Just Like Her
“Of two sisters, one is always the watcher, one the dancer.”
—Louise Glück
~
Rarity hummed while she fed another piece of fabric through her sewing machine. In her magic, she juggled needles, thread, measuring tape, and other necessities. She glanced out the window for a moment before resuming her work.
Once this stitch was complete, Rarity smiled, then moved on to the next task. Though there was an undeniable spring in her step, there was a definite purpose in her movements.
After all, Sapphire Shores never gave her the most flexible of deadlines.
While she perused various rolls of fabric—each color and pattern either too bright or not bright enough—Rarity recalled Sapphire Shores’s unexpected arrival the day prior.
Yesterday, only a moment after she had laid down on the couch with a piping hot cup of tea, a fashion magazine, and Opal, somepony had rang that blasted doorbell. The intrusion not only startled Rarity, but her cat, too, as her torn couch cushions testified.
While Rarity would have pointed most customers to the “CLOSED” sign hanging in the window, the Pony of Pop was a definite exception. After Rarity had landed safely on a fainting couch, hyperventilated for a few minutes, and composed herself, she’d invited the superstar in.
Shortly afterwards, Sapphire announced her latest order: Seven new dresses.
And, as Miss Shores had pointed out with a melodious urgency, the ensembles needed to be completed by Friday for a weekend-long charity concert.
Sapphire had put in her request Monday. Tuesday was now halfway over and fading fast.
Rarity selected a roll of burgundy cloth. “This will be perfect for Sapphire to wear during her first number!” she said with a grin.
Rarity glanced towards Opal, who was lying on the newly repaired couch on her back, her paws in the air. “Ooh, don’t you think so, Opal?”
Opal meowed, rolled over, and batted at a spool of thread.
Nodding, Rarity surmised, “I suppose you’re right. Burgundy is more of a fall color anyway.”
With a sigh, Rarity levitated the roll of burgundy cloth back to its shelf, then returned to browsing. She glanced over at her feline friend and held up a roll of high-quality blue silk. “However… Perhaps this one is too much?”
Another meow. Then, Opal sat up, lifted a hindleg, and began cleaning herself.
Rarity looked away, scrunching her snout. “Oh, Opal, that is most uncouth for a lady to do in public. And I must respectfully disagree—silk is not too fancy for a charity event.” Forgetting her disgust, she stretched out the roll and selected a pair of scissors. With a few delicate snips, she cut a large piece of fabric and placed it on her workstation.
For the next few minutes, Rarity lost herself in the joy and wonder of creation. Neither the clamor of outside passerby, nor Opal’s self-appreciative purring interrupted her stern focus. Her tools rotated in her aura as she continued, occasionally wiping sweat off her brow.
Rarity measured and traced her pattern, sacrificing no millimeter of the expensive, rare material. When the final line had been drawn, she took up the scissors again and began to carefully cut. A master carpenter would have marveled at the straightness of her lines and her supreme attention to even a fraction of a measurement.
After the first piece for the first dress had been cut, Rarity laid it out on a ponyquin and studied it. Though she had Sapphire Shores’s measurements memorized by this point, one could never be too precise. And Celestia help her if Sapphire had any sort of “wardrobe malfunction” during her performance.
Though it took her a few minutes of contemplation, Rarity finally determined that this piece was as perfect as a mortal pony could hope to create. She moved on to the next section without missing a beat, grabbing the blue silk and unrolling a large swath of it once more.
Rarity had just picked up the scissors again when she heard a rapid knocking at the door. With a startled gasp and a jolt, the scissors tumbled to the floor.
“Oh, who could that be?” Rarity groaned, emerging from the workroom in a huff. “And I was in the zone,” she added under her breath, straightening her coiffed mane while she headed down the stairs.
The same knocking resumed, louder this time.
“Just a moment, please!”
When she reached the door, Rarity cleared her throat and gave her mane one last brush before sparking her horn. Closing her eyes and mustering a smile, she opened the door and announced, “Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where everything is chic, unique, and magn—”
“Hi Rarity!”
Rarity opened her eyes.
On the front step was a grinning Sweetie Belle, a pair of full saddlebags on her back.
“Oh… Hello, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity said. She looked around, finding no sign of two certain other rambunctious fillies. “I thought you were going crusading today.”
“Me too!” Sweetie hopped up and down on her hooves, making a little squeaking noise.
Rarity raised an eyebrow. “So… you are?”
“You are what?”
“No, you, Sweetie Belle.”
Sweetie giggled and pointed a hoof up at Rarity. “No, you, Rarity!”
