Go home, Ember.”

I nodded.

The sky outside was a dark, rich blue—the color you get about an hour past sunset. It’s a pretty color, made beautiful by the stars, like little flecks of silver and gold floating through the water. I didn’t go home, of course. I went to the hospital.

There was a nurse at the receiving desk when I arrived. She told me where to find my wife, and she said she’d let the doctor know I’d arrived. There was a vase full of roses on the corner of the desk: pink, and red, and peach. I thanked her and headed up the stairs.

Roseluck’s room was on the second floor, near the end of the hall. I could see light spilling from the doorframe, even at a distance. Most of the rooms were dark and vacant. I found her asleep on one of the room’s two beds. The other one was empty. Something felt wrong about making her sleep with the light on, so I flipped a switch on the wall and her room grew dark as well. There was a stool beside the bed, and I took a seat there, watching her in the moonlight.

She stirred, after a minute, and smiled when she saw me. “Ember!” Her voice was weak.

“Hi, Rose.” I smiled back at her.

“They told me I’m in the hospital. I’m sorry, about this morning.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “No need to worry.”

A clock ticked away on the table beside her bed. I tried to ignore it.

“Listen, honey, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. I know already.”

She blinked. “You do?”

I tried to keep the smile on my face. “I figured it out.”

A fit of coughing came over her, and she turned her head into her pillow. I pinched my eyes shut, but in the darkness, all I could see was the black-petaled rose.

“The doctor says you’re going to be fine,” I continued, rising to my hooves. There was still a bit of pain, from where I’d burned myself an hour before.

The smile on her face widened. “Well, that’s great, isn’t it!”

I felt the corners of my mouth begin to slip. “Of course, he hasn’t seen the rose.”

Roseluck looked at me in confusion. “What do you mean, Ember?”

“The rose. The one you gave me, for our anniversary.”

She shook her head a little. “The one Zecora showed me, from the Everfree Forest?” She coughed again, and I felt a stab of pain at the sound. “I don’t understand.”

“You told me it was magical.”

“Yes,” she rasped. “It’s tied to its owner. When I gave it to you—”

“It turned black this morning.” I sighed, turning away and reaching for the pillow on the empty bed beside her. The bedside clock ticked incessantly.

Roseluck let out a small whimper. “No. It can’t be black. You can’t—”

I shoved the pillow down over her face. She struggled a little, but she was still too weak. I felt bile welling up in my throat once again, and a sudden rush of anger. Why had she lied to me? Did she really expect me to sit there, day after day, watching as sickness took her? This was a mercy, I knew. She’d suffer less. I’d suffer less. Everyone would be happier this way. I could hear her trying to cry out beneath the pillow. Listening to that voice was too painful. I focused on the sound of the clock, and closed my eyes. It still sounded wrong in my ears.

Tick. Tick. Lying.

Tick. Tick. Lying.

Tick. Tick.

Tick.

The doctor found me there, standing over her corpse in the darkness, the pillow clutched between my hooves. He yelled something at me, but all I could hear was the gentle rhythm of the clock. Then two burly stallions, maybe the same two who brought Rose to the hospital, hauled me away from the bed. I didn’t resist. I’d done what I had to do. I’d put a stop to the suffering, for both of us.

They wanted to throw me in jail, but Ponyville doesn’t have a jail. I tried to explain to them what happened, that I’d only done it because I loved her, but no one listened to me. Eventually, they decided to ship me off to Canterlot and let the princesses take care of me themselves. The castle has a dungeon, after all—you can hardly have a castle without a dungeon. At one point, Daisy and Lily came by to stare at me. None of us said anything. Then Daisy started crying, and they had to leave. That was a long time ago.

The only pony I ever see now is the princess, the pink one. She comes by once a month, and we talk—mostly about cooking, but sometimes about Roseluck. She seems so sad, whenever she talks to me.

