Rarity glanced up at the rooftops of Ponyville, all looming over her in the darkness and the rather confined glow of the few gaslights. Over the years, really not much had changed about this town, but she’d spent enough time away that the same jagged outline which now drew her eye didn’t wrap her heart in velvet like it used to. A flowerbox here, a porch swing there that she vaguely recognized but never would have recalled on her own without stark reality pointing it out to her again.
By her side, Rainbow Dash trotted along as well, her jaw clenching more with each second. What had her in such a mood? Not foul, really, but her wings kept twitching the way they always did when on the lookout for a hasty exit. And yet she’d insisted on escorting Rarity to the train station. She hadn’t even balked at stopping for an errand on the way. None of her usual eye-rolling or exaggerated sighs. At least she could avoid dragging her hooves through the dust, though—any self-respecting pony should know better than to abandon good posture like that, and even worse, she was getting Rarity’s hooves dirty!
“Thank you for seeing me off, but it really isn’t necessary, especially since I have to make a stop,” Rarity said for probably the third time already. Her companion’s eyes came back into focus; maybe that would keep her from carving her little furrows in the street and deflecting half the pebbles in Ponyville right at Rarity’s legs. “Next week, I’d planned to take another little jaunt back here anyway.”
“No prob,” Rainbow said while stifling a yawn. “I need to get home and tuck my daughter in, so just don’t take too long—” Her eyes snapped open as if she’d just downed one of Pinkie Pie’s famous triple-caffeine “get up and go” drinks. “I mean, take your time. Double Diamond’s home tonight, so he can handle the kid. However long it takes you is fine.”
Rarity raised an eyebrow, but she continued on in silence. Only another block to go. Still, getting between Rainbow Dash and sleep rarely produced anything but bruises, yet here she was, uttering not a single complaint.
The train station lay straight ahead, but the street on the left led to Twilight Sparkle’s castle. Rainbow veered in front of her to make the turn, only then asking, “So where’s your errand?”
Rarity narrowed her eyes. Rainbow had always made a poor liar, almost as bad as Applejack. “At the library,” she answered, jutting her nose ahead. “Twilight requested my assistance with something. A bit of writing, I gather, from what little she told me about it. She’s more attuned to technical subjects, and this needed some finesse, or so she says. I don’t think she gives herself enough credit.”
“Mm,” Rainbow grunted back.
The castle’s front gate stood unlocked, unguarded. Rarity had long since joined in the chorus asking Twilight to reconsider, even if only to keep up formality—a princess should have all the trappings of the position—but Twilight had steadfastly refused.
So Rarity swung the massive door open on its silent hinges and held it for Rainbow, but… she’d stayed outside, lounging against the starlit wall. “Aren’t you coming in, dear?”
Flicking a hoof at her, Rainbow said, “Naw. Doesn’t sound like the kind of thing I could help with. I’ll just wait out here.”
Enough of this already. “Really? Did you give up writing your Daring Do fanfiction, then?”
Another grunt came in reply, but no amount of urging would dislodge her from that spot now. So Rarity shrugged and let the door swing shut behind her. Quite dark in here, but no more so than outside. She found her way easily through the couple of turns that led to the library. Of course Twilight would see to it that Ponyville still had a library, and of course she’d establish it right inside her own castle.
One last turn, and the library’s lights pierced the gloom like a beacon. The only lights on at this hour. Rarity poked her head into the brightness and blinked until her eyes had adjusted. “Twilight?”
A head popped up from one of the tables in the back, behind a few of the low shelves used for the children’s books. “Rarity! Thank you for coming!” She flashed a broad smile, but she gulped, her body as stiff as crinoline.
“Of course I would, darling. It’s no trouble at all. But I’m a bit fuzzy on the details. What is it that you wanted help with?” Rarity asked as she made her way to an overstuffed sofa in the reading area and set her saddlebag on the floor.
Twilight peered back to the door. “Didn’t Rainbow Dash come with you?” she said.
How did Twilight know that? Those two… Rarity shook her head. “Yes, but she elected to remain outside. I can’t fathom why, unless she merely doesn’t want to be caught nodding off.” Rarity picked through her bag for a quill, but couldn’t locate one. No matter—knowing Twilight, she had every tool of the trade laid out on that table.
Twilight gave a shallow nod. “I see. Well, would you rather work on the couch or over here?”
“The table will do fine,” Rarity said with a wave of her hoof, after inspecting the couch’s discolored upholstery, “since I presume you’ve prepared a place?” She walked over before getting a reply, and sure enough, Twilight had a stack of paper, a selection of quills and inks, and one carefully folded page.
As soon as Rarity had slid into her seat, Twilight flopped back into her own, and… was she shaking? Her jaw trembled, at least. The poor dear had practically blanched, too! Rarity leaned forward and took one of Twilight’s hooves. “What has you so scared? Honestly, I haven’t seen you like this before!”
Twilight took an unsteady breath and hunched her shoulders up. “I-I think I’ve finally come to a decision,” Twilight said, wearing a tight-lipped smile. “I’m going to write a letter.” She pulled her hoof back from Rarity’s grasp.