Confused, Rarity gave a weak chuckle and rephrased the question. “Um… Are you going to be going crusading today? I’m a bit confused, darling.”
As suddenly as Discord exchanged day with night, Sweetie’s smile flopped into a frown. “Oh. No. No crusading today.”
“Why ever not, dear?”
Sweetie brushed past her sister and stepped into the Boutique. “Well… Remember that thing that happened with Iron Will?” she asked with a sigh.
As Rarity closed the door behind them, visions of four fillies clothed in security officer’s uniforms danced rather ungracefully through her mind.
When Iron Will had scheduled a second “assertiveness training” seminar in Ponyville, all of his security officers had fallen ill with the billygoat flu. In a tragic lack of foresight, he’d hired the Cutie Mark Crusaders (including Apple Bloom’s visiting cousin, Babs) to assist in their stead.
For some reason, Rarity and Sweetie’s parents had found the entire ordeal to be somewhat laughable. From what Applejack had told Rarity, it seemed that none of the other fillies had gotten off just as easily.
Rarity sighed. “They’re still grounded, aren’t they?”
Sweetie slung her saddlebags off her back and groaned. “Yeeeeees. And now I have nothing to do all week!”
Rarity stuck her nose in the air and harrumphed. “Serves them right for ‘arresting’ Mayor Mare and knocking out poor Mister Waddle.”
Sweetie protested, “But Mayor Mare said Mister Waddle had a war—”
“Torn past, which led to his unfortunate condition. You fillies should have known better!” Rarity scolded.
Sweetie crossed her forehooves and smirked. “Well, Mom and Dad don’t think so.”
“Sweetie Belle! Watch your tone!” Rarity chided, giving her a stern glare. Sweetie immediately began to pout, sniffling and widening her eyes.
Mindful of last year’s Sisterhooves Social—and unable to completely resist those pleading eyes—Rarity softened her expression a bit. “Annnyway…” Stealing a glance up the stairs, she said, “I have quite a lot of work to do today, and I thought you were going to be crusading this week.”
Sweetie slumped down on her haunches and kept her forehooves crossed. “Me too.”
Another sigh. This day was not going as planned. Again, Rarity glanced at her sister, who merely stared back at her with expectant eyes, seeming to telepathically beg for her attention.
Sweetie Belle staying for dinner or even the night was nothing new. As soon as Rarity had become a mare and bought the Boutique with her first hard-earned bits, an agreement had been made. Occasionally, Magnum and Pearl would need somepony to take care of Sweetie Belle. In return, they promised Rarity that they would cover any damages incurred as a result.
Accordingly, Rarity had had her kitchen remodeled twice over the last few years, along with her bathroom, workroom, and laundry room. This had been due to, among other things, burnt food; over-greased skillets, and an unprecedented amount of laundry soap. There had also been an experiment involving three fillies, a paper-mache volcano, several boxes of baking soda, and a gallon of vinegar, and another incident involving one very angry Opal and one comically large jar of pickle relish.
Now, with that undeniably adorable pout weighing on her mind in equal measure as Sapphire’s latest order, Rarity couldn’t resist for much longer.
“Well… Alright,” Rarity said after a long pause, giving her sister a genuine smile. “But!” With a quick raise of her forehoof, she added, “I have a lot of work to do, Sweetie, so please try and stay out of my workroom.”
Sweetie bit her lip and pouted. “Aww! But, Rarity, I wanna help!”
“Sweetie, I have a very tight deadline for this order. I need to keep my utmost concentration so I can get this done as soon as I can.”
Tilting her head, Sweetie asked, “But, if I help you, wouldn’t that mean you had more time to focus on the hard work? I mean, I—I could hold the scissors! Or get you the tape measure!”
“Sweetie—”
“Please, Rarity?” Sweetie fluttered her eyelashes and widened her shining eyes even further. “Pleeeeeeeease?”
Remembering the last time Sweetie Belle had taken matters into her own hooves, Rarity swallowed. While only a few minutes had passed since she’d been torn her from her work-induced trance, she longed to return to it as soon as possible. Having a chattering foal—however adorable and lovable that foal was—at her hooves would prevent her from returning to that state of mind.
On the other hoof, Sweetie deserved another chance to prove herself. And, Rarity realized, she did look a little distraught this afternoon. Her smile quivered as she looked up, as if she were forcing something back down under it.
“Alright, alright!” Rarity smiled through her sigh. “You can help. Just, please, try to be a little quieter than usual. I need to be in the zone, Sweetie.”
“Zone. Got it.” Resuming her little hop, Sweetie’s eyes nearly bulged with excitement while she waited for her big sister to head up the stairs.