I told her about the rose, once. She said she recognized it. Rosa vulneris, she called it. She said it was tied to the love in a pony’s heart, and that’s why she knew it. But she was lying, of course. Everypony lies.

Keskiyönnon (Original)

Northwest of Canterlot, perched high in the boughs of an ancient oak tree, there is a city of soaring towers and deep shadows. Its name is Keskiyönnon.

From a distance the city is all but invisible, dwarfed by the tree and its foliage. Few ponies remember the city's name, fewer still have seen it, and only two have walked its leaf-strewn streets.

To the unicorns of nearby Vanhoover, the tree is a minor tourist attraction. It has a forked trunk where lighting struck the tree when it was a sapling, more than a thousand years gone. On the east side, its branches spread over the headwaters of the Farrier River. Straight white limbs stretch toward the sunshine that dapples the water's surface. On this side, the tree reaches its greatest height, climbing over two hundred feet in the air and providing shade to colonies of trout and salmon who live below. On the west side, the tree's branches are gnarled and stunted, and its leaves have a sickly look.

In the morning, the tree's eastern half shades its western half, giving it less light by which to grow. In the afternoon, the peaks of the Unicorn Range throw early shadows across its boughs. While the eastern half of the tree grows straight and true, the western half is a tangle of branches, each fighting the others for the day's few precious rays of light.

For centuries, the unicorns of Vanhoover called the tree "The Oak of the Two Sisters", for reasons that hardly bear repeating. The builders of Keskiyönnon named the tree Tammen Tellervo, for their mythical ancestor who first led them to it. Little else remains of the Kainen Tellervo, the folk of Tellervo. Even their name is consigned to a few dusty scraps in the archives of the Canterlot library, neither seen nor spoken in many long years.

Much like the oak itself, the city is a place of opposing halves. It bridges the center of the tree, with long avenues criss-crossing from east to west—through the straight-limbed branches that climb over the Farrier's headwaters and through the tangled boughs that writhe beneath the shadow of the mountains. If a pegasus were to rest in the mountains' shade, perched in the canopy of Vyyhti (as the darker half of the Tammen Tellervo was once called), she might just be able to discern the outer towers of Keskiyönnon in the exposed branches of Torni, the tree's lighter half. Although these towers once marked the sole entrance to the city, they—like much of Keskiyönnon—have fallen into ruin.

But say, for a moment, that a visitor were able to enter the city. Say she were able to walk its streets like the Kainen Tellervo of long ago. What would she find there?

In the dappled sunlight of the Torni Oak, spiraling towers soar into the air. They are woven from carefully sculpted branches, and each year they grow taller. The tops of these towers are verdant explosions, as the braided branches unwind and seek the light. In the days of the Kainen Tellervo, perhaps the towers were less wild, more restrained. Only two ponies remember, and they do not speak of this place.

Between the living towers lie ancient roads of woven reeds. An earth pony, steeped in the lore of stones and structures, might call them bridges instead—but no earth pony has ever seen this place. The roads of Keskiyönnon stretch from tower to tower, often ascending or descending as they go. In many places they vaulting over one another in an endless game of leapfrog.

Unlike the towers, the roads are as dead as the city they inhabit. Below the tree, in the long months of summer, bulrushes grow tall along the water's edge. The Kainen Tellervo made a science of harvesting these bulrushes—learning which were lightest, and which were sturdiest; how best to gather them, and how to braid them. They mastered the subtle magic of anchoring their reed roads to the towers they grew, and of treating those roads so they could endure over the long years they expected their city to stand.

Scattered among the towers are the ruins of many smaller structures, low and flat, made from both reed and living wood. What these buildings were, who can say? Long years of the Torni Oak's growth have broken them apart and left them open to the spring rains and winter snows. Only their shells remain now.

