The School For Good And Evil

Chapters

Chapter 2: The Art of Kidnapping
Chapter 3: The Great Mistake
Chapter 4: The Great Mistake Part 2
Chapter 1: The Princess & The Witch

Chapter 2: The Art of Kidnapping

The Art of Kidnapping

By the time the sun extinguished, the ponies were long locked away. Through bedroom shutters, they peeked at torch-armed fathers, sisters, grandmothers lined around the dark forest, daring the School Master to cross their ring of fire.

But while shivering ponies tightened their window screws, Rarity prepared to undo hers. She wanted this kidnapping to be as convenient as possible. Barricaded in her room, she laid out mane pins, tweezers, hoof files and went to work.

The first kidnapping happened two hundred years before . Some years it was two colts taken, some years two fillies, sometimes one of each. The ages were just a fickle; one could be sixteen, the other fourteen, or both just turned twelve. But if at first the choices seemed random, soon the pattern became clear. One was always beautiful and good, the filly every parent wanted as their own. The other was homely and odd, an outcast from birth. An opposing pair, plucked from youth and spirited.

Naturally the ponies blamed bears. No pony had ever seen a near Ponyville, but this made them more determined to find one. Four years later, when two more fillies vanished, the ponies admitted they should have been more specific and declared black bears the culprit, bears so black they blended with the night. But when ponies continued to disappear every four years, the town shifted their attention to burrowing bears, then phantom bears, then nears in disguise . . . until it became it wasn't bears at all.

But while frantic ponies spawned new theories (the Sinkhole Theory, the Flying Cannibal Theory) the fillies and colts of Ponyville began to notice something suspicious. As they studied the dozens of Missing posters tacked up in the town square, the faces of these lost stallions and mares looked oddly familiar. That's when they opened up their storybooks and found the kidnapped ponies.

Jack, taken hundred years before, hadn't aged a bit. Here he was, painted with the same moppy mane, pinked dimples, and a crooked smile that had made him so popular with the mares of Ponyville. Only now he had a beanstalk in his back garden and a weakness for magic beans. Meanwhile, Angus, the pointy-eared, freckled hooligan who had vanished with Jack that same year, had transformed into a pointy-eared, freckled giant at the top of Jack's beanstalk. The two stallions had found their way into a fairy tale. But when the fillies and colts presented the Storybook Theory, the ponies responded as ponies most often do. They patted the fillies and colts heads and returned to sinkholes and cannibals.

But then the fillies showed them more familiar faces. Taken fifty years before, sweet Anya now sat on moonlit rocks in a painting as the Little Mermaid, while cruel Extra had become the devious sea witch. Philip, the priest's upright son, had grown into the Cunning Little Tailor, while pompous Gula had spooked ponies as the Witch of the Wood. Scores of ponies, kidnapped in pairs, had found new lives in a storybook world. One as Good. One as Evil.

The books came from Mr. Shine's Storybook Shop, a musty nook between Sugar Cube Corner and Donut Joes. The problem, of course, was where old Mr. Shine got his storybooks.

Once a year, on a morning he could not predict, he would arrive at his shop to find a box of books waiting inside. Four brand-new fairy tales, one copy each. Mr. Shine would hang a sign on his shop door: "Closed Until Further Notice." Then he'd huddle in his back room day after day, diligently copying the new tales by hoof until he had enough books for every pony in Ponyville. As for the mysterious originals, they'd appear one morning in his shop window, a sign that Mr. Shine had finished his exhausting task at last. He'd open his doors to a three-mile line that snaked through the town square, down hill slopes, around the lake, jammed with ponies thirsting for new stories, and other ponies desperate to see if any of the missing made it into this year's tales.

Needless to say, the Council of Elders had plenty of questions for Mr. Shine. When asked who sent the books, Mr. Shine said he hadn't the faintest idea. When asked how long the books had been appearing, Mr. Shine said he couldn't remember a time when the books did not appear. When asked whether he'd ever questioned this magical appearance of books, Mr. Shine replied: "Where else would storybooks come from?"

Then the Elders noticed something else about Mr. Shine's storybooks. All the villages in them looked just like Ponyville. The same lakeshore cottages and colorful eaves. The same purple and green tulips along this dirt roads. The same crimson carriages, wood-front shops, red schoolhouse, and leaning clock tower, only drawn as fantasy in a land far, far away. These storybooks villages existed for only one life pose: to begin a fairy tale and to end it. Everything between the beginning and end happened in the dark, endless woods that surrounded the town.

That's when they noticed that Ponyville too was surrounded by dark, endless woods.

Back when the ponies first started to disappear, other ponies stormed the forest to find them, only to be repelled by storms, floods, cyclones, and falling trees. When they finally braved their way through, they found a town hiding beyond the trees and vengefully besieged it, only to discover it was their own. Indeed, no matter where the ponies entered the woods, they came right out where they started. The woods, it seemed, had no intention of returning their ponies, fillies, or colts. And one day they found out why.

Mr. Shine had finished unpacking that year's storybooks when he noticed a large smudge hiding in the box's fold. He touched his hoof to it and discovered the smudge was wet with ink. Looking closer, he saw it was a seal with an elaborate crest of a black swan and a white swan. On the crest were three letters:

S.G.E.

There was no need for him to guess what these letters meant. It said so in the banner beneath the crest. Small black words that told the village where its ponies had gone:

The School For Good And Evil

The kidnappings continued, but now the thief had a name. They called him the School Master.

A few minutes after ten, Rarity pried the last lock off the window and cracked open the shutters. She could see to the forest edge, where her father, Stefan, stood with the rest of the perimeter guard. But instead of looking anxious like the others, he was smiling, hoof on the widow Octivia's shoulder. Rarity grimaced. What her father saw in that made, she had no idea. Once upon a time, her mother had been flawless as a storybook queen. Octivia, meanwhile, had a small head, round body, and looked like a turkey.

Her father whispered mischievously into the widow's ear and Rarity's cheeks burned. If it were Octivia's two little sons who might be taken, he'd be serious as death. True, Stefan had locked her in at sundown, given her a kiss, dutifully acted the loving father. But Rarity knew the truth. She had seen it in his face every day of her life. Her father didn't love her. Because she wasn't a stallion. Because she didn't remind him of himself.