With a laugh and an endearing grin, Rarity trotted back up the stairs to her workroom, sister in tow. Sweetie Belle skipped all the way, squeaking more than any of Opal’s neglected toys.
Rarity began to relax. Despite Sweetie’s accident-prone nature, things had certainly changed between them. The Sisterhooves Social had rekindled their bond as sisters; everything since had only served to strengthen that bond. Even if today ended in disarray, one afternoon of toppled ponyquins or misplaced marshmallows wouldn’t change that.
“Alright!” Rarity gestured around the workroom. “As you can see, Sweetie, I’m currently in the middle of making a dress. Right now, I would just like you to stand by the fabric—yes, that shelf over there—and bring me the roll I need when I ask. Okay?”
“That’s all?”
Rarity grinned. “Well… No. I might need scissors, or tape, or pins. For now, I just need to get another piece of fabric. Is that alright with you?”
Sweetie nodded. “Sure, Rarity! Whatever you say!”
Pleased to see her responding with such enthusiasm, Rarity chuckled into a forehoof. “Somepony sure is in a helpful mood today!”
“Of course!” Sweetie grinned as she trotted over to the fabric shelf. “I always wanna help, Rarity.”
Rarity beamed with pride. “That’s very generous of you, Sweetie.” She returned to her workstation and offered her sister an encouraging smile. “I need the roll of blue silk and a pair of scissors, please.”
“O-kay!”
Sweetie glanced up at the towering shelves of fabric. Rolls of every color and texture stared back at her, stacked in the encasing shelf that nearly reached the ceiling. She narrowed her eyes and tapped her chin.
A few moments passed as Sweetie eyed the shelves intensely. Suddenly, she gasped. “A-ha!” After grabbing a thick, blue roll, she spun around and presented it to her sister. “This one, Rarity?”
“That’s muslin, Sweetie.”
“Mus-what?”
“Not silk. Silk is a thinner, more delicate fabric,” Rarity explained.
“Oh!” Sweetie shoved the muslin aside and grabbed a roll of slightly thinner blue fabric. “Is this it?”
“That is cotton.”
“Cotton?”
Feeling her patience begin to thin alongside the fabric, Rarity said, “It is a plant fiber. We are looking for silk. Silk comes from silkworms.”
Sweetie dropped the roll of cotton like a piece of white-hot iron and retched, backing away. “Ewww! You want fabric that comes from worms, Rarity?”
“Sapphire Shores would like it. And there is nothing wrong with silk,” Rarity countered. “Silk is a very elegant and sleek material, especially silk of the highest quality.”
“But it’s made from worms!”
Exasperated, Rarity felt frustration rising within her, but she quelled it with a sigh. “Sweetie Belle,” she said slowly, “I need that silk, please. You said you wanted to help, right?”
“Right.” Sweetie bowed her head, pawing a forehoof at the floor.
“And part of being a good helper is doing what you are told.”
Glancing over at the shelves, Rarity realized that there were at least twenty other rolls of blue jumbled amongst the rest. To prevent Sweetie from innocently grabbing one unneeded item after the other, she pointed at a roll sticking out of the third shelf. “This is the one that I need, Sweetie.”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?” Sweetie grabbed the roll in her mouth and walked over, closing her eyes and humming a delightful tune.
Rarity took the roll in her magic, a small smile spreading across her muzzle. “Thank you, Sweetie Belle.”
“You’re welcome!”
Once Rarity wiped a few beads of sweat off her forehead, work resumed without much of a hitch. She continued to trace, measure, and cut the next pieces for the dress. Scissors, measuring tape, and fabric markers were requested and passed over with little issue. Despite their initial hiccup, Rarity began to relax, grateful that she had a little bit of help on this busy day.
Sure enough, Rarity was drawn into the zone again. Time seemed to slow as the pieces of her new creation assembled before her. To her great surprise and pleasure, Sweetie Belle remained quiet and attentive.
Once the final piece of the dress had been measured and cut, it was time to move on to stitching. While she gathered the pieces and lined them up carefully beneath the needle of her sewing machine, Rarity hummed her traditional tune. Thread-by-thread, she began her initial stitches in time with the tempo of her song.
To Rarity’s surprise, she was humming solo. While the silence was golden, it felt far too rich.
Rarity paused, releasing the sewing machine from her magical grip. Glancing over at her shoulder, she found Sweetie Belle sprawled out on the floor, a fashion magazine held between her forehooves.
“Are you alright, darling?”
Sweetie didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
“Alright. I was just checking. You’re almost never quiet.” Smiling, Rarity said, “You’re doing a great job of helping me today, Sweetie Belle.”
