The Filly and her Ghosts

by Lucky Dreams

Rating: everyone
Tags: Adventure, Dark
Length: 24642

Sweetie Belle must free her sister from the clutches of an ancient evil.

Sweetie Belle must free her sister from the clutches of an ancient evil.

An adventure story from 2011 and my first ever fan-fiction! Although just to be ABUNDANTLY clear, this is here pretty much entirely for my own benefit. Call it a psychology thing I guess – I'm proud of it and it means a great deal to me, and it really bothers me that I ever deleted it in the first place. However, there's also no getting around the fact that there are approximately 63,572,886 things wrong with it.

You have been warned: read at your own risk!

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-10-07 19:45:10 UTC

2. Lit Windows

Specks of light began to appear like stars in the night sky, and through a gap under the fabric, sunlight streamed into Sweetie Belle’s eyes, waking the filly up. She blinked. She closed up the gap so that the light couldn’t enter, however she hadn’t reckoned on the way the sun would shine through the thin silk, creating all those hundreds of glimmers of light...

This was the inside of Sweetie Belle’s tent, and she was extremely proud of it, thank you very much.

It had happened like this. Her parents had gone on holiday but she had refused to join them, this, after all, being the week of her sister’s birthday. So with no time wasted she’d packed her bags and had been dropped off at Rarity’s; that evening she had been put in the guest room, and what a grandly boring room it was too, there was nothing to do in there.

‘Rarity, can’t we go play in the snow? It’s not even late.’

‘No.’

‘Pleeease?’

‘No, Sweetie Belle. I’m incredibly busy at the moment and I cannot afford for you to go and catch a cold. Go back to your room. Go to sleep.’

Dejected, the young white unicorn trotted back to the guest room; yet not for nothing was Sweetie Belle a Cutie Mark Crusader. What did she have? A four poster bed without curtains (they were being washed); a sheet of silky material placed neatly on a desk; and a ball of string, perhaps belonging to the cat. What to do with a bed, fabric and string? The way her face lit up when she thought of the answer could’ve brightened the depths of a cave- within twenty minutes the string was tied from post to post and, after much effort, she managed to hang up the sheet of fabric, creating a tent for herself on the bed. Magnificent! For an hour afterwards she had been utterly convinced she’d earned a cutie mark for it, however there’s only so many times you can glance at your own blank flank before you have to admit you’re kidding yourself.

In her tent, by lantern light, she worked long into the night on her birthday present, the thought of Rarity’s beaming face keeping her going (she scarcely slept it made her so happy). But when the following morning arrived, not even the sight of those thousand accidental stars could keep the joy alive.

‘Sweetie Belle! My darling, what have you done?’

‘Do you like it?’ asked Sweetie, poking her head out of the tent, spotting her older sister in the doorway. ‘I spent ages on it, and-

‘But, b-but that fabric! You used my special Manehattan silk!’

‘Sure did! It was juuust right.’

At the same rate it takes morning sunlight to climb a wall, Sweetie realised that it wasn’t a look of amazement which graced her sister’s face, but one of horror. The filly frowned.

‘... You don’t like it, do you?’

‘Like it?’ said Rarity. ‘Like it? Sweetie you’ve ruined it. Look at those creases! However will I sort this out?’

‘With an iron?’

It was such an obvious answer that even before Sweetie finished speaking she knew it was entirely the wrong thing to say. Rarity dropped any pretence of calmness. ‘You think I could just iron this?’ she cried. ‘Do you know what an iron would do to it? This is going to take simply aaages to sort out; oh how could you? My own sister.’

‘I didn’t know,’ whispered Sweetie. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Well you should be. And you couldn’t have left well enough alone; such wonderful material, it must’ve simply begged you not to even think about touching it. And you went and... you went and...’

The purple-maned unicorn stared at the silk as though it was the grave of a loved one. ‘I can fix it,’ said the filly. ‘I’ll go and-

‘No no no. You couldn’t. You mustn’t! You caused so much trouble already, so I shall handle this,’ Rarity said, drawing herself up importantly, ‘in the proper manner.’

‘The proper what-now?’

Rarity sighed. ‘I suppose you’re too young to understand. Now go! Go stand in the corner where you can’t ruin things.’

A new feeling seeped into Sweetie, and though she tried to ignore it, it wasn't long before it engulfed her in the same way that a river bursts its banks after a heavy rainfall. Go to the corner where she couldn’t ruin anything? Too young to understand? A part of her, small though it had been, had slowly been coming around to her sister’s point of view; the silk must’ve been expensive, and she hated the thought that it might have been for a dress for an important client, or maybe even for Rarity herself. But now she wanted to shout, lash out, gnash her teeth. To think that she had skipped a holiday for this!

... The holiday...

There was a reason she had missed it. Sweetie bit her lip but the fact remained: what sort of sister would she be if she were to shout at Rarity on her birthday, of all days?

‘Sister,’ Rarity said. ‘Out of the tent.’

‘Huh? You mean out, out?’

‘Well obviously 'out, out', whatever other type is there?’

Sweetie bit her lip even harder, her anger suddenly overwhelmed with nerves. Her present! It was still in the tent. Annoyed as she was, she didn’t want Rarity to see it- not like this, not when they hated one another.

‘Um, just a second,’ said Sweetie, drawing her head back into the tent. But with one fell swoop of magic her sister lifted the silk, folded it up and placed it back on the desk, leaving the exposed foal with no choice but to throw herself over the present.

‘What is that?’ asked Rarity.

‘What’s what?’

‘Sweetie Belle, stop playing games and get up.’

‘No.’

‘Don’t make me make you.’

‘No!’

‘Oh, so this is how you want to do this? It. Is. On.’

The next thing the little unicorn knew was that she was being pushed off the bed with Rarity’s magic, and she tumbled to the floor, smacking her head. Her heart sank as she heard the older unicorn gasp.

‘... Happy birthday,’ Sweetie said feebly, staring at her hooves.

Rarity didn’t answer.

Looking up, the filly saw that her sister hadn’t even noticed the present (it was a picture of herself and Rarity hugging); instead she had eyes only for the crayon marks on the blanket.

‘You couldn’t have used the desk?’

‘Sis, I-

‘Sweetie Belle, I do not want to speak to you. Leave me be. Stay out of my sight.’

‘But sis, I-

Rarity huffed. Before stepping out into the hallway, Sweetie, her eyes tearing, turned and said: ‘I missed a holiday for you, you know. It’s just crayons, can’t you clean it up?’

Rarity ignored her.

Eyes still watering, Sweetie left her alone. Not even ten in the morning and she had already ruined things.

***

In the snow, it would’ve been remarkably easy to lose the two unicorns were it not for the filly’s pink and purple mane; though not as purple as Rarity’s and not quite as curly. Everywhere was snow: it rested on roofs like frosting; it transformed meadows into great white canvases; trees sagged under its weight; and in the far distance, the mountains of Canterlot were like icy giants standing watch over the glistening landscape. With the sun setting and with a chill in the air, it felt, to Sweetie Belle, absolutely perfect, oh if only the weather team would let it be this way all the time. She rolled a snowball with her hooves, got ready to hurl it at her sister-

‘You throw that at me and you’re grounded until Mother and Father pick you up.’

‘But I-

‘No ‘buts’. I put a lot of work into this ensemble, not to have it ruined with snowballs. You’re on thin enough ice as it is young lady.’

The ‘ensemble’ was a plain navy jumper and boots, by Rarity’s standards almost shockingly simple (‘minimal is in this season’). Sighing, Sweetie dropped the snowball, then a few minutes later they reached the large, hollowed out tree that was the town library, and home of Twilight Sparkle.

The door was unlocked. Rarity opened it.

‘SURPRIIIISE!’

Sweetie giggled as her sister leapt a foot in the air and as their friends appeared all around them (Spike aside, who had business in Canterlot): Fluttershy, Twilight, Rainbow Dash; and Applejack was there, and to Sweetie's delight, Apple Bloom. Standing in front of a shocked Rarity was-

‘Were you surprised?’ asked Pinkie Pie. ‘Everypony said you wouldn’t be since this wasn’t a surprise party, but then I shouted SURPRIIIISE anyway and it worked! I wish you could’ve been me and I could’ve been you so you could’ve seen yourself, you would’ve loved it, the look on your face!’

The pink pony said this very quickly. Rarity looked up at her other friends. ‘Not my idea,’ said Rainbow Dash, shaking her head.

But where a whole day of apologies had failed, a good fright succeeded in doing what Sweetie wanted most in the whole world: her sister smiled. ‘Humph,’ said Rarity. ‘Very rude manners if I don’t say so myself.’

Now she wasn’t just smiling, but beaming. A second later Pinkie Pie had music playing and the ponies lost themselves in games, cake and drinks, dancing, fun.

***

‘So let me get this straight,’ said Apple Bloom. ‘You made a good ol’ tent for yourself an’ your sis’ jus’ goes an’ ruins it?’

‘Sure did,’ said Sweetie Belle with a solemn nod. Apple Bloom looked back at her with pity on her face; but then the yellow filly frowned as a thought came to her.

‘Ya... ya didn’t use her special Manehatten silk did ya?’

Sweetie’s mouth dropped. ‘How did you-

‘’Cos your sis’ was round visiting Applejack the other day an’ it’s all she talked about, silk this, silk tha’,’ said the earth pony, retching. ‘Jeez Sweetie, even ah wouldn’t have used that. Maybe ya should go apologise.’

‘She won’t let me,’ said Sweetie. Her ears drooped. ‘All I wanna do is say sorry.’

‘Are you girls alright?’

A lavender unicorn appeared in front of them: Twilight Sparkle. ‘We’re good,’ Sweetie told her, but Apple Bloom said: ‘we’re booored Twi. It’s fine for you gals an’ all but I've been dragged to this, an’ this ain’t no fun for ‘lil fillies.’