“Oh? To whom?” Rarity asked, cocking her head.
After another deep breath, this one not so tremulous, Twilight said, “I need to tell somepony how I feel. Finally. You have a very discerning eye, and you’re far more creative than I am. I’d appreciate having your thoughts on it, especially on the aesthetics.”
“Ah.” Twilight had acted rather out of sorts lately. Staring off, getting startled easily, moping about, sometimes even irritable. That would explain it. “Certainly, though my reading preferences run a little toward the romantic, and probably not the kind that would fit here. You know the type: sensationalized, overly dramatic… not at all realistic. A guilty pleasure.” Rarity let a silken giggle traipse off. “Do you think I could really help?”
“You know when to keep things conservative or not in your fashion designs. I don’t see why I shouldn’t trust you to do the same here,” Twilight replied with a soft smile. With each word she said, she sat up a little straighter and spent longer looking Rarity in the eye instead of studying the tabletop. That was the confident Twilight she knew.
“Well then, I’ll do what I can. Let’s see what you have so far.” Twilight pushed the folded sheet of paper across to her, and Rarity squinted down—too bad she hadn’t thought to bring along her sewing glasses. She spread the page out, smoothed the creases with a hoof, and instantly recognized Twilight’s neat, flowing script. She’d certainly seen it enough times.
Start at the beginning, then. Rarity whispered the words to herself as she read.
“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t hold it in forever. I’ve felt this way almost since the first day we met, but I couldn’t ever get myself to act on it. Even if nothing comes of it, I decided that you should know. That way, you’ll realize why I behave the way I do toward you at times, why I sometimes get tongue-tied around you, why I can’t always talk to you as easily as everypony else.
“In fact, I’ve gotten the impression that you don’t feel the same way in return, that you couldn’t feel the same way. And that’s okay. It doesn’t make a difference in how I feel or wanting you to know. I don’t intend to let this change anything about our friendship. I hope you don’t, either. It can burn out of sight, like the sun at dusk. I’ll still cherish every moment we spend together, and I won’t let it become awkward. I promise.
“You’re my friend first and foremost—how can I call myself a friend if I continue lying to you? A lie of omission, but still a lie. You’ve probably noticed me acting funny. That will stop. I won’t let it affect things between us anymore, as I’ve already been terribly unfair to you in doing so. I just wanted to let you know that I love you, but I will never pursue anything without a clear sign that it’s welcome.”
Rarity wrinkled her nose. Not the most inspired thing, but not bad for a first effort. A little trim here, an accent there. “As expected, it’s grammatically impeccable, but I must say, it sounds awfully generic. You could’ve written it to anypony.”
“What would you suggest?” Twilight asked as she floated a blank sheet of paper and a quill to her. “I’m kind of new at this.”
With a sigh, Rarity hugged her as best she could across a table. At least Twilight’s smile looked more genuine than when she’d first arrived, less starched, but… did she feel the dear shaking again? Rarity clicked her tongue and patted Twilight’s back. “Alright, let’s get to work.”
Rarity held a hoof to her mouth and studied the letter once more. Yes, generic. Maybe that would appeal to some ponies, but it took far less effort. A risk either way, but one that needed to be taken. “You should personalize this. Let him—or her?—know how great an impact they’ve had on your life. Let them know that they represent a missing piece that only they can fill. You presumably love a lot of ponies to varying degrees, and each one means something unique to you. What about this pony is unique?”
Twilight pursed her lips and let her stare wander downward.
“No, dear, don’t become discouraged. Please,” Rarity said, reaching out to raise Twilight’s chin back up. “Please. Like here—” she ran a hoof along one of the carefully inscribed lines “—you mention times you acted a certain way. Tell them which times, what they meant to you, and how they made you feel.”
“Like—like when you came over for my first sleepover? I hadn’t made a single good friend here until just before that, but it really made me feel accepted in town. Having that happen so soon after arriving really gave me the confidence I needed to keep at it. And… the rest is history.” Her ears perked up, and a small grin cracked her face, warm like flannel.
Rarity nodded and tapped the letter. “Yes, good example. Something like that. Why don’t you jot down a few notes or an outline or… get started on the real article, perhaps?”
Twilight’s quill poised to write, and she hunched over her paper.
But Rarity couldn’t hold back, not when inspiration struck. “And where you say you can’t talk to them easily, instead say why you’d want to. I might get stumped for a topic of conversation with Maud, but then I wouldn’t be particularly motivated to keep one up, and it definitely doesn’t imply any romantic feelings. Let them know that it happens because you find their conversation stimulating, not that… oh, I don’t know. Because they mumble or something.”
“You know me so well,” Twilight said, her smile growing. “Like when I insisted on how I wanted my first Gala dress to represent the constellations exactly. You were so attentive and patient, and in the end, I should have trusted you on what was really important. I couldn’t have the conversation I really needed to, not on my own, but you told me, in your own way. You say a lot without saying it.”
Yes, memories of those days always made Rarity’s eyes sparkle with sequins. Back when everything was still new. Her shoulders bobbed in silent laughter. “Oh, but I didn’t intimidate you. Quite the opposite.”