“Mmhm.” Sweetie seemed engrossed in the magazine.
Rarity looked over her work. The stitches needed to be absolutely perfect. She knew she would have to slave over this machine for at least an hour in order to get each thread just right.
Glancing over at her sister, Rarity offered, “If you want to go do something else for a while, darling, be my guest. Stitching is always the most time-consuming task, and I don’t want you to wait around with nothing to do.”
“Okay.” Sweetie stood up, the magazine gripped tightly in her forehooves. Without another word, she left the room, her eyes locked on her current page.
“Have fun, Sweetie!” Rarity called after her. She shook her head and chuckled, sparking her horn and spurring the sewing machine back to life. “Oh, she’s becoming a little bookworm. Well, at least that’ll keep her out of trouble…”
~
Sweetie Belle wandered into Rarity’s room, though almost entirely not of her own accord. The figures in her sister’s fashion magazine transfixed her. Tall, lithe mares, with their groomed manes and gleaming-white teeth, smiled at her from the pages. There was something more to their smiles, Sweetie reasoned as she sat down in front of Rarity’s mirror.
Perfection. The epitome of perfection stared into her from the pages of these magazines. Each mare grinning back at the camera seemed to possess all the confidence and beauty in the world—a confidence and beauty matching that of her older sister, who, despite her flaws, was perfect, too.
Sweetie Belle set the magazine down and looked into the mirror. A wave of nausea passed over her as she studied her reflection in the mirror, running a forehoof through her mane, tilting her head to each side, raising and lowering her eyebrows...
Her curly, two-tone mane was wild as usual, its natural curl adding a natural frizziness as well. No matter how many times she ran a manebrush or mousse through it, inevitably, rebellious strands of her mane would escape. After long crusades, they would eventually become tangled, which led to even more futile brushing.
When she smiled, studying her teeth, a piece of lettuce leftover from lunch greeted her. A mortified squeak escaped her lips. Just how long had that been there? After wrenching the tip of her forehoof between her teeth, she plucked it free, blushing.
Sweetie moved next to her eyebrows, which were slowly becoming two bushy caterpillars resting above her less-than-full lashes. An advertisement for a high-end brand of mascara reminded her that full eyelashes were of the utmost importance.
She sighed and stared at her reflection, laying a forehoof on the mirror as she looked back to the mares in the fashion magazine.
The models stared back up at her in what she swore was mockery. With nary a frazzled hair, unbrushed tooth, unplucked eyebrow, or thinning eyelash, they were examples set forth to dignify beauty in all of Equestria, as everypony knew.
She’d seen her classmates fawn over these images, both fillies and colts alike. Fillies—and not just Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon—seemed to practically worship these models as their idols, mimicking their manestyles, their mannerisms, and their dresses. Colts, too, enjoyed looking at these same pictures of perfection, although for an entirely different reason. One that, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, made her burn with jealousy.
Though Sweetie had seen these images before, something seemed different about them when she looked at them in this light.
Despite their differences, Sweetie Belle looked to Rarity for far more than she admitted. A thriving business-mare with confidence in droves, nothing seemed to faze her older sister.
The same confidence that shone in Rarity’s eyes became apparent in the fluttering, long-lashed eyes of these magazine mares. Like Rarity, they were perfect. Idolized. Confident. Beautiful.
Just as fillies would analyze the contours of a model’s dress, so would they whisper of the one who had made it. And Sweetie hadn’t just caught Spike fawning over Rarity—there had been many colts and stallions too, more than her sister probably would ever know.
Sweetie gripped the pages tighter, feeling her nausea intensify. She looked from the mares to herself, then to photographs of Rarity on the walls.
Somehow, Sweetie pulled herself away from the magazine.
She glanced around the room, attempting to push that nagging nausea out of her mind when something caught her interest.
Next to Rarity’s canopy bed was a small vanity and mirror, a plush stool left waiting before it. On top of the vanity were tubes, bottles, powders, and brushes of all sizes, shapes, and colors. Some Sweetie recognized as mascara, eyeshadow, lipstick, lipliner, eyeliner, concealer, powder, and blush. Others were beyond mysterious. An extensive collection of perfumes and colognes was neatly arranged against the mirror.
As if she were standing in the CMC clubhouse’s “thinking spot,” a light clicked on above her head. With determination shining on her muzzle, she walked over to the vanity and took a seat on the stool, staring back at herself in yet another mirror.
“Hmm…” Sweetie examined the vanity’s offerings with narrowed eyes. A collection of various lipsticks, differing in brand and shade, caught her attention first. “Let’s start with some lipstick…”
~
“There we are! Perfect!”