‘Well you know,’ said Twilight, placing a hoof on her chin. ‘If you two want to go and play alone upstairs you’re more than welcome to.’

‘We can? Ya really mean it?’

‘Of course. Oh! I know what you can do!’ Twilight spoke as though she’d found a chest overflowing with gold and candy and a million other wonderful things. ‘I got a new delivery of books today but I’ve been so busy helping Pinkie that I haven’t had time to sort them yet. You girls could pre-sort them for me! Wouldn’t that be fun?’

Sweetie raised an eyebrow. ‘Pre-sort?’

‘You know,’ said Twilight, clapping her hooves together joyfully. ‘There are five different stages to sorting books- or five and a half if you use the Trottingham University system (but seriously, what pony does anymore, am I right?). I remember when I was your age, and every Saturday morning, ooo, I’d trot down to the library to help pre-sort the books, and it was the most fun that a filly could ever possibly-

‘Yeah, Twi, we probably ain’t gonna do that.’

‘But we might do,’ Sweetie added as the smile slid from Twilight’s face. ‘If you let us upstairs. Pleeease?’

‘... You girls don’t know what you’re missing out on,’ Twilight said at last without even the faintest hint of irony. ‘Be safe now.’

‘We will, promise,’ said Apple Bloom. With that, the two fillies exchanged an excited glance before dashing up the stairs.

Even a pony who didn’t like books would’ve found it hard not to marvel at Twilight’s home. Sweetie had always wondered if the tree was still alive and growing, or, perhaps it was magic that kept the wood looking perpetually fresh. Twilight’s bedroom was almost as big as the main library. Like the rest of the tree, the walls here were crammed with books: big ones, small ones, new ones, old ones, some with bright spines crying for attention, others so inconspicuous that you could look straight at them and never spot them hidden in plain sight.

‘Bit dark in here,’ said Apple Bloom. ‘Ain’t there a switch or somethin’?’

‘Got it,’ said Sweetie, flipping on the light.

They had never been in Twilight’s bedroom before. Even so, the chest in the middle of the floor was so out of place that it was obvious it didn’t belong there. It was made of dark wood and black iron, and shut with the most formidable padlock. Painted on the chest was what looked like a cutie mark- a spark of light, like a star, or perhaps the flash of a camera.

‘What d’ya s’pose is in there?’ Apple Bloom whispered. She couldn’t help but whisper. Something about that chest put the fillies in mind of graveyards and cold winter nights.

Sweetie gulped. ‘Only one way to find out,’ she whispered back. Approaching it tentatively, she breathed in, reached out a hoof...

It was locked.

‘Gosh darn it. An' ah so wanted to know what was in there.’

‘It's probably just books.’

‘Uh-huh. Then how come we’re still whisperin’? That there chest, it’s proper creepy Sweetie, an’ I couldn’t even tell you why if I wanted to.’

They both stared at the chest. It was hard to shake the sensation that it was staring straight back. ‘You uh... ya wanna help Twi sort ‘em out?’ said Apple Bloom, gesturing to a large pile of books next to the chest. ‘Um, Cutie Mark Crusader pre-sorters?’

A few minutes ago, sorting out the books was the last thing they had wanted to do. Now- though neither of them would admit it, for it was the most peculiar thing- there was something oddly comforting about the idea.

The pile of books began to subside.

The chest lingered at the edges of their vision.

Then, after a few minutes: ‘‘A Hearth’s Warming Carol’,’ said Sweetie. ‘That belongs in music.’

‘Ya crazy or somethin’? That there’s a ghost story, even ah know that. Belongs in tales.’

‘But it’s about a carol.’

‘Ah say tales.’

‘Music.’

‘Tales.’

‘Music.’

CLUNK.

They yelped, fixing their eyes upon the chest: the padlock, that big, metal, heavy padlock, had fallen clean off.

Apple Bloom breathed as though she’d galloped a mile. Ice gushed through Sweetie’s veins. The two of them remained deathly silent, hardly daring to blink, staring, staring at the chest. Outside, a freezing wind began to blow.

‘It was locked,’ Apple Bloom whispered. ‘Ya saw it yourself. Ya even touched it...’

Instinct, sheer instinct told Sweetie that they had to leave, had to get Twilight (it was remarkable how far away the party suddenly sounded).

But then...

It came from nowhere, like a meteorite blazing through the stars on a November night: the most powerful curiosity you could imagine, more powerful than the forces which kept the Sun and the Moon in motion above Equestria. What was in the chest?

‘Sweetie Belle, what ya doin’?’

She was walking up to the chest. The closer she got the more mesmerized she became.

‘Sweetie?’

A voice in the unicorn’s head told her to take another step, another and another, and then another.

‘Sweetie?’

Now she was looking inside. It was full of books and papers and she was all alone in the world, and there was one Book in particular-

Apple Bloom smacked into Sweetie, whacked the Book out of her hooves, knocked her to the floor. Sweetie growled-

Then she came back to herself.

‘Wh- what happened?’ she gasped as though she'd been holding her breath underwater. ‘How come I’m on the floor?’

Noticing where she was, Sweetie gulped a second time and ran over to the corner, joined a second later by her friend. ‘It was like... it was like ya weren’t you anymore,’ whispered Apple Bloom. ‘Your eyes, they was all glazed over, ya couldn’t hear me.’

Sweetie wanted to throw up. That had happened? Yet the last thing she could remember was staring at the chest and quivering next to her friend; though only seconds had passed, she really had no memory of what Apple Bloom was telling her. She couldn’t remember walking up to the chest. She couldn’t remember opening it. She couldn’t remember picking up the Book which now rested by their hooves.

‘... Can we go and get Twilight now?’ the unicorn whispered, because looking at the Book gave her the very real sense they weren’t the only ones in the bedroom anymore. The Book was big and it had a black cover. It was extraordinarily old. It lay open halfway through and the pages were blank.

‘Sweetie, don’t,’ hissed Apple Bloom but too late: Sweetie, bursting with dark curiosity, touched one of the blank pages with a hoof.

The lights flickered. Where the unicorn touched the Book a black blot appeared, from which grew thin tendrils of ink which spread over the page like vines. Sweetie’s jaw dropped. In time, the ink faded away save for a tiny sentence: ‘He’s almost home,’ Apple Bloom read. ‘Wha’ does that mean?’

As if in response, more writing started to appear from nowhere, as though an invisible pony was scrawling on the page; except ‘scrawling’ wasn’t quite the right word- the hoofwriting was impeccable.

For the longest time he’s been lost in the darkness,

but he’s almost home.

Equestrian soil draws closer and closer and closer.

Sweetie’s heart pumped furiously. Her head felt light.

He’s back. It’s starting to snow.

‘Hah! It’s not,’ said Apple Bloom. ‘The Book’s lyin’.’

But Sweetie glanced out the window. Sure enough, though the weather team were supposed to have finished for the day, a light snow was beginning to fall...

Nopony is aware he’s returned, except two fillies- a white unicorn and a yellow earth pony. The more they read the less they wished they knew, however if they stopped reading then they wouldn’t know the truth: that he’s looking at a tree with windows and the windows are lit.

He can hear music.

He walks closer

he’s by the door

he looks up, and

it is

such

a

big door.

He reaches out a hoof and

KNOCK. KNOCK.

At that precise moment the light-bulb blew out, and the fillies well and truly screamed, holding onto each other for dear life. Sweetie wished that her sister was there. She wished she could bury her face into that curly purple mane, shut her eyes forever and ever. But as clear as the sun shines on a summer’s day, she also realised that Rarity had been right all along: she couldn’t have left things to Twilight. She couldn’t have left well enough alone.

Downstairs, the music stopped. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom heard Twilight’s voice drift up the stairwell: ‘Who’s knocking at this hour?’

The fillies glanced at each other. Book forgotten on the floor, they ran out of the bedroom, hoping to Celestia that they weren’t too late...

3. He Left Us

Memories hurtled through Sweetie’s head: the padlock, the ink, the writing; Rarity shouting, Rarity arguing. It must’ve simply begged you not to even think about touching it...

The two fillies burst into the library. ‘Don’t open it, don’t, don’t!’

‘Sweetie Belle,’ gasped Rarity, but the filly ignored her, instead running up to a bewildered Twilight (the unicorn had been right on the verge of opening the door). ‘What’s wrong girls?’ she asked. Sweetie stared at her. Though she’d been ready to explain everything- the Book, the writing, the snow- now she was here, she found that the thrill of it all had shoved the words out of her mind.

‘It was one of your books, Twi,’ said Apple Bloom to Sweetie’s relief. ‘We was sortin’ them out like ya said-

‘Whoa there nelly. Twilight: ya had ma sis sorting out books?’

Apple Bloom shot her sister a steely glare. ‘She didn’t make us do nothin’, Applejack. But anyways, we was sorting them out-

‘You mean pre-sorting?’

‘Yes Twi, let me finish. We was pre-sorting them, when that there chest ya got, it... I dunno, it opened itself, and then-

‘Wait, Cherry Blossom’s chest opened on it's own?’

Apple Bloom blinked at the purple unicorn. ‘Cherry Who-Now?’

But Twilight didn’t answer, because just like that she was lost amongst the stars. ‘It opened by itself,’ she mouthed. ‘By itself...’

Knock. Knock.

The door commanded everypony’s attention like the wailing of a falling bomb. Twilight shook her head. Kneeling down, she peered into Sweetie’s eyes, and the filly felt as though the librarian was boring into the depths of her mind. She had always thought of Twilight as being serious (head in books, candles burning out as she read into the night), but never ever had she imagined the unicorn looking half as grave as she did now. ‘Girls,’ she said. ‘What was in the chest?’