In the middle of the Torni Oak, one tower stretches taller than the rest. It is thick at the base and tapers little as it rises. Once, this was the heart of the city—where the rulers of the Kainen Tellervo would gather to pass laws and sit in judgment. Along the outer walls, flecks of silver paint can still be seen. Glassless windows dot its circumference and mark out twenty-two stories climbing through the canopy. The tower's sole entrance faces east—toward the dawn and away from the darker side of the tree.

Inside this tower, twin staircases spiral upward along the walls. A single large atrium comprises the first floor, with a long channel rising up through the center of the tower and revealing the open sky overhead, beyond the treetop. The floor of the tower is tiled in colored stones. A hint of their long-ago polish can still be seen near the tower's edges, but toward the center dark stains spill unevenly across them.

Ascending through the tower, the upper floors are all a shambles. Some show rooms that are open to the central column, and wind has battered these over the long years since Keskiyönnon's occupation. Some show warrens of walled chambers, not exposed to the elements, but here too are ruins. Tumbled statues to Tellervo and her parents, Mielikki and Tapio. Sturdy reed-woven furnishings overturned and broken.

Back outside, a single road—wider than the rest—leads from the base of this tower into the depths of the Vyyhti Oak. Fallen leaves coat its surface, exposing few of the ancient reeds. Those reeds are pitted and scarred, despite the enchantments once laid upon them. Thin grooves mark where wheels once bit into the path, carrying tribute carts up to the high tower.

Few remain who remember Keskiyönnon, but once its name was known in every corner of the land. The elegant capital of the Kainen Tellervo, most graceful of all the equine races—so it was described in the homes of pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies alike. None could visit, but all heard its stories. The noble families, each with their own tower. The arenas and amphitheaters, where mares and stallions would perform for the enjoyment of their betters. The Spire of Governance. The Heart of the Tree.

This was the Keskiyönnon all ponies knew.

The wide road descends from the Torni Oak into the Vyyhti Oak. As it passes the border between the tree's two halves, the atmosphere changes perceptibly. Dappled sunlight gives way to thick, clinging shadows. Even in the gentlest breeze, the branches here creak and moan. It is not an ominous sound; rather, it is like the sigh of a pegasus, stretching her wings after too long on the ground.

The Torni Oak is orderly and proper, accustomed to the ease of abundant sun and sweet water. The Vyyhti Oak is chaotic and angry, fighting its twin for the resources it needs to survive.

At its terminus, the wide road empties into a circular plaza. The ground here is formed from twining branches. They are rough and uneven, leaving bumps and pits throughout the plaza—but they are also densely woven, with hardly a hairsbreadth of space between them. While the Keskiyönnon of Torni Oak is light and vaulting, dancing in the air, the Keskiyönnon of Vyyhti Oak is thick and solid.

Long rows of squarish buildings line the plaza, rough shapes that are hard to discern in the ever-present shadows. Drawing closer, it becomes clear that they are hewn from the tree itself, cut into the ever-present tangle of thick branches. Against some of the façades rest discarded scraps of wood—fragments of carts and wheels, long staves, warped boards that were once part of barrels before their bindings rusted away in the long years of solitude. How the wood has survived this long is a secret lost to the ages, but it gleams as if lit from within.

In some places, the wood is scarred and broken. In others, it retains the same smooth finish it must have held centuries ago.

The buildings themselves are small and windowless, very different from the towers of the Torni Oak. Many contain furnishings of simple elegance. Others hold small metal tools of very fine make, shining with the same light as the scraps of wood outside. Axes and planing knives, enormous shears and pliers.

There is no metal in the Torni Oak.

Between the rows of buildings, other branches twist deeper into the canopy. Some show signs of having been planed flat, while others are rough and covered in bark. Along all but one, more houses stand, running back and back into the shadows of the Vyyhti Oak. There is little to distinguish any of them.