Rarity wiped the sweat from her forehead and stepped away from the ponyquin. A dress made of the finest silk in Equestria and adorned with several diamonds around the withers and neck towered proudly above her disheveled workroom.
The stitch work had been completed in record time—forty-five minutes instead of an hour. Adding the gems to the ensemble was a snap compared to making sure each thread was just so. All in all, she had completed this outfit a half-hour earlier than expected.
Clapping her hooves together with an embarrassingly large grin on her muzzle, Rarity looked at the clock. She giggled at her fortune. At least two hours remained before their parents would be home. More than enough time to make supper and spend a little time with Sweetie Belle, along with thanking the filly for being so helpful, and—
Rarity froze, opened her eyes, and looked around the room.
Quiet.
“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity looked around. No filly in sight. “Sweetie Belle… Where are you, darling?”
No response.
“She must be downstairs,” she muttered, shrugging. “Miss Cheerilee must have assigned quite a lot of homework today.”
Rarity closed the door behind her and headed to the top of the stairs, then looked down into the living room. While Sweetie’s saddlebags were beside the table as usual, her sister was nowhere to be found. She descended the stairs and stuck her head into the kitchen. “Sweetie?”
Opal meowed and looked up from her dish beside the cat door.
“Oh, Opal, have you seen Sweetie?” Rarity trotted into the kitchen and looked around, tapping her chin. “I wonder if Mother or Father came by while I was working. Maybe she’s with them?”
Opal meowed again, pawing at her food dish.
Rarity put a forehoof on her hip. “Opal, that’s nothing to joke about. When did you become so dark?”
Opal laid on her stomach and rubbed her face on the floor.
“Well… Maybe she’s in the guest room,” Rarity reasoned, trying her best not to worry. Ponyville, after all, despite Nightmare Moon, Discord’s antics, a rampaging Spike, and an out-of-control Harvest Day float, was a safe place to be. “Yes, that’s probably it.”
Hurrying back up the stairs, Rarity willed her mind not to wander. Then again, perhaps she had been working so intently that she hadn’t noticed Sweetie lea—
“Dumb brush! Stop poking me!”
At the top of the stairs, Rarity paused, raising an eyebrow. “Sweetie Belle?”
From beyond her bedroom door came a poorly concealed squeak.
Rarity’s brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed, her jaws clenched, and a slight tinge of crimson dotted her cheeks. “Sweetie Belle, you’d better not be in my room!” she warned, stomping towards the door.
Especially not in the closet, she mentally added, that blush darkening.
When her aura gripped the doorknob, a sudden clamor of clutter filled her ears—drawers slamming shut, containers being set upright, pieces of furniture whacking against each other. Dreading the worst, Rarity opened the door and stepped inside.
“Sweetie Belle, why are you in m—whatwhatwhat!”
“Oh… Hi, Rarity,” Sweetie mumbled, giving her a sheepish smile.
Except…it wasn’t Sweetie, and it wasn’t a smile.
Before Rarity’s eyes was a filly with more makeup smeared on her face than any mare of the night or sideshow clown.
Blaring-red lipstick turned her sister’s muzzle into a twisted, wicked excuse for a grin. Uneven, thickly spread mascara, coupled with several haphazard hues of eyeshadow, brought the filly’s guilty eyes to full attention. Blush, powder, and concealer, caked and stirred together, hiding any semblance of a foal’s face.
To Rarity’s further horror, erratic, uneven streaks of bright-red hoof-polish covered the tips of all four of Sweetie’s hooves, some of which appeared to be still drying on both her hooves and the carpet.
Rarity’s left eyelid twitched.
Sweetie Belle approached her slowly, a wide smile painted on her muzzle. “Heh, heh… um… How’s the dress coming along?”
Rarity turned away and ground her teeth together, raising her muzzle up to the ceiling to catch her building rage. She clenched her jaws further and exhaled hotly through her nostrils before turning around.
“Sweetie. Belle.”
“Yes, Rarity?” Sweetie batted her volumized eyelashes.
Pointing a hoof towards the bathroom, Rarity deadpanned, “Go. Wash. My. Makeup. Off. Your. Face.”
“But, Rarity—”
“NOW!”
Hanging her head, Sweetie Belle mumbled a timid “Okay,” and started towards the bathroom.
While her blood continued to thicken to a boil within her veins, Rarity examined the extent of the damage.
She first noted that her closet door was still locked, which alleviated some of her infuriated anxiety. She then took stock of the hoof-polish stains on the carpet, along with a few spilled bottles of mascara and concealer. These had left stains as well. The carpet would need a thorough cleaning.