And Sweetie Belle found her words. ‘It was a Book,’ she whispered, something of Twilight’s seriousness in her voice. ‘A, a big one. I touched it, and there was this writing and it... it said that that a ghost was going to knock on the door and then it did!’

Knock. Knock.

‘H-hello? Anypony in?’

Through the door the voice sounded muffled, however there was no denying to whom it belonged: a colt no older than the fillies, and whose voice shook from cold. ‘Oh, the poor dear,’ said Fluttershy. ‘We simply must let him in.’

‘But what if he’s evil,’ said Pinkie, ‘and he comes in and he’s a scary, creepy ghost who wants to ruin Rarity’s party and eat all the cakes and drink all the drinks and pop all the balloons?’

‘Ghost, shmost,’ said Rainbow Dash, grinning menacingly. ‘We can take on a mean old ghost, no problem.’

Rarity rolled her eyes. ‘Pinkie Pie, Dash, I seeeriously doubt it’s a ghost. But I digress; we absolutely must let him in. My sister letting her imagination run riot is no excuse for her to tell tales.’

‘It’s down to you then, Twi,’ Applejack said in a hushed voice. ‘This here’s your house ain’t it? What’s it to be?’

Nopony objected to this, and the silence which followed was so deep that even the walls seemed to be holding their breath. Then, sighing, Twilight headed for the door; without pausing to think, Sweetie Belle ran and plumped herself in front of her. ‘Sweetie!’ Rarity exclaimed. ‘Making a poor colt freeze on the doorstep; I would never have expected such barbarity from my sister.’

‘Bar... barb what?’

‘Rudeness, Sweetie.’ Rarity’s nostrils flared. ‘And all this nonsense about a book and a spirit.’

Pushing a hurt looking Sweetie Belle aside with magic, she proceeded to open the door. ‘I am so sorry,’ she told their visitor. ‘We all... we just... the door was locked! That’s right. It was locked, and we had to have a discussion to remember where we placed the-

‘There’s nopony there, sugercube.’

Rarity blushed as she realised Applejack was right: there wasn’t a soul in sight, and not even hoofprints because they’d already been buried in snow. Sweetie Belle felt her eyes water as she cried out: ‘Now d’you see? And it shouldn't be snowing either.’

‘Hay,’ said Rainbow Dash thoughtfully. ‘She's right- it's not s'posed to snow until Thursday...’

Rarity huffed. ‘Well even so, Sweetie Belle, there's no such thing as ghosts.’

‘Sis, how can you say that after everything you've done? Why don’t you ever believe me? He was a ghost! Tell her, Apple Bloom.’

But it wasn't Apple Bloom who responded to this; it was a voice they didn't know. ‘A g-ghost? Wh-where to?’

Rarity and Pinkie shrieked. Twilight and Applejack gasped. Rainbow Dash backed away as Fluttershy screamed and hid under a chair. And the two fillies leapt as they spotted the young brown unicorn who had materialized in the library behind them all, a unicorn with no cutie mark and eyes the colour of ice. A unicorn with a ragged red cape and a brown saddle bag, and fur wet from the snow. A unicorn who didn’t belong there.

His jaw dropped in horror at his reception. ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m-

‘How did you get in?’ said Twilight. ‘Did you force your way in?’

He shook his head feverishly. ‘No, no. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but your b-back door was open and I was so cold, I’m sor-

‘We get it already,’ said Rainbow Dash. ‘You’re sorry.’

The colt managed a weak smile.

‘Sn-Eira,’ he told them. ‘My name’s Eira and I’m sorry I scared you all. I didn’t m-mean to.’

‘Oh my, you're freezing,’ said Fluttershy, concern bursting from every word. ‘You should warm yourself up.’

The yellow pegasus sat him down in the comfiest, squashiest chair by the grate. Twilight conjured up a roaring fire, and a minute later the others were gathered around as well, warming their hooves upon the flames.

Look at him. Look at him sitting in the chair. Neither Sweetie nor Apple Bloom could remember the last time they saw a pony look so frightened, and that included the incident with the cockatrice: being lost at night in the Everfree Forest whilst being stalked by a monster whose gaze turned ponies to stone still hadn’t been enough to make them as scared as the colt looked now.

Why didn’t the grown-ups notice this? All Fluttershy worried about was the rough state of his hoovie-woosies; Applejack was telling him about the fresh apples she had out in the kitchen; and Pinkie Pie was saying that this called for another party. Rarity was lost in thoughts of what she was going to make to replace his tatty cape; Rainbow Dash was amazed by how quietly he had sneaked into the library (‘Skills like that? Kid, you could be a natural prankster.’); and Twilight was apologising for keeping him waiting, and was asking if he wanted to choose a book to make up for it (‘ 'Daring-Do and the Stable of Doom.' Came in just this week, it's the best one yet!’).

Apple Bloom barged her way through the grown-ups, pressed her snout up against Eira’s. ‘What ya doin’ here?’ she spat. ‘Where ya from?’

‘Apple Bloom!’

Applejack grabbed her sister by the mane to drag her away. ‘Treating our guest like common vermin, how could ya?’

But Eira was plainly terrified of the yellow filly. ‘C-Canterlot,’ he said. ‘I’m from Canterlot. A-and I don’t know where I am. I’ve been trying to tell you but... but you were all saying these lovely th-things, and I, I couldn’t get the words out... I just need to get home. Do any of you know The Great and Powerful Taurus?’

The ponies all glanced at one another, eyebrows raised. ‘Um, surely you mean ‘Great and Powerful Trixie’?’ said Twilight. But he shook his head, blushing brightly enough to rival the fire in the grate. Twilight changed tack. ‘Then what did you mean you don’t know where you are? You didn’t know this was the library?’

Again, he shook his head. Understanding poured into Twilight’s face. ‘You didn’t know you’re in Ponyville? But... but that doesn’t make any sense. Not even a bit.’

Somehow, nopony noticed how confused the colt looked at the mention of Ponyville. Instead, Applejack said to Twilight: ‘He coulda jus’ got lost. Ain’t too hard to do, all this snow and all.’

Eira took a deep breath. ‘I, I don’t remember what happened. I was in Canterlot in the storm, and, and I was with a friend and... and that’s the last thing I remember. Nothing else. I promise.’

‘Storm?’ said Rainbow Dash. Eira blinked at her. He didn't elaborate.

And to say that Sweetie Belle could see that Eira’s lie was as well hidden as an elephant in an empty room truly meant something, for she had never been the best at spotting when other ponies were being less than truthful. And ‘I promise,’ what a strange thing to say... strictly speaking it made sense, but, only in the same way that some ponies apologise to you when you tread on their hooves. Acutely aware of everypony’s gaze, she wandered up to the anxious colt. ‘You’ve got to remember something,’ she whispered. ‘Isn’t there something in your bag that-

‘Hay, d-don’t look in my bag. I’m not a thief.’

Sweetie tilted her head. ‘Huh?’

‘I... I mean... nothing. Nothing.’

‘What’s in your bag?’

‘N-nothing.’

‘That’s how it is, huh,’ said Apple Bloom, following her friend’s lead. ‘So if we looked in ya bag we wouldn’t find a single thing, would we?’

‘I’m t-telling the truth, I don’t have anything.’

‘Then why did you say you’re not a thief?’ Sweetie said.

‘Because I’m not.’

‘Why d’yah say it at all then? That ain’t no normal thing ta say.’

‘I’m... I’m not a thief! I j-just need to get back to Canterlot...and...’

He started to cry. Within seconds he was inconsolable.

The silence was punctuated by the sound of the gathering wind, the patting of snow against the windows. Sweetie felt the stares of the other ponies like sacks of coal on her back, and it was too much to take, all this mystery, all this messing up. She knew she ought to be ashamed of herself, yet somehow the only thing she could think of was how exhausted she suddenly felt, how much she longed to be in her bed, tuck herself under the soft sheets and blanket, lay her head on the plump pillows- oh, bliss! No creepy Book, no unwelcome visitors, no trouble. She could stay in her room and never mess things up.

‘... Pinkie Pie, what are you doing?’

Something in Twilight’s voice made it dawn on everypony that Pinkie had been missing for several minutes. Now, the pink pony stood near the fireplace. Next to her was the Book. In her mouth-

‘THE NECKLACE!’

Tears forgotten, Eira sprung from his chair. ‘You found it! Thank you thank you thank you thank you!’

Sweetie gaped at the sapphire which formed the necklace’s centrepiece, at how it glistened so beautifully in the light of the fire. She watched the colt throw his hooves around Pinkie. ‘It was in your bag, silly,’ said Pinkie with a giggle.

‘... My b-bag? Really?’

‘Uh-huh. You ought to look closer next-

The joy fell from his face faster than a diving Wonderbolt: he’d spotted the Book. Grabbing the necklace, he jumped behind his chair so fast that he managed to startle Fluttershy. Pinkie faced Sweetie and Apple Bloom. ‘You fillies seemed sooo worked up about this thing, so I thought I’d fetch it to see if you were fibbing or not.’

Apple Bloom shook her head. ‘Pinkie, ya gotta get rid of it. Chuck it on the fire.’

‘That's a bit harsh, ain't it? Jus’ looks a plain ol’ book if ya ask me.’

‘Applejack’s right,’ said Twilight. ‘We shouldn’t do anything until for sure what we’re dealing with.’

‘But me an’ Sweetie already told y’all!’

‘She’s right.’

It was Eira. Everypony turned to face him (even Fluttershy, who was now cowering under a chair). ‘That B-Book. You need get rid of it. Listen to... err...’

‘Mah name’s Apple Bloom an’ she’s Sweetie Belle.’

‘Y-yeah. You should listen to Sweetie and Apple Bloom.’

He fell quiet. Sweetie Belle gave him a funny look. Was it possible, could it be possible, that she had misjudged him?