Now he wanted to marry that beast. Five years after her mother's death, it wouldn't be seen as improper or callous. A simple exchange of vows and he'd have two sons, a new family, a fresh start. But he needed his daughter's blessing first for the Elders to allow it. The few times he tried, Rarity changed the subject or loudly chopped cucumbers or smiled the way she did at Autumn. Her father hadn't mentioned Octivia again.

Let the coward marry her when I'm gone, she thought, glaring at him through the shutters. Only when she was gone would he appreciate her. Only when she was gone would he know no pony could replace her. And only when she was gone would he see he had spawned much more than a son.

He had borne a princess.

On her windowsill, Rarity laid out gingerbread hearts for the School Master with delicate care. For the first time in her life, she'd made them with sugar and butter. These were special, after all. A message to say she'd come willingly.

Sinking into her pillow, she closed her eyes on widows, fathers, and wretched Ponyville and with a smile countered the seconds to midnight.

As soon as Rarity's head vanished beneath the window, Twilight shoved the gingerbread hearts in her mouth. Only thing these will invite are rats, she thought, crumbs dribbling on her purple clump slippers. She yawned and set on her way as the town clock inched past the quarter hour.

Upon leaving Rarity after their walk, Twilight had started home only to have visions of Rarity darting into the woods to find this School for Fools and Crackpots and ending up gored by a boar. So she returned to Rarity's garden and waited behind a tree, listening as Rarity undid her window (singing a birdbrained song about princes), put on makeup and finest dress ("Every Pony Loves a Princess in Pink"?!), and finally (finally!) tucked herself into bed.

Twilight mashed the last crumbs with her hoof and trudged towards the cemetery. Rarity was safe and would wake up tomorrow feeling like a fool. Twilight wouldn't rub it in. Rarity would need her even more now and she would be there for her. Here in this safe, secluded world, the two of them would make their own paradise.

As Twilight tramped up the slope, she noticed an arc of darkness in the forest's torch-lit border. Apparently the guards responsible for the cemetery had decided what lived inside wasn't worth protecting. For as long as Twilight could remember, she'd had a talent for making ponies go away. Fillies and colts fled from her like a vampire bat. He adult ponies clung to walls as she passed, afraid she might curse them. Even the grave keepers on the hill bolted at the sight of her. With each new year, the whispers in town grew louder-"witch," "villain," "Evil School"- until she looked for excuses not to go out. First days, then weeks, until she haunted her graveyard house like a ghost.

There were plenty of ways to entertain herself at first. She wrote poems ("It's a Miserable Life" and "Heaven Is a Cemetery" were her best), drew portraits of her owl that frightened mice more that the real owl did, and even tried her hoof at a book of fairytales, Grimly Ever After, about beautiful colts and fillies who die horrible deaths. But she had no pony to show these things until the day Rarity knocked.

Her owl hooed as she stepped onto her squeaking porch. She heard singing inside-

"In the forest primeval

A School for Good and Evil . . ."

Twilight rolled her eyes and pushed open the door.

Her mother, back turned, sang cheerily as she packed a trunk with black capes, broomsticks, and pointy black witch's hats.

Two towers like twin heads

One for the pure,

One for the wicked.

Try to escape you'll always fail

The only way out is

Through a fairy tale... "

"Planning an exotic vacation?" Twilight said. "Last time I checked, there's no way out of Ponyville unless you grow wings."

Velvet turned. "Do you think three capes is enough?" she asked, bug eyes bulging, mane a greasy purple and white helmet.

Twilight winced at just how much they looked alike. "They're exactly the same," she muttered. "Why do you need three?"

"In case you need to lend one to a friend, dear."

"These are for me?"

"I put two hats in case one gets squashed, a broomstick in case theirs smells, and a few vials of dog tongues, lizard legs, and frog toes. Who knows how long theirs have been sitting there!"

Twilight knew the but asked anyway. "Mother, what do I need capes, hats, and frog toes for?"

"For New Witch Welcoming of course!" Velvet trilled. "You don't want to get to the School for Evil and look like an amateur."

Twilight kicked off her slippers. "Let's put aside the fact the town doctor believes all this. Why is it so hard to accept I'm happy here? I have everything I need. My bed, my owl, and my friend."

"Well, you should learn from your friend, dear. At least she wants something from life," Velvet said, latching the trunk. "Really, Twilight, what could be a greater destiny than a Fairy Tale Witch? I dreamed of going to the School for Evil! Instead, the School Master took that idiot Spike, who ended up outwitted by a princess in The Useless Ogre and set on fire. I'm sure if the School Master could have done it over, he'd have taken me."

"Twilight slid under her covers. "Well, every pony in this town still thinks you're a witch, so you got your wish after all."

Velvet whipped around. "My wish is that you get away from here," she hissed, eyes dark as coal. "This place has made you weak and lazy and afraid. At least I made something of myself here. You just waste and rot until Rarity comes to walk you like a dog."

Twilight stared at her, stunned.

Velvet smiled brightly and resumed packing. "But do take care of your friend, dear. The School for Good might seem like a festoon of roses, but she's in for a surprise. Now got to bed. The School Master will be here soon and it's easier for him if you're asleep."

Twilight pulled the sheets over her head.

Rarity couldn't sleep. Five minutes to midnight and no sign of an intruder. She knelt on her bed and peered through the shutters. Around Ponyville's edge, the thousand-pony guard waved torches to light up the forest to light up the forest. Rarity scowled. How could he get past them?

That's when she noticed the hearts on her windowsill were gone.

He's already here!

Three packed purple bags plopped through the window, followed by four-glass-slippered hooves.

Twilight lurched up in bed, jolted from a nightmare. Velvet snored loudly across the room, her owl at her side. Next to Twilight's bed sat her locked trunk, marked "Twilight of Ponyville, 1 Graves Hill Road" in scraggy writing, along with a pouch of honey cakes for the journey.

Chomping cake, Twilight gazed throuh a cracked window. Down the hill, the torches blazed in a tight circle, but here on Graves Hill, there was only one burly guard left, arms as big as Twilight's whole body, legs like chicken drumsticks. He kept himself awake by lifting a broken headstone like a barbell.

Twilight bit into the last honey cake and looked out at the dark forest.

Shiny red eyes looked back at her.

Twilight choked and dove to her bed. She slowly lifted her head. Nothing there. Including the guard.

Then she found him, unconscious over the broken headstone, torch extinguished.

Creeping away from him was a bony, hunchbacked pony shadow. No pony attached.