“Well, that’s another chore I don’t have time for,” Rarity grumbled before moving onto the scene of the crime.
The vanity was in complete disarray, almost every bottle, tube, or other container out of place or order, making her hair stand on end.
Sighing heavily, Rarity began straightening and re-arranging her makeup. “And you were being so good, Sweetie Belle,” she said with a huff, organizing her row of scents with her magic.
Rarity heard the bathroom sink turn on across the hall, followed by the sound of splashing. “Yes, that’s right, wash my expensive makeup down the drain. Oh, we’re going to have a good talk about this, Sweetie Belle…”
Within a few minutes, her makeup had been returned to its prior state, though the vanity itself would need to be cleaned. Rarity scowled when she saw that mascara and concealer stains marred the surface of the oak, but it wasn’t anything some good magic couldn’t erase.
Rarity sat down on the bed and waited for her troublemaking sibling to return, rubbing her temples with a forehoof. Alright, Rarity, calm down. Let’s not be too harsh about this. Just let her know that you don’t appreciate her being in your room, or going through your personal belongings, or—
Ohh, that was an expensive bottle of mascara to have spilled on the carpet…
Rarity took another deep breath. Everything can be cleaned or replaced. Your relationship with your sister cannot. Calm down. A lady does not burst into flames over things like this.
Well, ladies other than Twilight, she thought with a devilish giggle.
“Rarity?”
She looked up, meeting Sweetie Belle’s eyes. The guilty filly stood in the threshold, shifting her weight from one hoof to the other. “Umm… I’m—”
“Come over here, Sweetie Belle.”
Sweetie bit her lip and nodded. Rarity closed the door and waited for Sweetie to join her on the bed. When she did, she turned to face her and took another breath before speaking.
“Sweetie Belle, I do not want you to be in my room unless you have my permission. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Rarity.”
“Good.” Rarity frowned. “I expected better from you, Sweetie Belle. While I was busy with my work, I assumed you were doing your homework or playing a quiet game downstairs.” Bringing a forehoof to her forehead, she added with a scowl, “However, I suppose I shouldn’t assume that my sister would respect my privacy.”
“But, Rarity, that’s n—”
Raising a forehoof, Rarity said sternly, “Do not interrupt me right now, Sweetie Belle. Do you understand?”
Sweetie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, nodding.
“Good.” Rarity gestured to the soiled vanity. “And I do not want you playing with my makeup and making a mess of things. Do you see the stains on the wood? My vanity was quite expensive—custom and hoof-made! You shouldn’t disrespect my things like that.”
Sweetie raised a forehoof. “But—”
Rarity silenced her with a glare.
Sighing, Sweetie nodded again.
Rising to her hooves, Rarity trotted over and pointed at the stains on the carpet. “And you see these here? This is a delicate carpet! If you hadn’t been playing with my makeup like… like toys, this wouldn’t have happe—”
“I wasn’t playing with it!!”
Sweetie covered her mouth with her forehooves, her eyes widening in immediate, terrible realization of what she had done.
Rarity snapped her gaze from the carpet to her sister, her glare sharpening to a razor edge. “What did I just tell you about interrupting?”
“But—”
“Sweetie, darling,” Rarity said as calmly as she could, “we need to respect each other’s time and privacy. We’ve been over this before, remember?”
Throwing up her forehooves, Sweetie exclaimed, “Yes! Yes, we have! I know! I’m sorry!”
Rarity clicked her tongue. “I know you are. But I don’t think you fully understand—”
“I don’t think you understand!” Sweetie shouted, tears beginning to well in her eyes.
Just as quickly as Rarity’s temper had flared, it all but disappeared when she saw that the light shining in Sweetie’s pupils was no longer a joyous one.
Concerned, she walked over and wrapped a forehoof around her sister, pulling her into a sideways-hug. “Sweetie Belle, are you alright?”
A single tear rolled down Sweetie’s cheek before she sniffled the rest away. Crossing her forehooves, she turned away from Rarity. “N-no, I’m fine. Go away.”
“‘Go away?’” Rarity slipped a forehoof under Sweetie’s chin and forced her to look at her. “Sweetie, that’s not how ponies solve problems. What’s wrong?”
Sweetie pushed her forehoof away. “N-nothing.”
In a stern but concerned tone, Rarity said, “Sweetie Belle, darling, you’re obviously upset. Is this because of something I said?” She frowned. “You aren’t in that much trouble, dear. Sure… I’m not happy that you did this, but—”
Sweetie spun around, facing Rarity, tears struggling to escape from her eyes. They shone on the surface, quivering in time with the filly’s words as she choked, “I was just trying to look pretty!”