‘What do you mean?’ Twilight asked. But again, he didn’t want to answer, so she tried a different question ‘Why do you need to get to Canterlot in such a hurry? Maybe we could help- I’m Celestia’s personal student, after all.’

‘I thought her student was called F-Firefly.’

Twilight raised an eyebrow. ‘Well... I’ve taken Firefly’s place. Whatever you need to get done, I’m happy to help. And for the record, you’re perfectly safe here. I promise.’

Sometimes, ponies choose exactly the wrong thing to say at exactly the wrong time: the words twist fate around them in the same way that the gravity of a star has the power to bend light.

It started with the Book. The stunned party guests watched as it opened by itself, and then it was as though an invisible pony was flipping through the pages at tremendous speed, coming to a halt around the middle. At the same moment, a skin of frost grew on the windows, extending over the walls, across the ceiling, along the floor. The lights blew out. The wind roared. The foals screamed.

As she stumbled in the gloom, all Sweetie knew was that she had to find Rarity, tell her how sorry she was. If only she had left the chest alone, the Book alone, left everything alone. If only she hadn’t ruined the silk. If only she could be the sister Rarity deserved...

‘RARITY!’

The fireplace died. Darkness like the filly had never known filled the library, and ponies were shouting: Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash; Fluttershy whimpering; Eira’s worried voice, ‘not again, not again.’

‘RARITY! WHERE ARE YOU?’

No answer. The filly felt as though a steel hoof had trust itself into her chest, was churning up her innards. Her stomach was in her mouth.

‘RARITY! WHERE YOU GONE?’

Somepony bumped into her. ‘Who’s that?’ she heard Twilight say. ‘Is that Apple Bloom?’

‘It’s me Twi! It’s Sweetie.’

The darkness lifted, just enough so that she could see Twilight’s glowing horn in front of her. The older unicorn relit the grate. In it’s flickering light they saw the frost had vanished, the Book was closed and that, as quickly as it had all happened, everything was back to normal.

Except they were the only two ponies there.

‘... Guys?’ said Twilight. ‘Guys?’

‘L-look in the book.’

Sweetie and Twilight spun around, discovering they weren’t alone after all: Eira was putting on his bag.

A nervous Sweetie stepped closer to the Book. Her heart pounded as she flipped it open...

They were all there, all drawn and coloured in so exquisitely that they looked like they could spring off the paper. There was Pinkie, and Applejack had a hoof around a crying Apple Bloom. The illustrated Rainbow Dash was trying to comfort Fluttershy.

And there was Rarity.

She looked so alone in the corner of the page.

Then they vanished as the ink faded away. ‘I, I wish I could help,’ Eira whispered. With that, he opened the door, and ran into the snow.

He had left them.

He had left them.

Sweetie had once been so furious at Rarity that she’d declared she going to abandon her, had even gone so far as to try and adopt Applejack as a new older sister. However, that was one of the nice things about Sweetie Belle: the reason the memory stood out was because that had been the only time in her life when she had felt truly, properly angry at somepony. Now the feeling returned with a vengeance; it was as though her insides had been replaced with a blazing fire fuelled with the might of the sun. He had left them alone. How dare he. How dare he.

‘Sweetie, wait!’

She was so lost in her rage that she didn’t hear Twilight, and she charged into the snowfall (it had grown into a blizzard). She was going to catch up with Eira; he was going to help whether he wanted to or not, he knew something they didn’t, she was sure of it.

The snowfall was spectacular, she couldn’t see a thing-

Then she stopped as she was engulfed in the purple glow of magic. ‘Let me go,’ Sweetie screamed. ‘Let me go, Twilight Sparkle!’

‘He’s gone, Sweetie,’ said Twilight, appearing by her side. And though the filly didn’t want to admit it, the mare was right; the snow was too thick, the night too dark. Eira could’ve been anywhere by now.

Sweetie’s voice cracked.

‘But... but how am I going to save Rarity...?’

She couldn’t remember being released from the magic. The only things that mattered were that her anger had broken, that she was crying harder than she had ever done in her entire life and that Twilight was there. The little filly buried her face into the unicorn’s purple mane, and never wanted to lift up her head ever again.

4. The Ones you Love

By the time Sweetie and Twilight got back to the library, not only had the snow stopped falling but Luna’s stars were coming out, bright and clear, like sugar sprinkled over the black sky. To think that a couple of hours ago Sweetie had never wanted the snow to thaw; then again, the world had been a very different place.

Twilight lingered on the doorstep, gazing at the stars. ‘I’ve never seen a blizzard clear up so quickly before,’ she said to Sweetie. ‘Although I suppose it wasn’t an ordinary storm.’

The filly looked at her curiously; she seemed to be thinking intently, lost in some distant memory or feeling. Where was she going with this?

‘There... there was one night when I was your age,’ Twilight said after a lengthy pause, ‘and Princess Celestia took me up to the tallest room of the tallest tower. The sky was so clear! All the stars were out, and she told me the names of every single constellation.’

Sweetie Belle blinked, much like Apple Bloom had done earlier at the mention of an unfamiliar name. ‘Cons... costa... huh?’

‘Constellation. It’s when you look at a group of stars and they form a picture, like a big dot-to-dot puzzle. Can you see them?’ Twilight pointed at some particularly bright stars shining above the town hall. ‘That one, that’s Lightning Dash- can you see how those five stars look like a pair of wings? Lightning Dash was the fastest pegasus of the pre-classical era and one of the bravest. Can you see him charging at the Hydra so he can save the Twins?’ She pointed to more stars, although she may as well have left her hooves in the snow for all the good it did Sweetie.

Except...

Sometimes all it takes is to look at something from a different perspective. ‘The Twins?’ asked Sweetie.

‘Look at the two bright stars above Canterlot, then work downwards.’

And the filly gasped because suddenly she could see them so clearly that it was a marvel she had never noticed them before. The two stars formed the tips of their horns, two unicorns who had their glittering hooves wrapped around each other. Their eyes were closed. They would always be bound together in the sky, their love never-ending.

When Sweetie looked at Twilight again, she was surprised to see the purple unicorn holding back tears. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Sweetie Belle,’ she whispered. ‘Especially when he mentioned Firefly: Celestia really did have a student called that, but, a hundred years ago. The Great and Powerful Taurus as well... he owned one of the most famous magic shops in Canterlot, until one day his son vanished, never seen from again...’

It took Sweetie a few seconds to realise the implication of this but when she did, she felt a horrid chill that had nothing to do with the cold. ‘It’s my fault,’ the filly said. ‘I should’ve left well alone enough. I mean, enough well alone. I mean-

‘Well enough alone?’

Sweetie nodded. Twilight sighed. ‘That sounds like Rarity talking. You shouldn’t listen to everything she tells you.’

‘But I always mess things up,’ Sweetie cried. ‘Everything I try to do something nice for Rarity I end up making things worse! I’m...’ Her voice broke. ‘I’m useless.’

Twilight knelt down in the snow to look the filly directly in the eyes. But whereas before Sweetie had felt as though Twilight was probing her mind, now those purple eyes were filled with pity and love; and courage shone there, and when the lavender unicorn spoke she did so with quiet fierceness. ‘Sweetie Belle, you are not useless. Do you know how much magic would never have been discovered if ponies ‘left well enough alone’? Do you know how many cutie marks would never have been found? Because I know. I’ve read about it, and I can tell you it’s a lot. We make mistakes. We fix them.’

The filly could see something of her sister in Twilight’s face, that same passion, and for the briefest moment it not only seemed possible that they could save the others but positively easy. ‘H-how?’ she whispered to Twilight. ‘How do we fix this?’

‘Well. For starters we can check out that book of yours.’

Twilight stood tall, finally opening the door and switching on the lights (they still worked, thank Celestia). The Book lay on the floor. It seemed so innocent, like any other misplaced book waiting to be put back on the shelf. ‘Wait here,’ said Twilight. ‘If anything happens, you run. Understand?’

‘You mean leave you here?’

‘Do you promise me, Sweetie Belle?’

Sweetie trembled, but seeing how serious Twilight was she nodded reluctantly, and sat on the floor where she started biting her hooves.

Yet for all her worrying, the Book continued to behave as any other. When Twilight nudged it with her horn, nothing happened. When she picked it up with magic, it merely hung there, looking as bored as it’s possible for a book to look. When she riffled through the pages, nothing appeared on them, no blots of ink, no sentences. Had they not already known what it was capable of they would’ve sworn it was no more than what it seemed: completely unremarkable.

As Sweetie waited, her mind became overrun with Rarity: the two nights she had had pony-pox, but Rarity had stayed with her the whole time, had even made her a blanket; the morning she’d been convinced Rarity had forgotten her birthday but it had turned out that, with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, she had helped prepare the most brilliant surprise party; and the day Rarity had run with her in the Sisterhooves Social. Her dear sister- who normally wouldn’t even touch earth unless it was imported- had not only gotten dirty but downright muddy! The memory brought a smile to the filly’s face, and so it was a few seconds until she noticed Twilight waving a hoof in front of her eyes.

‘Sweetie Belle, I think it’s time you showed me that chest.’

***

Ten minutes and a mug of hot chocolate: that’s what it took to finally convince Sweetie to go back upstairs. Stealing a last sip of her drink, she faced the staircase, concentrating hard on Twilight’s words. You are not useless.

‘I can do this,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Cutie Mark Crusader... um... stair-master?’

She blushed, realising that Twilight had overheard her thinking out loud. But whereas another time the purple mare might’ve giggled, now she put an encouraging hoof on her back and said: ‘Surely you mean Cutie Mark Crusader rescuer? I think that has a better ring to it.’

She said it with complete seriousness. To the filly, it meant the whole world.

... The first step made Sweetie think of Apple Bloom; the second, of Rarity. The staircase seemed to extend as she walked up it, like it was feeding off her fear, was growing before her eyes; if Twilight hadn’t been behind her nudging her flank, she wondered if she would’ve already run back downstairs, galloped out of the door to never step hoof inside the library ever again.