He shadow floated across he sea of graves without the slightest sign of hurry. It slid under the cemetery gates and skulked down the hill towards the firelit center of Ponyville.

Twilight felt horror stangle her heart. He was real. Whoever he was.

And he doesn't want me.

Relief crashed over her, followed by a fresh wave of panic.

Rarity.

She should wake her mother, she should cry for help she should - no time.

Feigning sleep, Velvet heard Twilight's urgent hoofsteps, then the door close. She hugged he owl tighter to make sure he didn't wake up.

Rarity crouched behind a tree, waiting for the School Master to snatch her.

She waited. And waited. Then she noticed something in the ground.

Cookie crumbs, mashed into a hoofprint. The hoofprint of a clump so odious, so foul it could only belong to one pony. Rarity's hooves punched the ground, her blood boiled -

Hooves covered her mouth and a hindleg booted her through her window. Rarity crashed headfirst onto her bed and whirled around to see Twilight. "You pathetic, interfering worm!" she screamed, before glimpsing the fear in her friend's face. "You saw him!" Rarity gasped -

Twilight put one hoof over Rarity's mouth and pinned her to the mattress with the other. As Rarity writhed in protest, Twilight peeped through the window. The crooked shadow drifted into the Ponyville square, past the oblivious armed gard, and headed directly for Rarity's house. Twilight swallowed a scream. Rarity wrenched free and grabbed her shoulders.

"Is he handsome? Like a prince? Or a proper schoolmaster with spectacles and waistcoat and -"

THUMP!

Rarity and Twilight slowly turned to the door.

THUMP! THUMP!

Rarity wrinkled her muzzle. "He could just knock, couldn't he?"

Locks cracked. Hinges rattled.

Twilight shrank against the wall, while Rarity folded her hooves and fluffed her dress as if expecting a royal visit. "Best give him what he wants without fuss."

As the door caved, Twilight leapt off the bed and threw herself against it. Rarity rolled her eyes. "Oh, sit down for goodness' sake," Twilight pulled at the knob with all her might, lost her grip - the door slammed open with a deafening crack, hurling her across the room.

It was Rarity's father, white as a sheet. "I saw something!" he panted, waving his torch.

Then Twilight caught the crooked shadow on the wall stepping into his broad silhouette. "There!" she cried. Stefan swiveled but the shadow blew out his torch. Twilight grabbed a match from her pocket and lit it. Stefan lay on the ground unconscious. Rarity was gone.

Screams outside.

Through the window, Twilight watched shouting villagers chase after Rarity as the shadow dragged her towards the woods. And while more and more villagers howled and chased - Rarity smiled ear to ear.

Twilight lunged through the window and ran after her. But just as the villagers reached Rarity, their torches magically exploded and trapped hem in rings of fire. Twilight dodged the gauntlet of firetraps and dashed to save her friend bedore the shadow pulled her into the forest.

Rarity felt her body leave soft grass and rake against stony dirt. She frowned at the thought of showing up to school in a soiled dress. "I really thought there'd be hoofmen," she said to the shadow. "Or a pumpkin carriage, at least."

Twilight trotted ferociously, but Rarity had almost disappeared into trees. All around, flames spewd higher and highed, poised to devour the entire village.

Seeing the fires leap, Rarity felt relief knowing no pony could her rescue her now. But where is the second child? Where is the one of Evil? She'd been wrong about Twilight all along. As she felt herslef pulled into trees, Rarity looked back at the towering blaze and kissed goodbye tot he curse of ordinary life.

"Farewell, Ponyville! Farewell, low ambition! Farewell, mediocrity -"

Then she saw Twilight charge through the flames.

"Twilight, no!

Twilight leapt on top of her and both were dragged into darkness.

Instantly, the fires around the villagers were extinguished. They dashed for the woods, but the trees magically grew thick and thorny, locking them out.

It was too late.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" roared Rarity, shoving and scratching Twilight as the shadow pulled them into pitxh-black forest. Twilight thrashed wildly, trying to wrest the shadow's grip on Rarity and Rarity's grip on the shadow. "YOU'RE RUINING EVERYTHING!" Rarity howled. Twilight bit her hoof. "EEEEEYIIII!!!!" Rarity brayed and flipped her body so Twilight scraped against dirt. Twilight flipped Rarity back and climbed towards the shadow, her clump squashing Rarity's face.

"WHEN MY HOOVES FIND YOUR NECK -"

They felt themselves leave the ground.

As something spindly and cold wrapped its way around them, Twilight fumbled for a match from her dress, struck it against her bony wrist, and paled. He shadow was gone. They were cocooned in the creepers of an elm, which ferried them up the enormous tree and plopped them on the lowest branch. Both mares glared at each other and tried to catch a breath to speak. Twilight managed it first.

"We are going home right now.

The branch wobbled, coiled back like a sling, and shot them up like bullets. Before ither could scream, they landed on anoher branch. Twilight flailed for a new match, but the branch coiled and snapped them up to the next bough, which bounced them up to the next. "HOW TALL IS THIS TREE!" Twilight shrieked. Ping-ponging up the branches, the mares' bodies collided and crashed, dresses tearing on thorns and twigs, faces slamming into ricocheting limbs, until finally they reached the highest bough.

There are at the top of the elm tree sat against a black egg. The mares gaped at it, baffled. The egg tore open, splashing them with dark, yolky goo as a colossal bird emerged, made only of bones. It took one look at the pair and unleashed an angry screech that rattled their eardrums. Then it grabbed them both in its claws and dove off the tree as they screamed, finally agreeing on something. The bony bird lashed through black woods as Twilight frantically lit match after match on the bird's ribs, giving them catches of glinting red eyes and bristling shadows. All around, gangly trees snatched at the mares as the bird dipped and climbed to avoid them, until thunder exploded ahead and they smashed headfirst into a raging lightning storm. Fire bolts sent trees careening towards them and hey shielded their faces from rain, mud, and timber, ducked cobwebs, beehives, and vipers, until the bird plunged into deadly briars and the mares branched, closing heir eyes to the pain -

Then it was quiet.

"Twilight..."

Twilight opened her eyes to rays of sun. She looksd down and gasped.

"It's real."

Far beneath them, two soaring castles sprawled across the forest. One castle glittered in sun mist, with pink and blue glass turrets over a sparkling lake. The other loomed, blackened and jagged, sharp spires ripping through thunderclouds like teeth of a monster.

The School for Good and Evil.