The one remaining path appears newer than the rest—newer, even, than it should. Centuries have passed since the last of the Kainen Tellervo set hoof in this place, but the path is well tended, free of leaves and with ample space around it in the ubiquitous tangle of branches. The path spirals downward to a place far below the city, and at its end sits an enormous stone, buried in the bole of the tree. The path leads to a small hole in the base of the stone.

Inside, the stone is hollow, excavated by generations of laborers. The air is heavy with the musty smell of paper. Were a visitor to come here, there would be no light—but were there light, that visitor would see row upon row of books lining the walls of this chamber. She would be able to peruse volumes of the great Gryffon philosophers, translated into a long-forgotten script of dots and whorls. She would be able to learn what earth ponies knew of economics in the late antiquity, and read the cloud-poetry of the pegasus diaspora. Within the stone, all of these remain carefully preserved.

She would also see rows of tables filled with maps: the tangled limbs of the Vyyhti Oak and the towering branches of the Torni Oak, the broad avenues of Keskiyönnon, floorplans of the verdant towers and the Spire itself. She would see the dark stains on the floor, the jumbled piles of bone and cloth. She would see the battered helm of a guard captain and the pitted steel of a spearhead that was never cleaned.

The sharp cries for mercy would never reach her ears. The rank, mettalic stench of fear would never reach her nose. But perhaps she would be able to understand the anger that suffused this place, deep beneath Keskiyönnon.

Perhaps she would retrace her steps, revisit the squat homes in the Vyyhti Oak and see again the fine craftsmanship of the furnishings, so unlike the mean structures themselves. Perhaps she would ascend the long road to the upper city, noting once more the grooves made by carts pushed along the woven reeds. Perhaps she would return to the Spire and wonder about the stains arrayed across the mosaic floor, the tumbled statues of Tellervo and her kin.

Perhaps she would turn east, then—toward the headwaters of the Farrier River, and beyond it to Galloping Gorge. To the place where a princess had once banished the least of her subjects, for breaking laws they had every right to break.

The breezies are all that remain now of the Kainen Tellervo, and few of them know the stories of their ancient home. What stories survive are treated as fables for children, nonsense tales meant to teach common sense lessons. Perhaps it is best that they do not remember the truth—Keskiyönnon was dead long before it fell.

Purple Prose, or A Night at the Clopera (Original)

     Forty-three hours and nineteen minutes. That was how long had passed since The Idea wormed its way into her head. That was how long had passed since the last time she’d slept.

     Twilight fought back a yawn while her quill scritched across the half-full page in front of her. Twenty-two more lay nearby, covered in her thin, quick scrawl. Twenty-two and a half pages, of words that nopony could ever be allowed to see.

     Forty-three hours and nineteen minutes. Twenty-two and a half pages. About two ponies. And one desperately humiliating Idea.

     Counting helped her stay awake.

     “C’mon, Twilight. Turn out the lights and come to bed already.” Spike’s restless voice echoed down from the library’s second floor. “Whatever’s got you so upset, it’s nothing a little sleep can’t fix.”

     Twilight gave a bitter laugh. Sleep? That was the worst thing she could do. The absolute worst. Under no circumstances could she let herself sleep.

     If she fell asleep, even for a few minutes... Twilight shuddered. She couldn’t take the chance. Not until she was done writing, anyway. Not until The Idea was out of her system, out of her mind. She couldn’t risk dreaming about it.

     She couldn’t take the chance that Luna might see it.

Luna bent forward, touching her horn to mine and kissing me with all the passion of a warm summer night. Her scent, like blooming lilacs, filled and surrounded me.

“Oh Princess,” I moaned, my eyes rolling back in ecstasy. “Ohhh, Luna...”

A rustling sound, as the sheets moved and she maneuvered atop me. The light of the moon cascaded through her starry mane as she began to knock on the door.

     Twilight stared down at the page. What?

     Again, somepony knocked on the library’s door. Spike grumbled something unintelligible.

Who in Equestria wants to talk to me at this time of night, Twilight wondered. She stood and made her way to the entrance, bumping against her work table as she went. It took a few seconds of bleary-eyed fumbling before she could open the door to the library.