‘You’re doing great, Sweetie. Just a little further.’

Sweetie shook her head. ‘Twi, I can’t do this, I can’t, let’s go back.’

‘But there might be clues. I’ll need your help.’

‘H-how come?’

‘Because I spent a whole fortnight trying to open that chest, then you and Apple Bloom come along and it opens by itself. That’s how come.’

The bedroom was exactly how Sweetie had left it, the pile of books half sorted, and in front of them that horrible chest.

... But something had changed. Before, the chest had been dark, imposing. It had lodged itself into the fillies minds where no amount of sorting had been able to displace it, no amount of joking around, deciding if ‘The Lord of the Saddles’ belonged in fantasy or fashion, and no amount of arguing over whether Twilight really had spent her weekends as a foal sorting out books in a dusty Canterlot library. But now... it was simply a chest. It didn’t fill Sweetie with dread. The padlock on the floor wasn’t cause for concern. She was baffled as to why it had ever scared her in the first place.

‘They found it in the vaults of the Royal Canterlot library,’ Twilight explained as she levitated the contents out. ‘It belonged to Cherry Blossom herself- I couldn’t believe it when they told me, her legendary trunk with all her personal papers, rediscovered at last! She died thirty years ago (I mean, obviously), so, it must’ve been lying there that whole time but somehow nopony noticed. There was no trace of any key so they tried to open it with magic, but when that didn’t work they went to Princess Celestia for help. And would you believe it, the Princess wrote to me and asked if I would be interested in studying it- how could I possibly say no to that? So they sent it to me the very next day and it’s been in my room ever since, and look at all these papers, oh wow, oh wow! Look at her hoofwriting, it’s beautiful!’

Twilight was almost breathless from her involuntary excitement. Sweetie Belle stared at her.

‘Cherry... Cherry who?’

Twilight gave Sweetie a severe expression. ‘Cherry Blossom,’ she said, as though repeating it would help it make sense. Sweetie blinked again. ‘You must know Cherry Blossom! The inventor of the camera? There wouldn’t be such thing as photos without her; in a way she’s one of the most important unicorns of the past hundred years.’

Sweetie looked at the older unicorn’s hooves. ‘I’m sorry Twi,’ she said, quietly. ‘I’ve never heard of her.’

Twilight stared at the filly as though seeing her clearly for the first time, but then forced herself to shut her eyes and take a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry Sweetie. There are better things to worry about right now.’

‘... What are we looking for anyway?’

‘We’re going to search through these papers. We’re going to look for things which might be helpful. There’s bound to be something.’

‘All these papers?’

Twilight grinned. ‘It’s only a small pile, shouldn’t take too long.’

The ‘small pile’ was marginally taller than Sweetie Belle, and slightly wider. ‘Twi, it’s going to take us forever to read all this!’

But the librarian had already picked up her first paper, her eyes darting across the page so fast it made Sweetie dizzy to look at her.

This wasn’t helping.

As safe as Twilight made her feel, could they really find what they were looking for in these papers? What were they looking for? A spell to reverse what had happened? But what if it wasn’t there, then what? Make one up? See if Zecora or Princess Celestia held the answers? But why would they?

The fear started in Sweeties hooves, as though she was standing in a river and the water was rising; and now it tickled her belly in the most uncomfortable way, making her think of the things which could still go wrong. What if no spell existed at all? Or maybe they had until the break of dawn to discover it, or midnight; that’s how enchantments worked in bedtime stories. It was half past nine. If her hunch was right that left them two and a half hours until there was no more Pinkie Pie or Rainbow Dash. Fluttershy’s animals would have to fend for themselves. Granny Smith and Big Mackintosh would never see the Apple sisters ever again, never hear their voices, never play with them, never work with them.

She would never see Rarity again.

‘No! I won’t let that happen!’

‘Excuse me?’ said Twilight peering up from her latest paper.

‘Twilight,’ Sweetie said, anxiously. ‘Eira seemed to know what he was talking about, didn’t he?’

‘But we don’t know where he is Sweetie.’

‘Isn’t it obvious? He said he was going to Canterlot! If he’s really been missing for a hundred years, there’s no way he’ll know how to get there before us. Twilight, we could wait for him.’

Twilight put her paper down. ‘Sweetie Belle, that’s... actually a really good idea!’ She glanced at the clock. ‘The last train is in twenty-five minutes- if we leave right now we could make it. Oh, but would they still be running after all this snow? And we should bring all these papers. Where did I put my bag? Think Twilight Sparkle, think- I know it’s around somewhere.’

‘Twilight-

‘Was it by my bed? Look at this mess! Oh, I could’ve sworn I had ‘clean bedroom’ on my checklist-

‘Twilight.’

The filly pointed at the desk, besides which was a blue saddlebag. Despite the older unicorn’s purple fur, it was obvious she was blushing. ‘Umm, right. By my desk. Of course.’

Twilight started to magic the papers into her bag (even when rushing she still managed to make them impeccably neat). Sweetie scanned around the room looking for anything which might be helpful.

Anything at all...

... Something caught her eye.

There, on the underneath of the lid of the chest: an engraving, a square, and there was also a hinge.

‘Twilight, look at this.’

‘We don’t have time.’

‘But look.’

The way Sweetie said this- demanding, confident- she sounded so much like her sister that Twilight gaped at her. The older unicorn strode up to the chest and the filly pointed out the hinge, and there was a spark in the air; both of them could feel it, making their fur stand on end. Here was a hidden compartment in a chest that had missing for thirty years.

The secret compartment had no handle- it could only be opened with magic. Sweetie hardly dared to breathe as the engraving lit up with Twilight’s magic, and slowly it opened up. Behind it was-

‘The Diary of Cherry Blossom, Aged 7 to 10,’ Twilight read in a hushed tone. ‘Oh goodness...’

The diary had a tatty grey cover and pages yellowed with age, and you could almost see aura of mystery which hung around it. How delightful must this unicorn’s childhood have been if she had gone to such great lengths to preserve the diary?

... Twenty minutes.

‘I, I think we have to go now, Twi,’ Sweetie whispered, her stomach lurching. She picked up the diary in her mouth, shoved it in the bag amongst the papers, then they rushed down the stairs, stopping only to retrieve the Book (‘don’t argue Sweetie, you know we can’t leave it here,’). Twilight dashed out of the door into the snow-

But Sweetie froze on the doorstep. It was as though her uncertainty had taken on physical form; it ensnared her, a hideous monster which made her want to curl up on a bed, shut the curtains, lock the doors. You’re useless, the creature spat in her ear. You’re useless, and nothing Twilight says will ever change that. The moment you step hoof off the doorstep you’re going to ruin everything.

‘Sweetie Belle?’

If you were all alone than you’d never mess things up. Go back to the boutique. Set up your tent. It’s all you’re good for.

Sweetie knelt down in the snow, no longer thinking about the train. But Twilight knelt next to her. ‘Do you know why Cherry Blossom invented the camera?’ she said. ‘When she was born her father left, and a few years later her mother died in an accident. It was just her and her older brother until one night he vanished, and she never told anyone what had happened.’

For a moment, their eyes wandered to the bag on Twilight’s back, where the Book was. Twilight continued.

‘She invented the camera because she said that ponies... they needed a way to ‘preserve the ones they loved’. No matter how far away you were from your friends and family, you could look at a photo and it was like they were there right by your side, always reminding you that you’re loved.’

‘That’s not the same though,’ Sweetie whispered back. ‘I don’t want a picture of Rarity. I just want Rarity.’

‘Let’s go to Canterlot and get her back then, shall we?’

Twilight stood up and held out a hoof, but the monster of uncertainty hissed in Sweetie’s ear not to take it. ‘What if I’m wrong? I wasn’t lying earlier, I always mess things up.’

‘If you mess things up enough then eventually you’ll get them right.’

Sweetie couldn’t explain why she thought of it even to herself, but the image of Twilight shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath flashed in her mind, clear as a photo. She gulped. She shut her own eyes so tightly she felt she might never open them again as long as she lived; and she didn’t merely breathe deeply, but rather took the breath of her life, placing a trembling hoof on Twilight’s, and standing up to face her troubles.

***

Sweetie always savoured her visits to the Ponyville railway station. It was nothing impressive: a ticket office and a single platform (she remembered vividly her one visit to Manehatten: the terminus had left her awe-struck, a cathedral of steam and steel and ponies). But there was something about the idea of trains which filled her with excitement. They meant adventures, travelling, and perhaps those distant lands held the answer to discovering her cutie mark. She loved to imagine journeying to the Mild West, or to the great northern city of Stalliongrad, or to the wastes of the Art-hoof Circle.

Not that she had ever told anypony this. Certainly, she had never shared it with Rarity.

‘You alright, Sweetie?’

‘I’m fine. Promise.’

They had arrived in the nick of time (or so they’d thought until the delay). But at least the night train was rarely busy: they had the entire back carriage all to themselves, and it was lit with gas lanterns made out of polished brass, and the carpet was green, and there were two rows of squashy seats. Everything felt posh. This was definitely a train bound for Canterlot.

The sound of the carriage door opening snapped the filly out of her thoughts. ‘Sweetie?’ said Twilight again. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

‘I’m, I’m sure.’

Sweetie Belle stared at the door, but though she was sure she had heard it open, there was nopony there...

The whistle blew, snapping her out of her thoughts. There was the crunch of steel against steel, and there was hissing and steam, and the feel of what could’ve been a great mechanical heart pulsing through the floor of the train. With a surge of wonder Sweetie watched the platform slip away from them to be swallowed up by Luna’s night, and, through the window, she saw the Twins glittering in the sky, guiding the way to Canterlot.

