There is a certain standard of love that comes with every decade. Our perception of what we love is based on the times we grew up in. I grew up believing in the fairy tales that my mother and father told me. I dreamed of the knight in shining armor that would rescue me from a terrible beast and carry me off into the sunset. I dreamed of being the knight’s princess, of living in a castle, and of being the happiest mare in all of Equestria. These dreams faded away into a half remembered fantasy when I finally did grow up.
It no longer was a want of a hero. I wanted a stallion that was perfect in every way. He had to be tall, fair, and handsome. I dreamed of a stallion that would keep me safe, attend to my every need, and always remember to tell me how beautiful I am. I know that sounds a bit selfish, but you must understand. We mares like it when we’re told we are beautiful; it makes us feel beautiful. Anyways, over the years I had found my fair share of interests, but I never told them all. I only told the more elite colts and stallions. I hoped that I may someday live the wealthy and refined lifestyle.
Prince Blueblood, the nephew of the great leaders of equestria, turned out to be nothing more than a scoundrel. Fancypants was and still is in a courtship with Miss Fleur de Lis. Trenderhoof, whom I had embarrassingly built a shrine for, was only ever interested in my friend Applejack. It seemed that finding a wealthy stallion who met my requirements, and was free, was impossible. In every city, whether it be Canterlot or Manehatten, my attempts to find such a stallion were fruitless. I began to wonder if such a stallion could exist.
Even without the factor of wealth, my perfect stallion seemed to be nonexistent. I do get attention from stallions, but it is not the kind of attention that I always want. They spend too much time scanning my rear when I would rather they pay more attention to my face. Even just when they look at my face, I feel like that’s all they look at. All they see is a pretty face.
There is more to me than looks, there has to be, right? I do not know anymore. Is there something wrong with me? Is it my voice? I wish I knew. I wish someone could tell me what it is that is wrong with me. Is it my personality? Maybe I am just a pretty face. Perhaps, that is all I will ever amount to in life.
Rarity sat at her drawing board and stared at the blank page that sat before her. Taking up a pencil in her magic, she started with a simple sketch of a pony’s body for reference. She paused and gazed down at the paper. Her designs came from a number of inspirations. Sometimes it was a simple idea. Other times it could be a moment of absolute happiness. As Rarity thought again about her situation, her thoughts wandered aimlessly. Her solitude became her muse.
The pencil she held in her magic came to life again as she released a symphony of strokes onto the paper’s surface. Her face trembled as she released the design born out of her sorrow. It turned out to be a rather simple dress. It was black in color. But the most peculiar thing about the dress was the collar. The collar was a curious trim that was braided in a sort of spiral pattern. It was not so different than that of rope. At the bottom of the collar there was a wrap around knot that hung over the chest with tassels. With her design finished, Rarity went to work on the dress...
Dressmaking has always brought peace to my mind whenever stress takes over. Maybe it's the fact that I'm creating something. I don't know exactly why, but creating what others sometimes consider works of art just makes me feel accomplished. The sights of different fabrics, the sound of a scissor's snip, and the rhythm of stitches being sewn - it's like stepping into another world where I am free from any notion of sorrow or solitude. But, it never lasts for long.
Rarity stepped back and observed the now completed dress. It was beautiful, but there was something about the collar that was strange. There was an idea nagging at the back of her mind, a thought that was hidden in plain sight. The realization hit her like a brick, except, there was no collateral damage, but the pain and horror remained.
The collar looked like a noose.
Rarity stepped away from the dress. Eyes watering, she choked on her breath. She looked away in fear. The ponnequin seemed alive with its own terror as well. A horrible thought crossed Rarity's mind as she pictured herself in the dress with the collar strangling her to death.
Some days I just don't know if I can cope with my circumstances. The solitude just becomes too much to handle. I know that I have friends, I know that I can go to them for help, but they can't fill the whole inside my heart. In the company of my friends I can only see them as friends, nothing more. I want more. I want a close companion that will be there for me. I want someone who will respect me and love me back for who I am. Looks be damned. I don't care what he looks like. I just don't want to be alone anymore. It gets really lonely sometimes. I feel so sad. Why am I always so sad. Has no one noticed that I am really crying behind my smile. I guess I must be really good at hiding it. I just wish someone could see that I am hurting inside, but I do not wish to burden my friends with my problems. It is probably better if just keep them tucked away where they can never be found.