     “Twilight! You look absolutely dreadful!” Rarity marched inside, a scarf around her neck and a pot of delicious-smelling coffee floating in the air behind her.

     “Rarity, why’re you... izzat coffee?”

     “Of course it is, darling. You could hardly expect your dear friend Rarity to leave you in such an obvious state of distress without offering her assistance, now could you?” The white unicorn levitated a pair of mugs out of one of the cabinets and trotted to the table where Twilight had been writing.

     The sound of footfalls on the library steps announced Spike’s arrival. “What’re you doing here, Rarity? It’s the middle of the night.” The baby dragon’s jaw creaked as his mouth opened in a monstrous yawn.

     “I can’t rightly say that I know,” Rarity said as she poured out two cups of steaming coffee. “But when I saw Twilight shopping for new quills this morning, it was obvious from the state of her hair that she didn’t sleep last night. And then she never appeared for our appointment at the spa this afternoon! How could anypony miss a chance at a hooficure, unless something truly dire was at stake?”

     Twilight rubbed a hoof against her temple. Had she really forgotten to meet Rarity? Well, maybe. “I... Um... I’m sorry, Rarity? But, uh, thank you for the coffee, and why don’t you head home and get some sleep.”

     “Oh, nonsense, darling. I’m here to help!” A mug of the aromatic brew floated toward Twilight. She snagged it from the air and took a grateful sip, feeling some much-needed warmth and energy flowing into her. Rarity patted a seat at the table and motioned for Twilight to join her. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you, dear?”

     Instinctively, Twilight’s eyes went to the pages of text sitting on the table a few feet from Rarity. She regretted the reaction almost immediately.

     Rarity, always with a keen observer’s eye, noticed the look Twilight gave the sheets of parchment. “Mmm. Something to do with these, then?” She reached out with one hoof to pull the pages closer.

     “No! I mean...” Panic-stricken, Twilight’s horn flared to life and the pages levitated away from Rarity. To somewhere safe. Like the high shelf above the fireplace that Spike couldn’t reach. “I mean, those don’t have anything to do with it. Actually, there’s no problem at all!” Twilight laughed nervously.

     “That’s not true, Twilight. You haven’t slept in two days now.” Spike plopped himself down beside Rarity, stuffing one claw over his mouth to cover another yawn. “And I haven’t seen you write this much since that time you tried to convince Princess Celestia to make the life of Star Swirl the Bearded a required part of the third-grade curriculum for all colts and fillies.”

     Rarity sipped at her coffee. “Star Swirl the who, dear?”

     Twilight had to finish the story. She had to finish. She took a long swallow from her own mug, burning her mouth – but by Celestia, the pain would help keep her awake! “It’s nothing. I promise. Now why don’t you go back to bed, Spike, and I’ll see Rarity out.”

     “Nah, I wanna hear what’s got you in such a tizzy. Not like I’m gonna get much sleep with you scratching away down here all night, anyway.”

     “Spike...” Twilight growled. “How would you like it if I told Rarity about the picture you keep under your pillow?”

     Rarity blinked. “Twilight? You don’t sound well. Why ever would I care about—”

     But Spike was already on his feet, as solicitous a host as ever, thanking Rarity for her kindness and consideration and ushering her toward the library door.

     “Wait, but what about Twilight? She’s distressed! She needs me! Spikey, why are you—”

     “—was so nice that you came to visit us, Rarity. You’re such a wonderful friend. But you should really be getting home, don’t you think? It’s late, and you need your beauty sleep. I mean, what would other ponies say if they saw the bags under your eyes? We’re your friends, so we don’t care, but...”

     “Bags!? Under my eyes!?” Rarity gave a plaintive shriek and hurried out the door. “Why... Of course. Thank you, Spike. Twilight, we can talk about this tomorrow, can’t we?”