Without thinking about it she threw her hooves around Twilight Sparkle; the sort of hug she usually reserved for her parents or Rarity. Twilight gasped but Sweetie didn’t care, because for the time being the lavender unicorn was her sister. She had lifted Sweetie up when she’d needed it, had reminded her that there were ponies who loved her...

‘Sweetie Belle,’ Twilight cried. ‘What’s this?’

The filly’s answer was to hold on tighter. A second later Twilight surrendered, returning the embrace, then for several minutes they said nothing, the filly fighting to stay awake in the unicorn’s soft, comfy mane.

‘... I suppose we should look at this diary then,’ Twilight said at last as Sweetie stifled a tremendous yawn- the filly thought about asking if she could curl up and rest her eyes for a couple of minutes. What happened next, though, made her feel like she had been tossed into a tub of icy slush.

Twilight opened her satchel to pull out the diary. She placed it on the wooden table in front of them, turning to the first page.

It was empty. Cherry Blossom had never written in it.

‘But why hide it?’ Sweetie asked. ‘Why bother?’

Twilight turned the page over- there was something written there, though it was extremely faint, like it had been lying in the light of Celestia’s sun. And as they tried to read, the ink seemed to become fainter and fainter... or was it a trick of the light? Twilight turned up the gas in the lantern on the wall next to them, but the writing continued to grow paler. Her gaze coasted from the book to the table. She squinted her eyes. ‘What the...?’

And Sweetie gasped because she saw it too: like ants marching from a nest, the writing was leaving the diary! Twilight skimmed through the pages as fast as her hooves would let her but it was too late, and beneath the back cover was a big pile of Cherry Blossom’s words, all of which were forming a line, and the line was drifting off the table and cascading into the blue satchel.

Twilight, a horrified look on her face, magicked the Book out of her bag but it had already swallowed the contents of the diary. The papers as well; before they had been full of writing, but now they were as barren as deserts.

Sweetie Belle pressed her back against the window, attempting to put as much space between her and Book as possible. ‘Put it back,’ she said to Twilight through clenched teeth. ‘Shove it in the bag.’

Twilight didn’t need telling twice- she had already placed the Book back, pulled the straps as hard as she could, and she tossed the bag to the other side of the side of the carriage where it fell behind a seat.

‘OUCH!’

Eira shot up from behind the seat, rubbing his head where the bag had hit him; then it dawned on him what he had done. He and Sweetie stared at each other in stunned silence...

How was he here? How was it possible?

‘Sweetie Belle,’ said Twilight as slowly as she dared. ‘Keep calm. Don’t do anything rash-

Too late. Sweetie, her heart bursting from fear and hatred and a hundred other horrible feelings, jumped over the table and charged with all her might at the quivering Eira.

5. Midnight Over Canterlot

If the filly wasn’t used to grief, then hatred like this was an almost unknown experience. All she knew was that the instant she laid eyes on Eira, the evening’s events had come crashing down on her like a landslide. She heard Rarity telling her off, saw her printed in the page of a book. She saw Eira running out the library door, running and running.

She knocked him off his seat and pinned him to the floor. ‘Why d’you run?’ she screamed.  ‘How could you leave us?’

‘I g-got scared, I-

‘You got scared? I lost my sister, how d’you think I felt?’

‘BREAK IT UP!’

Sweetie’s vision turned purple; her stomach squirmed as she was lifted into the air as though dozens of invisible hooves were picking her up. But she wasn’t the only one bound in Twilight’s magic: beneath her, Eira struggled to free himself from the lavender glow.

‘Let. Me. Go,’ Sweetie said, punctuating each word with a swipe of her hooves. Twilight shook her head.

‘This isn’t you, Sweetie Belle, and you know it. I’m not letting you go until you promise to behave. And I’m not letting you go,’ she said, glaring at Eira, ‘until you promise to stay put.’

‘Let me at him,’ Sweetie moaned. ‘I’ll get him to stay put.’

Twilight sighed patiently. ‘Sweetie. I’m not saying what he did was right, but, I can understand it. And I forgive him.’

‘Y-you, you do?’ said Eira, a dash of hope in his voice.

‘I will when you tell us everything you know about the Book.’

Sensing that there was no escape, he breathed in deeply and nodded. ‘I, I d-don’t know anything useful mind.’

Twilight shrugged. ‘We’ll see. You want to sit down by our table?’

She released him from the magic, and for a second it looked like he would run away again. But he didn’t. Instead he trotted to the table and sat down, taking off his bag, putting it by his hooves.

‘Hay,’ said Sweetie. ‘No fair, how come you let him free before me?’

‘Because you haven’t promised you’re not going to try and fight him.’

‘But, but he didn’t promise anything either!’

Twilight gave her a look that could’ve frozen fire. ‘Alright,’ Sweetie said, shutting her eyes tight. ‘I promise I won’t punch him. Or call him names. Or kick him or bite him. Is that good enough?’

It was. Twilight hovered her to the seat next to the colt’s and let her go (but there was nothing to stop the filly from getting up and sitting on the other side of the table).

Twilight sat next to her. ‘So the Book-

‘How did you get on the train?’ Sweetie interrupted. ‘I was looking out the window the whole time, I swear I didn’t see you on the platform.’

‘I wasn’t t-trying to sneak up on you, if, if that’s what you mean,’ replied the colt. Sweetie narrowed her eyes.

‘Did you even buy a ticket?’

‘... Ticket?’

He scratched his foreleg nervously. ‘I didn’t know you needed one. I’m sorry. Wh-when I ran, I regretted it straight-a-way, so I came back to say sorry- and I’m really, really sorry. But then I was too n-nervous to knock on the door, so I waited, but when you came out you seemed so upset and I wasn’t sure if I should go up to you or not, so... so I followed you instead. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have d-done that.’

If the floor could’ve opened up, depositing him on the tracks below, there wasn’t a doubt in Sweetie’s mind that he would’ve let it. All that stopped him being the most nervous pony she had ever met was the fact that she knew Fluttershy; but even Fluttershy had no problems apologizing to ponies.  All things considered, was it any wonder he had run away?

Don’t think that, she thought. Don’t make excuses for him.

But she couldn’t help it, and she imagined what might have happened had he actually stayed. Could he have read papers with her and Twilight? A fat lot of use that would’ve been- she’d scarcely glanced over them herself, and did he even know how to read? Did they teach reading a hundred years ago?

A century ago. The vastness of it made her head spin.

Did he know he had been missing for so long?

‘When were you in Canterlot again?’ Sweetie asked in a hushed tone.

‘A... a few days ago I think. I don’t know. I don’t remember anyplace called Ponyville. I d-definitely don’t remember a railway line.’

The colour had drained from his fur, and it was as though the angry fire in Sweetie’s heart was quenched in a torrent of water. ‘Do, do you think it could’ve been more than a f-few days?’ Eira said, grimacing. ‘What if it’s been something like a year or two? I mean, everypony was talking about the new railway line they were g-going to build to Manehatten, and, and-

‘Why don’t you tell us about the Book,’ said Twilight. Sweetie nudged her flank. ‘Why don’t we tell him?’ she hissed in her ear

‘Because we should break it to him gently,’ Twilight whispered back. Yet she wore the look of a pony who didn’t trust her own words, and Sweetie- though it made her heart burst with pain- knew exactly where the older unicorn was coming from. How in all Equestria were you supposed to tell a pony, even one you despised, that they had lost an entire century? Everypony Eira had known was gone. Ponyville hadn’t existed. There had been no such thing as electric lights. There had no such thing as photos of your loved ones.

Though she wasn’t certain she wanted to know the answer, all of the filly’s self-restraint wasn’t enough to stop her asking the question: ‘You didn’t- I mean, you don’t have a sister, do you? Or a brother?’

He shook his head. The filly’s heart calmed a little.

This doesn’t change things, Sweetie. You still hate him.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve got to st-start from the start,’ he whispered. ‘Otherwise it won’t make sense.’

He blushed. ‘Go on,’ Twilight said. ‘We’re listening.’

The colt smiled weakly.

It made Sweetie so sad to see that it hurt like physical pain.

E I R A ‘ S    S T O R Y

This is a unicorn without a name, and here he is on a winter’s night, wrapped lovingly in a sheet and placed in a basket. He is days old. His big, round eyes are fixed curiously on a nearby lamppost illuminating the snowfall, and it’s a quiet street he’s been left in: a hodgepodge of white stone buildings; glazed windows of many different colours, green and reds, purples, blues; and the road is thin and cobbled. Whoever has abandoned the basket has taken care to leave it on the only doorstep with a shelter- the snow falls everywhere but on the foal.

The basket offers poor protection, however, from the wind and the cold; so though the foal is wrapped in a blanket, he shivers, just a little at first, but by the time Celestia’s night draws to a close he is shaking violently. Yet he doesn’t make a sound. Even at dawn when a young mare opens the door and drops an empty milk bottle from shock, there’s not so much as a peep from the foal, no cry, no moan. He looks up with those round eyes of his, eyes the colour of ice- like the night has forever left its mark on him- and smiles.

The mare blinks.

Rushing into the house, she shouts for help, and a moment later is joined by a formidable unicorn with navy fur and eyes, and with a wand and stars for a cutie mark. This unicorn’s name is Taurus, although, in recent years, ponies have begun to call him The Great and Powerful Taurus (it’s a mark of how respected he is around the town that it is not a title he created for himself).

Taurus looks down at the foal. ‘Really?’ he sighs. ‘Again?’

‘Oh, in the dead of winter, Taurus. He must have been here all night, bless his little hooves.’

‘Bless them indeed. What time does the orphanage open?’

‘Taurus, for the sake of Celestia,’ says the unicorn mare (her cutie mark is of a telescope: even when she was a filly, she had a knack for seeing things other ponies didn’t). ‘Has magic really shrivelled up your heart so much as this? Look at him! There’s something different about this one, mark my words.’