“Pretty?” Rarity asked, taken aback. “Sweetie, you are very pretty.”
“No, I’m not!”
Sweetie threw her forehooves into the air and let loose a torrent of words, all mish-mashed and jumbled into one long, breathless rant.
“I don’t have a straight mane or a wavy mane, all I have is this curly mane that gets all frizzled no matter what I do, I don’t have perfect, white teeth that shine without even trying, my eyelashes are too thin and my eyebrows are too thick, I’m chubbier than Apple Bloom or Scootaloo even though I run around with them all day, I’m not pretty and I never will be, I’ll never be perfect like those mares in the magazines or like you!”
Breathing hard and heavy, Sweetie slowly caught her breath as she locked eyes with Rarity, forcing those tears back down, burying them where nopony could find them, where not even Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon with their little jabs could hurt her anymore.
Sweetie Belle caught her breath as Rarity sat beside her, silent, motionless.
Finally, once Sweetie Belle appeared to have calmed down, Rarity lifted her chin and looked past the facade of her eyes.
“Is that what you were thinking when you were looking at my fashion magazine?”
After stealing a glance at the discarded magazine, Sweetie Belle looked back at Rarity, then nodded.
“And is that why you were using my makeup?”
Sweetie nodded again, her lip quivering.
Rarity sighed and brought a forehoof to her muzzle. “I knew this day would come, but I didn’t expect it to come so soon.”
Sweetie looked up at her. “H-huh?”
Shaking her head, Rarity released the filly from her grasp. “Sweetie Belle, makeup does not make mares pretty.”
“It doesn’t?” Sweetie raised an eyebrow.
“No,” Rarity said, taking one of her forehooves into her own. “Makeup can be used for many reasons. Most commonly, makeup is used to accent a mare’s beauty. To show the fullness and curvature of her lips. To highlight the shade and shape of her eyes. To draw attention to her rosy cheeks or her smooth skin.”
A small smile curling across her muzzle, Rarity continued, “Makeup can be used by a mare to make her feel more confident about herself. To help that mare see herself in a new light. It can be used to express oneself, to show one’s artsy or fun-loving side.
“It can also be used to cover up scars—marks of the past that we are forced to bear, regardless of whether we want to or not. Or, you can use it to cover up, you know, that zit that pops up when you eat too many of Pinkie’s cupcakes,” Rarity added with a giggle.
Although she appeared skeptical, Sweetie gave a weak laugh of her own. “Heh… Huh… I still don’t know… I mean, if makeup doesn’t make mares beautiful, why do all of the pretty mares wear it?”
Rarity squeezed her forehoof. “Darling, beauty comes from within. Things like makeup, dresses, accessories, and shoes only serve to help a mare draw attention to that natural beauty or feel more confident about herself. But they don’t make her beautiful.”
Sweetie hesitated, fidgeting. “But, what about all of those models in the magazines? They always wear makeup! Not a single one doesn’t!”
Rarity scrunched up her muzzle, looking away for a moment. “Well—”
“And,” Sweetie said, “almost all of them have the same mane, the same perfect straight or wavy mane. None of them has to use mousse in the morning!”
“You’re putting mousse in your mane?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So… Why would you do that, darling?” Rarity asked.
Sweetie threw up her forehooves again. “Because my mane is so frizzy, it’s… it’s—ugh! Apple Bloom and Scootaloo don’t have to deal with that! The only other filly at school who has a frizzy mane is Twist, and she’s—”
Rarity rose a forehoof and narrowed her eyes. “You stop that right now, Sweetie Belle. I knew what you were going to say, and you should be ashamed of yourself.”
Sweetie began to pout. “But! But!”
“No buts!” Rarity shook her head. “First of all, Sweetie Belle, never call somepony ugly. That is simply rude. Understood?”
Sweetie sighed. “Yes, Rarity.”
“Good. Secondly…” Squeezing her forehoof again, Rarity insisted, “There is nothing wrong with having a frizzy one. It’s a natural part of having a curly mane, and yours is quite beautiful, darling. It pains me to hear that you so desperately want to change a part of yourself for, frankly, what I see as a superficial reason.”
“Super-fee-sha-what?”
Rarity chuckled. “Nevermind. The point is, Sweetie, is that you shouldn’t change who you are to fit what some magazine says you should be. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look. Not a single thing.
“And,” Rarity added, giving her a stern look, “that goes with your weight as well. You are perfectly fine the way you are, darling. You are healthy, you eat your vegetables, and you run around with your friends. There’s nothing wrong with your size.”