The bony bird drifted over the Towers of Good and loosened Rarity from its claws. Twilight clutched her friend in horror, but then saw Rarity's face, glowing with happiness.

"Twily, I'm a princess.

But the bird dropped Twilight instead.

Stunned, Rarity watched Twilight plummet into pink cotton candy mist. "Wait - no -"

The bird swooped savagely towards the Towers of Evil, its jaws reaching up for a new prey.

"No! I'm Good! It's the wrong one!" Rarity screamed-

And without a beat, she was dropped into hellish darkness.

Chapter 3: The Great Mistake

The Great Mistake Part One

Rarity opened her eyes to find herself floating in a foul-smelling moat, filled to the brim with thick black sludge. A gloomy wall of fog flanked her on all sides. She tried to stand, but her hooves couldn't find the bottom and she sank; sludge flooded her muzzle and burnt her throat. Choking for breath, she found something to grasp, and saw it was the carcass of half-eaten goat. She gasped and tried to swim away but couldn't see an inch in front of her face. Screams echoed above and Rarity looked up.

Streaks of motion - then a dozen bony birds crashed through the fog and dropped shrieking foals into the moat. When their screams turned to splashes, another wave of birds came, then another, until every inch of the sky was filled with falling foals. Rarity glimpsed a bird dive straight for Her and she swerved, just in time to get a cannonball splash of slime in her face

She wiped the glop out of her eye and came face-to-face with a colt. The first thing she noticed was he had no shirt. His chest was puny and pale, without the hope of muscle. From his small head jutted a small muzzle, spiky teeth, and a brown mane that dropped over his beady eyes. He looked like a sinister little weasel.

"The bird ate my shirt," he said. "Can I touch your mane?"

Rarity backed up.

"They don't usually make villains with princess manes," he said, dog-paddling towards her.

Rarity searched desperately for a weapon-a stick, a stone, and a dead goat-

"Maybe we could be bunk mates or best mates or some kind of mates," he said, inches away from her now. It was like Autumn had turned into a rodent and developed courage. He reached out his scrawny hoof to touch her and Rarity readied a punch to the eye, when a screaming filly dropped between them. Rarity took off in the opposite direction and by the time she glanced back, Weasel Boy was gone.

Through the fog, Rarity could see shadows of foals treading through floating bags and trunks, hunting for their luggage. Those that managed to find them continued downstream, towards ominous howls in the distance. Rarity followed these floating silhouettes until the fog cleared to reveal the shore, where a pack of Timberwolves, standing on two paws in blood red soldier jackets and black leather breeches, snapped riding whips to here students in line.

Rarity grasped the bank to pull herself out but froze when she caught her reflection in the most. Her dress was buried beneath sludge and yolk, her face shined stinky black grime, and her mane was home to a family of earthworms. She choked for breath-

"Help! I'm in the wrong sch-"

A wolf yanked her out and kicked her into line. She opened her mouth to protest, but saw Weasel Boy swimming towards her yelping, "Wait for me!"

Quickly, Rarity joined the line of shadowed fillies and Colts, dragging their trunks through the fog. If any dawdle, a wolf delivered a swift crack, so she kept anxious pace, all the while wiping her dress, picking out worms, and mourning her perfectly packed bags, far, far away.

The tower gates were made of iron spikes, crisscrossed with barbed wire. Nearing them, she saw it wasn't wire at all but a sea of black wipers that darted and hissed in her direction. With a speak, Rarity scampered through and looked back at rusted words over the gates, held between two carved black swans:

The School For Evil Edification And Propagation Of Sin

Ahead the school tower rose like a winged demon. The main tower, built of pockmarked black stone, unfurled through smoky clouds like a hulking torso. From the sides of the main tower jutted two thick, crooked spires, dripping with veiny red creepers like bleeding wings.

The wolves drove the fillies and colts towards the mouth of the main tower, a long serrated tunnel shaped like a crocodile snout. Rarity felt chills as the tunnel grew narrower and narrower until she could barely see the filly in front of her. She squeezed between two jagged stones and found herself in a leaky foyer that smelled of rotten fish. Demonic gargoyles pitched down from stone rafters, lit torches in their jaws, . An iron statue of a bald, toothless hag brandishing an apple smoldered in the menacing firefight. Along the wall, a crumbly column had an enormous black letter N painted on it, decorated with wicked-faces imps, trolls, and Harpie climbing up and down it like a tree. There was a blood red E on the next column, embellished with swinging giants and goblins. Creeping along in the interinable line, Rarity worked out what the columns spelled out N-E-V-E-R then suddenly found herself far enough into the room to see the line snake in front of her. For the first time, she had a clear view of the other students and almost fainted.

One mare had a hideous overbite, wispy patches of mane, and one eye instead of two, right in the middle of her forehead. Another colt was like a mound of dough, with his bulging belly, bald head, and swollen limbs. A tall, sneering filly trudged ahead with dark pink skin. The stallion in front of her had so much hair in his mane all over him he would be an ape. They all looked about her age, but the similarities ended there. Here was a mass of the miserable, with misshapen bodies, repulsive faces,and the cruelest expressions she'd ever seen, as if looking for something to hate. One by one their eyes fell on Rarity and they found what they were looking for. The petrified princess in glass slippers and purple curls.

The red among thorns.

Chapter 4: The Great Mistake Part 2

The Great Mistake Part Two

On the other side of the moat, Twilight had nearly killed a breezie. She had woken under red and yellow lilies that appeared to be having an animated conversation. Twilight was sure she was the subject, for the lilies gestured brusquely at her with their leaves and buds. But then the matter seemed settled and the flowers hunched like fussing grandmothers and wrapped their stems around their wrists. With a tug, they yanked her to her hooves and Twilight gazed out at a field of mares, blooming gloriously around a shimmering lake.

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The mares grew right from the earth. First heads poked through soft dirt, then necks, then chests, then up and up until they stretched their legs into fluffy blue sky and planted delicate slippers upon the ground. But it wasn't the sight of sprouting mares that unnerved Twilight the most. It was that these mares looked nothing like her.

Their faces, some fair, some dark, were flawless and glowed with health. They had shiny waterfalls of hair, ironed and curled likes dolls', and they wore downy dresses of peach, yellow, and white, like a fresh batch of Easter eggs. Some fell on the shorter side, others were willowy and tall, but all flaunted tiny waists, slim legs, and slight shoulders. As the field flourished with new students, a team three-winged breezies awaited each one. Chiming and chinking, they dusted the mares of dirt, poured them cups of honeybush tea, and tended to their trunks, which had sprung from the ground with their owners.