‘We’re running low on dragon scales, Miss Glimmer. On your way back, stop off at-

‘Taurus, listen to me: by all rights this foal should be dead from cold and yet here he is, looking up at you. You said you needed an apprentice. Well?’

‘Well what?’ he snaps. ‘What, Moon Glimmer. Three foal in the last year alone! I run a business, not a charity or a nursery. Why, if we had it your way than we should be knee deep in children by now! Do you expect me to take in every foal dumped on my doorstep?’

Yet as his gaze catches the foal’s, he discovers his answer: Moon Glimmer is right. The housekeeper is right. This isn’t the first time a foal has been left on his doorstep, but whereas those others had cried and cried, this one has managed to hold his tongue. Whereas the others had scarcely managed balmy summer nights without breaking into tears, this one has made it through what has been the coldest night of the fiercest winter in decades.

And the foal is still smiling.

There’s fire hidden within his icy eyes. It’s kept him alive throughout the night, and that it’s that self-same spark that now causes Taurus to say, ‘Fine. You think you know best, Moon Glimmer? Hah! I suppose we can warm him up first. But it’s straight to the orphanage after that, and that’s final.’

* * *

Four years have passed since that cold morning Taurus took the foal inside to warm his up. ‘I really mean it this time,’ the magician always says, although by now the words are as empty as the old basket stowed away under Eira’s bed. ‘It’s final. The boy can stay one more night, and that’s it. He’s a good lad, I’ll grant him that, but we don’t have enough time for Eira.’

Eira.

That is his name, and he loves it. He loves the story of how he got it.

‘Our Eira sent to us in the height of winter,’ Miss Glimmer, the housekeeper, says to him every night as she tucks him into bed. ‘And he never made a sound the whole night, bless his little hooves. Not even a little cry.’

‘N-not anything?’ says Eira, stammering as though caught in a blizzard. He’s always stammering. It’s as though that winter’s night crept under his fur and never left.

‘Not even anything,’ Miss Glimmer says, kissing him on the forehead. Then, like a well-rehearsed dance, just as she’s about to leave he begs to hear the story one more time, oh please, please, pretty please. Miss Glimmer, of the white fur and the warm, warm eyes smiles back, saying: ‘Only if you promise go straight to sleep afterwards.’

Eira promises, and once more Miss Gimmer tells him all about how he came to be adopted by The Great and Powerful Taurus, the most wondrous magician in all of Canterlot, such a lucky boy Eira is...

He has never known his real parents.

It’s never occurred to him he might want to.

* * *

One night, Miss Glimmer takes Eira to the roof for the first time. However, it’s no ordinary night- it’s five years to the date the colt was left on the doorstep- and by no means is this an ordinary rooftop, for in the light of the moon, Equestria spreads before them, the fringes of the Everfree Forest visible in the distance, and a great river runs through a vast plain, snaking it’s way to the Valley of Canterlot. In the darkness, the city is a wonder: soft lights shining from towers, all those spires trying to touch the vault of stars... it’s the most wondrous sight the colt has ever seen...

Miss Glimmer, smiling at the joy in Eira’s face, nudges his chin, pointing his gaze to the sky. ‘Can you see those two bright stars above the Royal Castle? Princess Celestia made those stars herself- two twins watching over Equestria.’

‘Why did she m-make them?’

‘My dear, for Luna of course.’

Wrapping him in a thick blanket, she tells him a story of nine centuries past, of the Royal Sisters, Princess Celestia who rose the Sun, Princess Luna who maintained the night; but Luna grew consumed with jealousy that ponies played through the day whilst shunning her night, and as time wore on the bitterness transformed her into a terrible monster which Celestia banished to the moon, never to harm another pony again.

‘I, I don’t get,’ says Eira after a while, confusion written all over his face. ‘If she sent Luna to the moon, than d-doesn’t that mean Celestia didn’t love her? Why make stars for her?’

‘Celestia did love her, Eira, and still does: love isn’t a bond that you can break so easily. She loves her sister very much. Banishing her was the hardest thing she’s ever done.’

‘But... but...’

Eira struggles to put his thoughts into words.

‘... B-but Luna,’ he says eventually, ‘she’s been gone for, for hundreds of years! W-wouldn’t Celestia have forgotten about her by now?’

‘Just because you can’t see somepony it doesn’t mean they’re not there. Like me, for instance. Someday you’re going to be a big, proud stallion. You’re going to visit all the places you can see from this rooftop tonight, and you’re going to be happy, and even if I’m old and I can’t join you, it doesn’t mean I’m not with you. Not really.’ She puts a hoof to her heart. ‘Do you understand?’

Eira shakes his head slowly, but it doesn’t matter; Miss Glimmer knows he’ll get it one day. So she wraps the blanket around him tighter and tells him about the other constellations, about Lightening Dash, the Hydra, the Lyre, and about Orion the great earth pony warrior- Eira wants to know it all! It’s midnight, however, and he’s tired, and soon he’s fast asleep next to Miss Glimmer, a smile lingering on his face.

*

Eira waits for Miss Glimmer to tuck him in. A minute passes, five minutes, half an hour, then at long last the door opens to reveal-

Taurus. Suddenly, the colt realises that his father has never once tucked him into bed...

‘W-where’s Miss Glimmer?’

Taurus stands in the doorway uncomfortably (for all his skills with magic, this, talking to his adopted son, has never been something he’s been good at). ‘We... need to talk, my boy’ he says, his voice shaky. ‘Downstairs. You’ll need some hot chocolate.’

‘... Where’s Miss Glimmer?’

When Taurus doesn’t answer. Eira feels an impish creature clawing the insides of his belly. ‘Where’s Miss Glimmer?’ he asks again, but the stallion shuffles his hooves. ‘Where is she? Dad, where’s Moon Glimmer?’

At the mention of Miss Glimmer’s full name, The Great and Powerful Taurus does something Eira has never seen him do before, something so startling that the imp in his stomach grows wild: the stallion begins to cry.

And now Eira is crying.

He wanders up to his father, presses his face in his mane, and Taurus puts a hoof around him. The moment stretches out like a rubber band pulled to breaking point; the longer it lasts, the more it feels this silence will never end, that the rest of his life will be spent crying into his father’s mane...

*

A year passes, but at speed at which a glacier drifts down a mountainside. Eira struggles to understand how he has made it through this past year with no Moon Glimmer to tell him stories, to play with him, hug him, hold him, comfort him. In those times when he’s alone, he can almost hear her cleaning in the next room; in conversations, he always senses those particular moments when she would’ve spoken.

Eira is yanked out of his thoughts as somepony walks into the shop. ‘W-welcome,’ he says, perking up behind the counter. ‘How may I help, sir?’

He gapes at the sight of the customer. Who can blame him? The pegasus is colossal and one of his wings is withered; on his left flank, a huge scar cuts through his treasure map cutie mark, and on his right flank, stretching up to his mane, three slashes like monstrous claw marks. Over his left eye he wears a patch. On his face he wears a scowl.

‘Taurus,’ he growls. ‘I need to see Taurus. I need to see him now.’

‘I’m a-afraid he’s busy s-sir, but...’ The pegasus’ good eye narrows, forcing Eira to consider his next words with astonishing care. ‘But... b-but I’m sure he’ll make an exception. What did you say your n-name was?’

‘I didn’t,’ says the pegasus.

Eira gulps. As fast as his hooves can take him, he rushes to fetch his father.

*

It’s evening, and Eira struggles to remember the last time he saw Taurus so excited. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ he tells the colt. ‘Found in the Everfree forest, past Luna’s castle- by Celestia, look at it!’

It is a Big Black Book with no writing or pictures- for as innocent as it appears, Eira can’t shake the feeling that it’s precisely the sort of thing Moon Glimmer would’ve talked him out of buying. ‘W-why’s it special?’ the colt whispers (he can’t help but whisper). ‘What did the pegasus say about it?’

‘My dear boy, can’t you sense it? That tension, that push and pull? It wants to be hidden yet the same time it wants, needs to be found... whatever is living inside this feels as powerful as the Princess herself. Maybe even-

He lowers his voice to match Eira’s whisper. ‘Maybe even Discord.’

‘... So we’re g-going to destroy it then, right?’

‘Destroy it?’ Taurus laughs. ‘Destroy it? Hah! Silly boy, think of what we could learn from it. All we have to do is figure out how to unlock it’s secrets.’

The Great and Powerful Taurus prods the book with his horn, and though nothing happens it doesn’t perturb him- if anything the challenge fuels his excitement like coal stocked in an engine. A manic look appears on his face, unlike anything Eira has ever seen...

‘D-Dad, I, I don’t like this. Get rid of it.’

Taurus blinks. ‘Get rid of it? My boy, haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?’

Eira’s heart beats hard against his chest like a drum, and his forehead is sweaty, and what he wouldn’t give for Moon Glimmer to be there, tell his father exactly why he should rid himself of the Book (he remembers those horrible nights where he would press his ear to his door, listening to muffled arguments and shouting matches between his father and the housekeeper: suddenly, they make a lot more sense to the colt). When Eira speaks again, he does so with more passion than he ever thought possible of himself. ‘Dad, listen to me! I know I don’t k-know as much magic as you, but I’ve got a really, really bad feeling about this. Please!’

He is relieved to see some of the mania fall from the stallion’s face, but it’s short lived. ‘You know,’ Taurus says at last, deliberating his every word. ‘I’ve tried to ignore it, but I’m... I’m sorry. Moon Gimmer’s gone. She was better at this than I’ll ever be. I can’t do it anymore.’

Eira stands there in stunned silence. ‘I’m, I’m sorry?’ he says. Taurus sighs.

‘My boy, let’s be honest. You’ve always known it.’