“Well…” Taking a long breath through her nostrils, Sweetie Belle paused, looking around the room. Her eyes settled first on the discarded magazine, then on the vanity, and, finally, on her sister. “Well… Alright, if that’s all true, then why do you have those magazines, then? Why do you wear makeup?”
Brushing her mane from her face, Rarity said, “Well, Sweetie, I need to keep up with the latest fashion trends as part of my career. I buy those magazines to look at the clothes the models are wearing, and not much else. I know that the vast majority of those mares do dreadful things to themselves to look that way—” she shuddered—“but, not only that, almost all of those photos are magically touched-up to make them look even better.”
“So, they don’t all have perfect teeth and manes? Or…” Sweetie blushed, poking at the playful chub on her stomach. “... Figures?”
Rarity shrugged. “Some do, some don’t. Some of it is real, but most is just for show. And as for makeup, Sweetie, I like to wear it to draw attention to my features. It helps me feel confident! And the fact that I can show my friends how to be confident in their own skin helps, too,” she added with a wink.
Sweetie tapped her chin a few times, seeming to mull it over. In the resulting silence, Rarity grabbed a hoof-mirror from her nightstand in her aura, then levitated it between them.
“Sweetie Belle, you are a very beautiful filly, and I know you will become a beautiful mare,” Rarity said quietly, smiling at their reflections. “Just give it time. You don’t have to hide or change anything about yourself in order for that to be true. You are perfect just the way you are—mane, eyebrows, eyelashes, and everything else.”
Blushing, Sweetie Belle scooted next to her sister, looking up at her with hopeful eyes. “Do you really mean that, Rarity?”
“I’m a lot of things, darling, but I’m no liar,” Rarity answered, setting the mirror back down and pulling her sister into a hug.
Sweetie Belle returned the embrace tightly, sniffling for a second time, but a different reason.
Rarity nuzzled her neck, closing her eyes to savor this moment.
You’re growing up far too fast, Sweetie Belle.
When they pulled away, Rarity gave Sweetie one last nuzzle before saying, “And, Sweetie?”
“Yes, Rarity?”
“Someday, when you are old enough, I will show you how to properly apply makeup. But, for now, why don’t you enjoy being a filly a little while longer?”
With a bright smile, the gleaming light in Sweetie Belle’s eyes returned at last. “Deal!”
They shared a giggle.
As she climbed off the bed to her hooves, one last question arose in Rarity’s mind. “Sweetie, did something at school prompt this? Something other than the magazine?”
“Oh, um…” A slight blush dotted Sweetie’s cheeks as she rubbed her neck and looked away. “Um, oh, well, not a something...”
Clapping her hooves together, Rarity exclaimed with a knowing grin, “Ohhh, I just knew it! Who is this colt?” Joining Sweetie’s side, she flung a forehoof around her shoulder and urged, “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”
Sweetie wormed out of her sister’s grip, blushing heavily. “N-no! It’s not a colt! Colts have cooties!”
“Not all colts have cooties, Sweetie. The ones with Joy Boys certainly don’t.”
“Eep!” Flushing even deeper crimson, Sweetie brought a forehoof to her muzzle and looked away.
Rarity laughed, shaking her head. “Ah, I remember my first crush. This handsome little pegasus colt, with his dashing mo—”
A tiny forehoof silenced her lips. “Pleasepleaseplease, Rarity, can we not talk about this?!”
“Alright, alright,” Rarity relented, pushing Sweetie’s forehoof away, “let’s drop it.” She looked down at the carpet and added, “While we’re at it, let’s forget about this whole thing. You getting into my makeup, I mean.”
Her eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, Sweetie asked incredulously, “R-r-really? You’re not going to tell Mom and Dad?”
Rarity tapped her chin. “Hmm… nah,” she concluded after a moment. “I’ll let this one slide. You were pretty helpful today, and, as long as you respect my privacy in the future, we shouldn’t have a problem.”
Sweetie slung her forehooves around her sister’s neck, nuzzling her as she cried, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou Rarity!”
“You’re welcome, Sweetie. And,” Rarity added, sitting down as she hugged her sister tightly, “please remember one more thing.”
“Yes, Rarity?” Sweetie asked excitedly, beaming up at her.
“Beauty comes from within, Sweetie. No matter how you look on the outside, we are all beautiful on the inside, and that’s what really matters.”
And, Rarity thought as she returned Sweetie’s smile, you’re already beautiful.
Beautiful for who you are.
Author's Note
Per mia sorella, che era sempre al suo più bello.