“True,” Twilight replied. She rolled her eyes up and chewed on her lip. “How about the time Trenderhoof came to town, and I didn’t help Applejack try to straighten your head out? I knew you’d consider her as an adversary and wouldn’t listen to her, but I didn’t join in. I was afraid I’d make you angry.” Twilight looked away, muttering, “I even made you overcome your fear of meeting him…”
Yes, she had done that, and rather emphatically so. For a mere second, their eyes met, but Rarity looked away. “That episode. Please don’t remind me,” she said, her voice having lost its satin smoothness.
They sat in silence for several minutes before Rarity spoke again. “I do like that you made it abundantly clear that the friendship wouldn’t suffer, no matter what. Of course, that may be an impossible promise to keep, but it still makes for an important sentiment. It says that you thought beyond yourself, that you had their interests in mind as well—mitigating potential losses and all that.”
Twilight’s face had gone blank, and she faintly nodded.
“Oh, that sounds so mechanical,” Rarity said with a shake of her head. “I apologize. Here: place yourself on the other side. If you were to receive such a letter, what would you want it to say? How could it make you feel as if it couldn’t be intended for anypony else? Or would that make you uncomfortable? Would you actually prefer something more generic?” She let out a sigh. “Yet another risk, I suppose, but it makes for more interesting reading at least. Just like an author must imagine herself in her characters’ places, you must look at it from the viewpoint of the one opening the mailbox.”
Twilight swished the feathered end of her quill across the paper. “I think I get it,” she said.
“Do you want to make another try at it?” Rarity asked. But when she looked at Twilight’s page, she hadn’t written a thing. None of the advice, none of the examples to follow. Nothing. And yet she smiled as if she’d cast off some burdensome old rag.
“No,” she simply answered.
“Well… Rainbow Dash is waiting to walk me the rest of the way to the train station—I’m heading home to Canterlot tonight, but I’ve planned another visit for next week. Do you want me to read a revision later?” Rising from her seat, Rarity took a step toward the couch and her saddlebag. She only had about twenty minutes left to make the train.
“Oh… Um, actually, no. It was enough to write it and talk about it. I-I don’t think I’ll send it. But thanks for your help. It really did make me feel better.” Twilight wore an awfully warm smile for something so final.
“I-I don’t—” Rarity held a breath and cleared the bunched-up words from her throat. “You don’t intend to let this pony know anymore?”
Twilight blinked, and she spoke so softly. “I don’t know if she’d feel the same way. I don’t think she’s even in a position where she could. But I don’t mind. Somehow, I think she knows, and it’s enough that I’ve settled it for myself and that we know where we stand. Or at least I do.”
She…
Rarity hesitated on her way to the couch, then turned back to hug Twilight one last time. “Please don’t give up,” she whispered in Twilight’s ear. “Even if it means finding somepony more worthy. Whatever you want, you deserve it.”
Then she left a gaping Twilight behind and hurried out to the cavernous entrance hall. She peered into the reflective surface of the wall to wipe her eyes dry, very carefully. She didn’t have enough time to reapply her mascara, but it didn’t look too smeared, and as dark as it was outside, Rainbow would never notice.
Rainbow had fallen asleep, so Rarity shook her gently. “Rainbow. Time to go.”
A loud snort sounded, and Rainbow’s wings shot open. “Huh? Wha—?”
“Time to go.”
Rainbow rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as they trotted along. “What’d Twilight want?”
For a moment, Rarity gave her a sidelong glance. “To help her pen a love letter,” Rarity said with a wan smile. “To an unspecified recipient.” She snapped the words off, clean and sharp.
“How’d it go?” Rainbow stared straight ahead.
“I gave her what assistance I could. She decided not to send it, though. More therapeutic than practical, I suppose,” Rarity replied. Still, Rainbow wouldn’t look at her.
Finally, Rainbow huffed a breath out her nose. “Rarity, I think you should know she—”
“Rainbow Dash.”
Rainbow’s gaze whipped over. “But you—”
“Rainbow Dash.”
Another half-block oozed by with their hoofsteps the only sound. Then Rainbow gave her a once-over and slumped her shoulders. “Going back home to Blueblood, then, huh? Where’s he tonight?”
“The lout is gambling with his friends. Again,” Rarity said through a clenched jaw. “I really thought he’d changed. I really believed him.” Ahead, the train station’s lights beckoned, and a froth of steam already mingled about the tracks and floated up onto the platform like curls of wool.
“You don’t have to go,” Rainbow whispered. Rarity pretended she hadn’t heard.
Rarity climbed the steps to the platform. Just her saddlebag—nothing to give the porter to stow, and nothing to do but get out her ticket and find her seat. She turned to Rainbow, who looked up from the bottom of the stairs. “Thank you for walking me here. It was nice to see you again.”
Twice, Rainbow’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Then on the third try: “Why do you stay with him?”
“I still love him,” Rarity said through a long sigh. “I still love him.”
With pursed lips, she waved good-bye and boarded the train.