A light knock came from the front door. Rarity looked up from from the pillow she had been hiding behind. Her eyes were first greeted by the sight of the tear stains on her forelegs and on the pillow. The knock came again, this time more powerful. Looking up at the clock she could see it was four hours past sunrise. Rarity climbed out of her bed and walked downstairs whilst avoiding the frightening dress she had made last night. Opening the door, Rarity was met by the sight of her mother. "Hello dearie. I thought I'd stop by to make sure-"
"To make sure I was still alive?" Rarity frowned at her mother. "For the last time mother, I AM FINE."
"You don't sound fine to me. Why don't you come home for a bit. Sweetie Belle really misses you, and so does your father. Rarity you can't lock yourself up in your shop like this, it just isn't healthy. Please." Rarity's mother moved fast to embrace her.
But, Rarity did not want her mother's pity. "Do not touch me!" Rarity shoved her mother away.
"Rarity please, just come home. We just want to help you!" Her mother pleaded.
My mother does this all the time. Even as a teenager, I could never just be left alone. My mother always comes in unwelcome every time I wanted to alone. But, this was different. I don't want to be alone, and I still hate the fact that my mother intrudes on my personal time of sorrow.
"Is this about that one poor fellow," Rarity's mother asked.
Rarity almost trembled at those words. "He was not just some poor fellow. He was one of my dearest friends. And... I do miss him."
Rarity's mother blinked once. "You cried a lot that day, the day of his funeral. And you," her mother swallowed a bit in disgust, "kissed his cheek."
"I was saying goodbye." Rarity could no longer control her trembling.
"If it were any of my business, I might say you had sort of a crush on him." Her mother tried to smile a bit, but the smile quickly faded when a tear rolled down Rarity's cheek. "You can't be serious. It would never have worked between the two of you!"
Rarity nearly choked on her breath but was quick to hide it. "He said the same thing in his suicide note."
A silence fell between the two of them. Rarity's mother almost gasped. "Y-you, you read the note?"
Rarity looked coldly at her mother and started to close the door. "Please, go home mother." The door shut with a loud thud which was followed by a click when Rarity locked it. She turned around and fell to her rump with her back against the door.
More knocking came pounding against the door. "Rarity! Rarity, I'm sorry!" she ignored the frantic cries of her mother.
Rarity could feel a writhing pain in her chest as her bottom lip began to quiver. Her breathing became erratic as she tried to hold back her tears. She remembered that funeral that happened so long ago. She kissed his cheek trying to relive a moment that was lost to the grave. Secretly she wanted to kiss the lips of the corpse, hoping that his body would miraculously spring back to life. But, that was only a dream that would never come true.
Rarity forced herself to get up and walk upstairs to her room. She cried with each step and each memory of the deceased friend that would never walk the earth again in her life.
In life he was my friend. He was never really close, though I always knew he had feelings for me. He was dear to all of us as the fun and cheerful spirit that made us all smile. He was always willing to help us where we needed it, whether it be in the library, Sugarcube Corner, the animal shelter, the Apple's farm, or just being there as to cheer on during a flight practice. When he helped at my boutique though, he seemed even more happy. He was happy just to be there.
I never wanted to be loved by everyone, I just needed one. That one was there the whole time. He was kind and humble. He never failed to make me smile. I shame myself for taking his chivalry for granted. There was something about him also, he was forgiving. Perks and flaws became follies and nonsense that he enjoyed. Yes, I have flaws, but he never spoke any ill words about them. I can't quite explain it. He seemed to love that I was different. I was unique in my own way, and he loved that.
I hate myself. I hate that I knew he had feelings for me and I never talked to him about it. I never considered him anything more than a friend when he was alive. Now that he is gone, I try to imagine what it would have been like if I had the chance to talk to him about feelings. That dream goes too far every time I imagine it. I start out trying to imagine the sincere conversation, but it always goes beyond that and into an intimate embrace.