     Spike closed the door on Rarity without waiting for Twilight to respond. “That wasn't fair, Twilight. You know how I... I mean, nopony threatens a dragon like that.” He glared at her, looking distinctly hurt.

     Twilight sighed. “I’m sorry, Spike. I really am. But you don’t understand – I need to finish this.” She levitated the pages back down from the shelf where she’d hidden them and re-inked her quill.

     “Are you almost done, at least? You really do need to get some sleep, Twilight.”

     “I’m close, I think. But... Please, Spike. Can you please just go back to bed and let me try to get this stupid story out of my head?”

     “I guess... but if your writing keeps waking me up again, you’re gonna be on your own for Re-shelving Day tomorrow.” Grumbling, Spike climbed back up the stairs.

     Her writing had kept him up last night? That didn't make any sense. “I promise, Spike. I’ll try to finish as quick as I can.” A magenta glow enfolded Twilight’s horn, and her quill returned to the half-full page before her. She fought back a yawn and took up where she’d left off.

The light of the moon cascaded through her starry mane as she began to knock on the door. caress my hide, her hooves playing gracefully over my sensitive skin.

I reached up and tried to pull her mouth down to mine once more – I was greedy for the sweet taste of her lips, for the warmth of her tongue teasing against my own – but Luna only laughed, nipping playfully at the skin above my hoof. “Hast thou not yet had enough of kissing, Twilight? The night was made for finer things than this. I, of all ponies, should know.”

“But I’ve never... I mean, sometimes with myself maybe... but...” A shudder exploded through my body as Luna did something creative. “I mean... Ooohhhh... Wh-what if Princess Celestia found out, or—”

“My sister knows well of my feelings for thee, Twilight Sparkle.” Luna giggled, leaning forward to kiss me again. Something else moved as well, and I found myself mewling into her teasing lips.

     Oh Celestia, the coffee wasn’t helping. Not enough anyway. Twilight looked up from the page to find her mug empty. She felt warmth suffusing her, like a rising tide, and her face was red and flushed. Had the coffee really been hot enough to cause that sort of a physiological reaction?

     It must have been. What else could explain how Twilight’s body felt?

     She blinked heavy eyelids and sucked in a rattling breath, turning back to the page.

Something else moved as well, and I found myself mewling into her teasing lips.

“Truly, thy beauty shines best when thou art so... flustered.” Luna caressed my mane even as she tortured my body with her slow gyrations.

“Please, Luna,” I moaned. “Just get this over with. I need to sleep, and I can’t sleep until you’re out of my head. Or you’ll... umm... be in my head.”

“You’re losing the thread of the story, aren’t you?” Luna frowned down at me. “You know what that means.”

     Twilight moaned softly, her eyelids fluttering. Why was it so hard to stay awake? She just needed to make Luna... make Luna...

     “Oh, damn it, just take me already! I can’t deal with this!”

     “Twilight? Why am I in thy bed? And what art thou—”

     Desperate, Twilight pulled Luna close and forced their lips together once more. The princess seemed to resist for a moment, but her reticence wavered and soon she was returning the passion in Twilight’s kiss.

     “Luna, please! Whatever it is you’re going to do, just do it!” Tears of shame and lust watered Twilight’s eyes. “You have to help me get to sleep!”

     Luna grinned, and the bright glow of the moon put a mischievous light in her eyes. “Thou art already asleep, Twilight. But if that is thy desire...”

     “No,” she whispered. Mounting horror crept over her, and Twilight’s eyes grew more and more panicked. “No... I tried so hard... You weren’t supposed to find out...” A sob shook her body, and the tears began rolling down her face.

     “But I like finding out!”

     Despite being out like a light, Twilight gasped as if an unexpected wave of pleasure had just flooded through her. The table rattled, knocked about by her unconscious twitching.

     Groaning, Spike grabbed an extra pillow and shoved it down over his head.