Where exactly these beauties were coming from, Twilight hadn't the faintest idea. All she wanted was a dour or disheveled one to poke through so she wouldn't feel so out of place. But it was an endless bloom of Rarity's who had everything she didn't. A familiar shame clawed at her stomach. She needed a hole to climb down, a graveyard to hide in, something to make them all go away-

That's when the breezie bit her.

"What the-"

Twilight tried to shake the jingling thing off her hoof, but it flew and bit her neck, then her bottom. Other breezies tried to subdue the rogue as she yowled, but it bit them too and attacked Twilight again. Incensed, she tried to catch the breezie with her magic, but it moved lightning quick, so she hopped around uselessly while it bit her over and over until the breezie mistakenly flew into her mouth and she swallowed it. Twilight sighed in relief and looked up.

Sixty beautiful mares gaped at her. The cat in the nightingale's nest.

Twilight felt a pinch in her throat and coughed out the breezie. To her surprise, it was a boy.

In the distance, sweet bells rang out from the spectacular pink and blue glass castle across the lake. The teams of breezies all grabbed their mares by the shoulders, hoisted them into the air, and flew them across the lake towards the towers. Twilight saw her chance to escape, but before she could make a trot for it, she felt herself being lifted into the air by two girl breezies. As she flew away, she glanced back at the third, the breezie boy that had bitten her, who stayed firmly on the ground. He crossed his arms and shook his head, as if to say in no uncertain times there'd been a terrible mistake.

When the breezies brought the mares down in front of the glass castle, they let go of their shoulders and let them proceed freely. But Twilight's two breezies held on and dragged her forward like a prisoner. Twilight looked back across the lake. Where's Rarity?

The crystal water turned to slimy moat halfway across the lake; gray fog obscured whatever lay on the opposite banks. If Twilight was to recue her friend, she had to find a way to cross that moat. But first she needed to get away from these winged pests. She needed a diversion.

Mirrored words arched over golden gates ahead:

The School For Good

Enlightenment And Enchantment

Twilight caught her reflection in the letters and turned away. She hated mirrors and avoided them at all costs. (Pigs an dogs don't sit around looking at themselves, she thought.) Moving forward, Twilight glanced up at the frosted castle doors, emblazoned with two white swans. But as the doors opened and breezies herded the mares into a tight, mirrored corridor, the line came to a halt and a group of mares circled her like sharks.

They stared at her for a moment, as if expecting her to whip off her mask and reveal a princess underneath. Twilight tried to meet their stares, but instead met her own face reflected in the mirror a thousand times and instantly glued her eyes to the marble floor. A few breezies buzzed to get the mass moving, but most just perched on the mares' shoulders and watched. Finally, one of the mares stepped forward, with waist-length gold hair, succulent lips, and topaz eyes. She was so beautiful she didn't look real.

"Hello, I'm Sunshine," she said sweetly, "I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I never said it," said Twilight, eyes pinned to the ground.

"Are you sure you're in the right place?" Sunshine said, even sweeter now.

Twilight felt a word swim into her mind - a word she needed, but was still too foggy to see.

"Um, I uh-"

"Perhaps you just swam to the wrong school," smiled Sunshine.

The word lit up in Twilight's head. Diversion.

Twilight looked up into Sunshine's dazzling eyes. "This is the School for Good, isn't it? The legendary school for beautiful and worthy mares destined to be princesses?"

"Oh," said Sunshine, lips pursed. "So you're not lost?"

"Or confused?" said another with an Arabian coat and jet-black hair.

"Or blind?" said a third with deep ruby curls.

"In that case, I'm sure you have your Flowerground Pass," Sunshine said.

Twilight blinked. "My what?"

"Your ticket into the Flowerground," said Sunshine. "You know, the way we all got here. Only officially accepted students have tickets into the Flowerground."

All the mares held up a large golden tickets, flaunting their names in regal calligraphy, stamped with the School Master's black-and-white swan seal.

"Ohhh, that Flowerground Pass," Twilight scoffed. She dug her hooves in her pockets. "Come close and I'll show you."

The mares gathered suspiciously. Meanwhile, Twilight's hooves fumbled for a diversion - matches... coins... dried leaves...

"Um, closer."

Murmuring mares huddled in. "It shouldn't be this small," Sunshine huffed.

"Shrunk in the wash," said Twilight, scraping through more matches, melted chocolate, a headless bird (Reaper hid them in her clothes). "It's in here somewhere-"

"Perhaps you lost it," said Sunshine.

Mothballs... peanut shells... another dead bird...

"Or misplaced it," continued Sunshine.

The bird? The match? Light the bird with the match?

"Or lied about having one at all."

"Oh, I feel it now-"

But all Twilight felt was a nervous rash across her neck-

"You know what happens to intruders, don't you?" Sunshine questioned.

"Here it is-" Do something!

Mares crowded her ominously.

Do something now!

She did the first thing she thought of and delivered a swift, bright spark from her horn.

An effective diversion creates both chaos and panic, Twilight delivered on both counts. Vile sparks ripped through the tight corridor as squealing mares stampeded for cover and breezies swooned at first sight, leaving her a clear path to the door. Only Sunshine stood in her way, too shocked to move. Twilight took a step towards her and leaned in like a timberwolf.

"Boo."

Sunshine fled for her life.

Chapter 1: The Princess & The Witch

In The Forest Primeval

A School For Good And Evil

Two Towers Like Twin Heads

One For The Pure

One For The Wicked

Try To Escape You'll Always Fail

The Only Way Out Is

Through A Fairy Tale

The Princess

Rarity had waited all her life to be kidnapped. But tonight, all the other ponies of Ponyville writhed in their beds. If the School Master took them, they'd never return. Never lead a full life. Never see their family again. Tonight these ponies dreamt of a red-eyed thief with the body of a beast, come to rip them from their sheets and stifle their screams.

Rarity dreamt of princes instead.

She had arrived at a castle ball thrown in her honor, only to find the hall filled with a hundred suitors and no other mares in sight. Here for the first time were stallions who deserved her, she thought as she walked the line. Mane shiny and thick, muscles taut through shirts, skin smooth and tan, beautiful and attentive like a princes should be. But just as she came to one who seemed better than the rest, with brilliant blue eyes and ghostly white mane, the one who felt like Happily Ever After . . . a hammer broke through the walls of the room and smashed the princes to shards.