It started to hurt to think about him. It hurts even more because I can't stop thinking about him. If anything, I miss those eyes of his. I miss those warm, radiant, and wonderfully kind eyes.
My favorite thoughts of him were the alternative life where we were married. He was and would have been a hard worker. I have no doubt that together we would have been able to maintain financial stability. Because of that, we would be free to live and enjoy the little nuances of marriage. We could have enjoyed the intimate closeness of sleeping close together so that we would never have a night where either of us were freezing. I would have given him kisses on the cheek to which he would nuzzle back with tenderness. He was too humble to ever think of trying to kiss me.
The more I think about him, the more fond I grow of him. We would have been a great family. He would have been a great father, reminding me that I was a great mother. And our children...
Rarity laid down on her bed and looked down at her tummy. She felt it and hoped that by some miracle there might be a kick, but there was no such luck. Her tummy was devoid of any kicks or life. She was not with child, and if she ever was...
I can never have his child. I can not even have that from him now. Every last piece of him is lost forever. That is probably not even the worst part. We may not have even been compatible. Even if it were possible, what would the world think of that child. Well, I wouldn't care. As long as that child was his and mine, I would be happy to call he or she my child. I would be happy if I could have that piece of him. If only there was some part of him left I could hold onto...
Rarity’s eyes shot open as she realized where the last piece was. She leaped off of her bed and frantically dug through her jewelry box. Pieces of jewelry went flying left and right as desperation overtook her will. As she dug deeper and deeper into the jungle of jewelry she prayed that she hadn't lost it. "Please, please... Yes!" She ran back onto the bed as she began to carefully caress the specific jewelry piece. After taking in every detail of the centerpiece, she put on the necklace.
He gave this to me. It was his to keep, but he wanted me to have it. It was truly generous of him to do that.
More tears began to flood her system as Rarity pulled a picture of him out from underneath her pillow.
I can't do this anymore! I don't want to live another day if it's not with you. I just want to hold you and feel the comfort of your embrace. I can't except that you are gone. You can't be! Please don't leave me! I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone. You, you were my light. You made me believe in fairy tales again. I wish I could thank you for that now in this moment. I would give up the rest of the breaths in my life just to have those moments where you take my breath away. I don't want to live without you. Please, please, please...
There was a knock at Rarity's bedroom window. Rarity looked up and saw a figure standing behind the glass. She carefully approached the window and opened it. "It's you..." She recognized the soft twinkle in his eyes and that heartwarming innocent smile. Rarity was ecstatic. Half about faint, she couldn't decide if this was a dream or not. "Promise me you'll never leave me again."
"Why would I ever want to leave the mare of my dreams." His voice was still soft and kind. Even if it was a dream, it was a good one.
Officers and concerned neighbors surrounded the Carousel Boutique as it was being closed off by police tape. Everyone heard some sort of idea that telephoned its way into spreading rumors. “It was murder,” some would say. “No, it was a heart condition,” others would say. No one exactly knew why the owner of the boutique was dead, but she was. Two friends of the mare watched as investigators photographed the “scene” as it was called. The friends, Twilight and Applejack, knew it wasn’t some “scene”. It was Rarity’s room. It was their friend’s room.
“I just don’t know how Twi. I mean, she wasn’t strangled or nothing. She just died.” Applejack shook her head as she looked over to the bed where Rarity’s body lay peacefully, devoid of life. “Why Twi? Why does another one of our friends have to die?”
“I don’t know Applejack.” Twilight walked closer to the side of Rarity’s bed, her face stoic and absent of feeling.
“It seems like she was never the same after he died. She was hurting a lot, but I didn’t know it was this bad. She seemed to be the one that missed him the most.” Applejack grunted as she turned away from the dead face of her friend. “Why? Oh why Rarity?”
Twilight got closer to the side of the bed. She immediately recognized the necklace around Rarity’s neck and the loose photo next to her still face. “I think I know why.” Twilight used her magic to lift up the photo. A sad smile crossed Twilight’s lips when she saw his face in the photograph, preserved in time. Gently, she set back down the photo of the recently deceased Spike the Dragon.