Rarity's eyes opened to morning. The hammer was real. The princes were not.

"Father, if I don't sleep nine hours, my eyes look swollen."

"Everypony's prattling on that you're to be taken this year," her father said, nailing a misshapen bar over her bedroom window, now completely obscured by locks, spikes, and screws. "They tell me to shear your mane, muddy up your face, as if I believe in all this fairy-tale hogwash. But no one's getting in here tonight. That's for sure." He pounded a deafening crack as exclamation.

Rarity rubbed her ears and frowned at her once lovely window, now something you'd see in a witch's den. "Locks. Why didn't anyone think of that before?"

"I don't know why they all think it's you," he said, brown mane slicked with sweat. "If it's goodness that School Master fellow wants, he'll take Mrs. Cake's daughter."

Rarity tensed. "Pumpkin Cake?"

"Perfect foal that one is," he said. "Brings her father home-cooked lunches at the mill. Gives the leftovers to the poor hag at town square."

Rarity heard the edge in her father's voice. She had never once cooked a full meal for him, even after her mother died.

Naturally she had a good reason (the oil and smoke would clog her pores) but she knew it was a sore reason. This didn't mean her father had gone hungry. Instead, she offered him her own favorite foods: mashed beets, broccoli stew, boiled asparagus, steamed spinach. He hadn't ballooned into a blimp like Pound's father, precisely because she hadn't brought him home-cooked lamb fricassees and cheese soufflés at the mill. As for the poor hag in the town square, that old crone, despite claiming hunger day after day, was fat. And if Pumpkin Cake had anything to do with it, then she wasn't good at all, but the worst kind of evil.

Rarity smiled back at her father. "Like you said, it's all hogwash." She swept out of bed and slammed the bathroom door. She studied her face in the mirror. The rude awakening had taken its toll. Her waist-long mane, the color of spun moderate indigo, didn't have its usual sheen. Her Moderate azure eyes looked faded, her luscious white lips a touch a dry. Even the glow of her creamy white coat had dulled. But still a princess, she thought. Her father couldn't see she was special, but her mother had. "You are too beautiful for this world, Rarity," she said with her last breaths. Her mother had gone somewhere better and now so would she.

Tonight she would be taken into the woods. Tonight she would begin a new life. Tonight she would live out her fairy tale.

And now she needed to look the part.

To begin, she rubbed fish eggs into her coat, which smelled of dirty hooves but warded off spots. Then she massaged in pumpkin puree, rinsed with goat's milk, and soaked her face in a mask of melon and turtle egg yolk. As she waited for the mask to dry, Rarity flipped through a storybook and sipped on her cucumber juice to keep her coat dewy soft. She skipped to her favorite part of the story, where the wicked hag is rolled down a hill in a nail-spiked barrel, until all that remains is her bracelet, Rarity felt her thoughts drift off to cucumbers. Suppose there were no cucumbers in the woods? Suppose other princesses had depleted the supply? No cucumbers! She'd shrivel, she'd wither, she'd-

Dried melon flakes fell on the page. She turned to the mirror and saw her brow creased in worry. First ruined sleep and now wrinkles. At the rate she'd be a hag by afternoon. She relaxed her face and banished thoughts of vegetables.

As for the rest of Rarity's beauty routine, it could fill a dozen storybooks (suffice it to say it included goose feathers, pickled potatoes, and cream of cashews). Two hours of rigorous grooming later, she stepped from the house in a breezy purple dress, sparking glass slippers, and mane in an impeccable curl. She had one last day before the School Master's arrival and planned to use each and every minute to remind him why she, and not Pound Cake or Pumpkin Cake or Fleur De Lis or any other any impostor, should be kidnapped.

Rarity's best friend lived in a cemetery. Given her loathing of things grim, gray, and poorly lit, one would except Rarity to host visits at her cottage or find a new best friend. But instead, she had climbed to the house atop Graves Hill every day this week, careful to maintain a smile on her face, since that was the point of a good deed after all.

To get there, she had to walk nearly a mile from the bright lakeside cottages, with green eaves and sun-drenched turrets, towards the gloomy edges of the forest. Sounds of hammering echoed through cottage lanes as she passed fathers boarding up doors, mothers stuffing scarecrows, colts and fillies hunched on porches, muzzles buried in storybooks. The last sight wasn't unusual, for children in the Gavaldon did little besides read their fairy tales. But today Rarity noticed their eyes, wild, frenzied, scouring each page as if their lives depended on it. Four years ago, she had seen the same desperation to avoid the curse, but it wasn't her turn then. The School Master took only past their twelfth year, those who could no longer disguise as children.

Now her turn had come.

As she slogged up Graves Hill, picnic basket in hoof, Rarity felt her legs burn. Had these limbs thickened her legs? All the princesses in storybooks had the same perfect proportions; thick thighs were as unlikely as a hooked muzzle or big hoofs. Feeling anxious, Rarity distracted herself by counting her good deeds from the day before. First, she had fed the lake's geese a blend of lentils and leeks (a natural laxative to offset cheese thrown by oafish children). Then she had donated homemade lemonwood face wash to the town orphanage (for, as she insisted to the befuddled benefactor "Proper skin care is the greatest deed of all"). Finally she had put up a mirror in the church toilet, so ponies could return to the pews looking their best. Was this enough? Did these compete with baking homemade pies and feeding homeless hags? Her thoughts shifted nervously to cucumbers. Perhaps she could sneak a supply into the woods. She still had plenty of time to pack before nightfall. But weren't cucumbers heavy? Would the school send hoofman? Perhaps she should juice them before she-

"Where are you going?"

Rarity turned. Autumn smiled at her with buckteeth and anemically brown mane. She lived nowhere near Graves Hill but had a habit to stalk her for hours of the day.

"To see a friend," said Rarity.

"Why are you friends with the witch?" said Autumn.

"She's not a witch."

"She has no friends and she's queer. That makes her a witch."

Rarity refrained from pointing out this made Autumn a witch too. Instead she smiled, to remind her she'd already done a good deed by enduring her presence.

"The School Master will take her for Evil School," she said. "Then you'll need a new friend."

"He takes two ponies," Rarity said, jaw tightening.

"He'll take Pound Cake for the other one. No pony's good as Pound."

Rarity's smile evaporated.

"But I'll be your knew friend," said Autumn.

"I'm full on friends at the moment," Rarity snapped.

Autumn turned the color of a raspberry. "Oh, right-I just thought-" She fled like a kicked dog.

Rarity watched her straggly mane recede down the hill. Oh, you've really done it now, she thought. Months of good deeds and forced smiles and now she'd ruined it for Autumn. Why not make her day? Why not simply answer, "I'd be honored to have you as my friend!" and give the idiot a moment she'd relieve in years? She knew it was the prudent thing to do, since the School Master must be judging her as closely as St. Nicholas the night before Hearthwarming. But she couldn't do it. She was beautiful, Autumn was ugly. Only a villain would delude him. Surely the School Master would understand that.

Rarity pulled open the rusty cemetery gates and felt weeds scratch her hoofs. Across the hilltop, moldy headstones forked haphazardly from dunes of dead leaves. Squeezing between dark tombs and decaying branches, Rarity kept careful count of the rows. She had never looked at her mother's grave, even at the funeral, and she wouldn't start today. As she passed the sixth row, she glued her eyes to a weeping birch and reminded herself where she'd be a day from now.

In the middle of the thickest batch of tombs stood 1 Graves Hill. The house wasn't boarded up or bolted shut like the cottages by the lake, but that didn't make it any more inviting. The steps leading up to the porch glowed mildew green. Dead birches and vines wormed their way around dark wood, and the sharply angled roof, black and thin, loomed like a witch's hat.

As she climbed the moaning porch steps, Rarity tried to ignore the smell, a mix of garlic and wet owl, and averted her eyes from the headless birds sprinkled around, no doubt the victims of the latter.

She knocked on the door and prepared for a fight.

"Go away," came the gruff voice.

"That's no way to talk to your best friend," Rarity cooed.

"You're not my best friend."

"Who is, then?" Rarity asked, wondering if Pound Cake had somehow made her way to Graves Hill.

"None of your business."

Rarity took a deep breath. She didn't want another Autumn incident. "We had such a good time yesterday, Twilight. I thought we'd do it again."

"You dyed my mane orange."

"But we fixed it, didn't we?"

"You always test your creams and potions on me just to see how they work."

"Isn't that what friends are for?" Rarity said. "To help each other?"

"I'll never be pretty as you."

Rarity tried to find something nice to say. She took too long and heard hoofs stomp away.

"That doesn't mean we can't be friends!" Rarity called.

A familiar owl, bald and wrinkled, growled at her across the porch. She whipped back to the door. "I brought biscuits!"

Hoofsteps stopped. "Real ones or ones you made?"

Rarity shrank from the slinking owl. "Fluffy and buttery, just like you love!"

The owl whooed.

"Twilight, let me in-"

"You'll say I smell."

"You don't smell."

"Then why'd you say it last time?"

"Because you smelled the last time! Twilight, the owl's spitting-"

"Maybe it smells like ulterior motives."

The owl bared it's feet.

"Twilight, open the door!"

It pounced on her face. Rarity screamed. A hoof stabbed between them and swatted the owl down.

Rarity looked up.

"Reaper ran out of mouse's," said Twilight.

Her hideous dome of purple mane looked like it was coated in oil. Her hulking purple dress, shapeless as a potato sack, couldn't hide freakishly purple coat and jutting bones. Ladybug eyes bulged from her sunken face.

"I thought we'd go for a walk," Rarity said.

Twilight leaned against the door. "I'm still trying to figure out why you're friends with me."

"Because you're sweet and funny," said Rarity.

"My mother says I'm bitter and grumpy," said Twilight. "So one of you is lying."

She reached into Rarity's basket and pulled back the napkin to reveal dry, butterless bran biscuits. Twilight gave Rarity a withering stare and retreated back into the house.

"So we can't take a walk?" Rarity asked.

Twilight started to close the door but then saw her crestfallen face. As if Rarity had looked forward to their walk as much as she had.

"A short one." Twilight trudged passed her. "But if you say anything smug or stuck-up or shallow, I'll have Reaper follow you home."

Rarity ran after her. "But then I can't talk!"

After four years, the dreaded eleventh night of the eleventh month had arrived. In the late-day sun, the town square had become a hive of preparation for the School Master's arrival. The stallions sharpened swords, set traps, and plotted the night's guard, while the mares lined up the children and went to work. Hoofsome ones had their manes lopped off, teeth blackened, and clothes shredded to rags; homely ones were scrubbed, swathed in bright colors, and fitted with veils. Mothers begged their best-behaved foals to curse or kick their sisters, the worst were bribed to pray in church, while the rest in line were led in choruses of the village anthem: "Blessed Are the Ordinary."

Fear swelled into contagious fog. In a dim alley, the butcher and blacksmith traded storybooks for clues to save their sons. Beneath the crooked clock tower, two sisters listed fairy-tale villain names to hunt for patterns. A group of stallions chained thier bodies together, a few mares hid on the school roof, and a masked colt jumped from bushed to spook his mother, earning a spanking on the spot. Even the homeless hag got into the act, hopping before a meager fire, croaking, "Burn the storybooks! Burn them all!" But no pony listened and no books were burned.

Twilight gawped at all this in disbelief. "How can a whole town believe in fairy tales?"

"Because they're real."

Twilight stopped trotting. "You can't actually believe the legend is true."

"Of course I do," said Rarity.

"That a School Master kidnaps two ponies, takes them to a school where one learns Good, one learns Evil, and they graduate into fairy tales?"

"That sounds about right."

"Tell me if you see an oven."

"Why?"

"I want to put my head in it. And what, pray tell, do they teach at this school exactly?"

"Well, in the School for Good, they teach stallions and mares like me how to become heroes and princesses, how to rule kingdoms justly, how to find Happily Ever After," Rariy said. "In the School for Evil, they teach you how to become wicked witches and humpbacked trolls, how to lay curses and cast evil spells."

"Evil spells?" Twilight cackled. "Who came up with this? A four-year-old?"

"Twilight, the proof's in the storybooks! You can see the missing ponies in the drawings! Shortround, Lyra, Applejack-they all got their own tales-"

"I don't see anything, because I don't read dumb storybooks."

"Then why is there a stack by your bed?" Rarity asked.

Twilight scowled. "Look, who's to say the books are even real? Maybe it's the bookseller's prank. Maybe it's the Elder's way to keep ponies out of the woods. Whatever the explanation, it isn't a School Master and it isn't evil spells."

"So who's kidnapping the ponies?"

"No pony. Every four years, two idiots sneak into the woods, hoping to scare their parents, only to get lost or eaten by Timber Wolves, and there you have it, the legend continues."

"That's the stupidest explanation I've ever heard."

"I don't think I'm the stupid one here," Twilight said.

There was something about being called stupid that set Rarity's blood aflame.

"You're just scared," she said.

"Right," Twilight laughed. "And why would I be scared?"

"Because you know you're coming with me."

Twilight stopped laughing. Then her gaze moved past Rarity in the town square. The villagers were staring at them like the solution to a mystery. Good in pink, Evil in black (or purple). The School Master's perfect pair.

Frozen still, Twilight watched dozen of scared eyes bore into her. Her first thought was that after tomorrow she and Rarity could take their walks in peace. Next to her, Rarity watched ponies memorize her face in case it appeared in their storybooks one day. Her first thought was whether they looked at Pound Cake the same way.

Then, through the crowd, she saw her.

Head shaved, dress filthy, Pound kneeled in dirt, frantically muddying her own face. Rarity drew a breathe. For Pound Cake was just like the others. She wanted a mundane marriage to a stallion who would grow fat, lazy, and demanding. She wanted monotonous days of cooking, cleaning, sewing. She wanted to shovel dung and milk sheep and slaughter squealing pigs. She wanted to rot in Gavaldon until her coat was liver-spotted and her teeth fell out. The School Master would never take Pound Cake because Pound wasn't a princess. She was . . . nothing.

Victorious, Rarity beamed back at the pathetic villagers and basked in their stares like shiny mirrors-

"Let's go," said Twilight.

Rarity turned. Twilight's eyes were locked on the mob.

"Where?"

"Away from ponies."

As the sun weakened to a red orb, two mares, one beautiful, one ugly, sat side by side on the shore of a lake. Rarity packed cucumbers in a silk pouch, while Twilight flicked lit matches into the water. After the tenth match, Rarity threw her a look.

"It relaxes me," Twilight said.

Rarity tried to make room for the last cucumber. "Why would some pony like Pumpkin want to stay here? Who would choose this over a fairy tale?"

"And who would choose to leave their family forever?" Twilight snorted.

"Except me, you mean," said Rarity.

They fell silent.

"Do you ever wonder where your father went?" Rarity asked.

"I told you. He left after I was born."

"But where would he go? We're surrounded by woods! To suddenly disappear like that..." Rarity spun. "Maybe he found a way into the stories! Maybe he found a magic portal! Maybe he's waiting for you on the other side!"

"Or maybe he went back to his wife, pretended I never happened, and died ten years ago in a mill accident."

Rarity bit her lip and went back to cucumbers.

"Your mother's never at home when I visit."

"She goes I to town now," said Twilight. "Not enough patients at the house. Probably the location."

"I'm sure that's it," Rarity said, knowing no pony would trust Twilight's mother to treat diaper rash, let alone illness. "I don't think a graveyard makes ponies all that comfortable."

"Graveyards have their benefits," Twilight said. "No nosy neighbors. No drop-in sales ponies. No fishy 'friends' bearing masks and diet cookies, telling you you're going to Evil School in Magic Fairy Land." She flicked a match with relish.

Rarity put her cucumber down. "So I'm fishy now."

"Who asked you to show up? I was perfectly fine alone."

"You always let me in."

"Because you always seem so lonely," said Twilight. "And I feel sorry for you."

"Sorry for me?" Rarity's eyes flashed. "You're lucky that some pony would come and see you when no pony else will. You're lucky that some pony like me would be your friend. You're lucky that some pony like me is such a good pony."

"I knew it!" Twilight flared. "I'm your Good Deed! Just a pawn in your stupid fantasy!"

Rarity didn't say anything for a long time.

"Maybe I became your friend to impress the School Master," she confessed finally. "But there's more to it now."

"Because I found you out," Twilight grumbled.

"Because I like you."

Twilight turned to her.

"No pony understands me here," Rarity said, looking at her hooves. "But you do. You see who I am. That's why I kept coming back. You're not my good deed anymore, Twilight."

Rarity gazed up at her. "You're my friend."

Twilight's neck flushed red.

"What's wrong?" Rarity frowned.

Twilight hunched into her dress. "It's just, um... I-I'm, uh... not used to friends."

Rarity smiled and took her hoof. "Well, now we'll be friends at our new school."

Twilight groaned and pulled away. "Say I sink to your intelligence level and pretend to believe all this. Why am I going to villain school. Why has every pony elected me the 'Mistress of Evil'?"

"No pony says you're evil, Twilight," Rarity sighed. "You're just different."

Twilight narrowed her eyes. "Different how?"

"Well, for starters, you only wear black and purple."

"Because it doesn't get dirty."

"You don't ever leave your house."

"Ponies don't look at me there."

"For the Create-a-Tale Competition, your story ended with Snow White eaten by vultures and Cinderella drowning herself in a tub."

"I thought it was a better ending."

"You gave me a frog for my birthday!"

"To remind you that we all die and end up rotting underground eaten by maggots so we should enjoy our birthdays while we have them. I found it thoughtful."

"Twilight, you dressed as a bride for Nightmare Night."

"Weddings are scary."

Rarity gaped at her.

"Fine. So I'm a little different," Twilight glared. "So what?"

Rarity hesitated. "Well, it's just that in fairy tales, different usually turns out, um . . . evil."

"You're saying I'm going to turn out a Grand Witch," said Twilight, hurt.

"I'm saying whatever happens, you'll have a choice," Rarity said gently. "Both of is will choose how our fairy tale ends."

Twilight said nothing for a while. Then she touched Rarity's hoof. "Why is it you want to leave here so badly? That you'd believe in stories you know aren't true?"

Rarity met Twilight's big, sincere eyes. For the first time, she let in the tides of doubt.

"Because I can't live here," Rarity said, voice catching. "I can't life an ordinary life."

"Funny," said Twilight. "That's why I like you."

Rarity smiled. "Because you can't either?"

"Because you make me feel ordinary," Twilight said. "And that's the only thing I've ever wanted."

The tenor-rolled clock sang darkly in the valley, six or seven, for they had lost track of time. And as the echoes faded into a buzz of the distant square, both Rarity and Twilight made a wish. That one day from now, they'd still be in the company of the other.

Whatever that was.