‘K-known what? What, what are you saying?’

Taurus holds his head in his hooves, again choosing his words with care; when he speaks, Eira’s fears materialize into horrible existence. ‘What I’m saying is: one more night. Then tomorrow you’re packing, and then I’m going to do what I should’ve done the night you were left on my doorstep.’

The colt is shaking his head. ‘Do what, Dad?’ he whispers.

‘Eira. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.’

‘M-make what harder than it has to be?’

‘Eira, listen-

‘NO YOU LISTEN,’ Eira shouts, discovering a voice he never knew existed. ‘You c-can’t throw me out like old rubbish, you’re my Dad!’

‘I am not your father,’ Taurus snaps back, standing up to his full, considerable height. ‘Your father was a swine who abandoned you the first chance he got.’

‘Y-you don’t know that.’

‘Hah! I don’t know that? I’ve raised you, looked after you for eight years and for what? The way you keep yourself, all those hours spent alone reading in your bedroom, and that’s not to mention the way you freeze up in front of others. I’m expected to pass on the title ‘The Great and Powerful’ to you of all ponies? You’re my son, but let’s face it, you’ll never be my equal.’

It’s like the lid has blown off a long dormant volcano; the stallion speaks as though he would’ve said all this year and years ago were it not for a certain mare. ‘But that’s why I read,’ Eira screams back. ‘So I can learn, s-so I can be a unicorn you and Moon Glimmer can be proud of!’

‘My boy, hold your head up when I speak to you.’

Tears stream down the colt’s face as he looks his father in the eye-

Except just like that, in the time takes to throw out the rubbish, Taurus is no longer his father. ‘Dad,’ Eira says, his voice breaking. ‘I want to make you proud...’

The stallion doesn’t respond. Eira tries again. ‘Dad.’

‘Get out,’ says Taurus. ‘Go to bed.’

But still Eira stands there, and the sight of him makes Taurus explode with sudden rage. ‘GET OUT! OUT!’

Eira runs, crying feverishly, and somehow all he can think of is Moon Glimmer, his Moon Glimmer. It’s as though she’s has been taken away from him a second time, his dear mother, oh come back to him, oh please.

*

The next day passes in a haze of nerves and packing, and when evening finally comes- and when Taurus leaves to run an errand- Eira, though it is the scariest thought he has ever had, knows what he has to do. In the old basket he places a thick yellow envelope, and, downstairs, he puts the basket on the shop counter. ‘I’m sorry Dad,’ he says under his breath (hearing a voice, even his own, is comforting). ‘I’m taking the Book too. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.’

The reality of what he’s doing smacks into him with the force of an asteroid strike, and he stares and stares and stares at the basket, that self-same basket he was left in on a snowy night all those years ago. He wonders about his real parents. He’s been doing so a lot recently...

The memory of a summer’s evening sneaks into his mind: he is warm in bed, and he says to Miss Glimmer: ‘D-did my parents love me?’

Miss Glimmer frowns. ‘Darling, what a thing to say. Of course we love you. We love you the sun, the moon and the stars.’

And now Eira is the one who’s frowning. ‘I, I meant my real parents,’ he explains. ‘If they loved me, why did they leave me?’

‘I’m sure they had their reasons. Just think- they left you on the doorstep of Taurus, of all ponies, so they must have hoped for the best. Eira, look at me, look at me right in the eyes: you are loved. You’ll always be loved. I’ll always be here for you...’

The colt shakes his head, his eyes stinging from warm tears. He promises himself not to look back, not for anything, then he smashes the glass cabinet the Book is displayed in, shoves it in his satchel. He runs out of the door into the streets of Canterlot, and in his panic the city is a blur of lights and marble, unicorns dressed up, visiting plays and operas, eating in restaurants, talking, laughing. His heart skips a beat when he spots a soldier of the Royal Guard; how long does he have until Taurus gets home and reads the letter? Will he tell the Guards? Will he use magic? Eira hadn’t considered this, but it seems like such an obvious thought now that he’s had it- surely the magician knows at least one spell to track a missing pony.

Though there wasn’t a storm forecast, nopony seems to have informed the weather of this fact: vicious clouds gather in the darkening sky, and the first flashes of lightning lick the ground. By Celestia, tonight of all nights.

And right on the precipice of walking through the city gates, the scared little colt stops, staring at those cold lands which lay beyond the walls. Those mountains. Those forests. He thinks of the tales Moon Glimmer used to tell him, of young pony folk ambushed by trolls in the night, of unicorns battling ferocious dragons, of Mother Equestria herself throwing trial after trail at adventurous ponies, ice and fire, gales, avalanches, storms. He can smell something, an earthy scent. Not the smell of Canterlot.

The land past the walls: they don’t even smell right.

‘I... I can’t do this...’

The first roll of thunder is so loud that it shakes the ground on which he stands, and the clouds begin to cry. All his life, he’s been the quiet colt who keeps himself to himself, avoiding over ponies, always alone, always...

And then from nowhere he hears Moon Glimmer’s voice sounding in his head, so clearly that she could’ve been kneeling right beside him, whispering in his ear: just because you can’t see somepony it doesn’t mean they’re not there...

And at long last, he understands. When he reaches Manehatten (for that is his plan) he won’t be alone. When he’s worked long enough, made enough money in Manehatten to travel all of Equestria, he won’t be alone.

Shutting his eyes, thinking of his adopted mother, Eira takes the first step into a wider world.

After a hundred paces, the gates close behind him.

After two hundred paces, he is drenched.

***

‘You alright?’ whispered Twilight. ‘If you don’t want to carry on-

‘N-no, I do, I’m sorry. I just... need to t-think about this next part.’

Sweetie Belle’s eyes were watering and her cheeks felt warm. To think that she had wanted to hit Eira, bite him, kick him! Now, she wanted to hold him, remind him that the world was full of love; yet it was such an easy thing to thing to think, so hard to actually do.

Eira gulped. ‘Al-alright. I’m, I’m ready again.’

He launched back into his story, describing how he’d taken the high path, knocked on the first door he came across, the house of a perfect stranger; but there was something in the way he said it that made Sweetie Belle arch an eyebrow. Regardless, she didn’t interrupt.

***

‘S-Eira,’ he says, holding out a hoof which the pink filly shakes hesitantly (she is wearing a beautiful necklace with the most marvellous centrepiece: a stunningly blue sapphire shaped like a heart).

‘What in Equestria are you doing way up here?’ says the orange stallion. ‘Weather like this, you could have been killed!’

‘... C-can you keep a secret?’

The stallion frowns. ‘I’m afraid we weren’t raised to keep secrets. You’re soaking wet- I’m sure Cherry Blossom wouldn’t mind if she leant one of her towels. My name’s Apple Pie by the way. You want to sit down?’

Eira sits down at the table, but something feels off: the wind batters the windows with a vengeance, there is a draft, and the candles are constantly threatening to blow out. He feels like the Book is staring at him through the fabric of his bag, evil eyes piercing darkness, glowing red-

It’s a silly thought.

... Right?

‘You know, it’s funny,’ says Apple Pie. ‘I think I’ve seen you before.’

Outside, the rain grows heavier. Eira begins to tremble. ‘I, I work in a magic shop in town,’ he whispers. ‘Or used to.’

‘Used to?’

‘I’m... I’m running away.’

As if on cue, lightning. The colt jumps.

‘... Look, l-listen,’ he says, gulping, because he can’t carry on like this. ‘I’ve, I’ve got to be h-honest with you.’

Putting the Book on the table, he proceeds to explain all about it, of the pegasus who gave it to them, of how it seemed to bring out the worst in his Taurus. When Eira finishes, he spies a new found respect in Apple Pie’s eyes. ‘You can stay the night,’ the stallion tells him. ‘But in the meantime, I want the book out of the house.’

Eira nods. This is fair enough.

But then...

Then...

In the space of a heartbeat everything goes wrong. The draft kills not only the candles but the fire as well; silver light fills the room; and there is a voice, an awful voice which comes from the Book. The colt is frozen to the spot from fear: he can only watch, horrified, as a shadow emerges from the Book, engulfing both Apple Pie and the sapphire necklace (the filly had taken off when it had become uncomfortable).

The shadow vanishes. The candles and the fireplace relight themselves, and Apple Pie is nowhere to be seen. Eira and Cherry Blossom glance at each other; neither of them need to say how very, very scared they both feel right now...

When Cherry Blossom opens the Book, the bottom falls out of Eira’s world as he sees Apple Pie and the necklace illustrated on the page, and it swiftly dawns on him that he is responsible for this, that he’s the reason the filly before him no longer has an older brother, no family, nothing. But it can’t be true, it can’t be. He... he’s a good colt! He’s nice, he’s polite, he sees the best in ponies! He’s not a monster, he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s not.

‘We, we’ll take it to Princess Celestia,’ he says desperately, resisting the urge to throw up. ‘She’ll fix it!’

But Cherry Blossom glares at him, her eyes filled with tears (the sight pierces Eira like a knife). Before he can stop her she rushes out into the storm, and he’s about to run after her-

He can’t leave without the Book.

I’ll take it to the Princess, he reassures himself. She’ll fix it, she’ll know what to do. It’ll be alright. It’ll be OK.

‘... Eira...’

Eira yelps, knocking into a chair as he looks around the room franticly. Yet he is alone, he must’ve imagined it...

... Deep down, he knows that’s not the truth...

‘Eira,’ the voice sounds again, deep and smooth, as silky as a cushion. Eira turns his head towards the Book. ‘That’s right,’ the Book says in his mind. ‘You’re cleverer than Taurus: he had a lot more trouble accepting the voice was coming from.’

‘Y-you spoke to him too? What did you tell him?’

No answer. It takes all of Eira’s willpower to remain stood up tall and not on the floor in a blubbering heap. Beads of sweat run down his face, mingling with silent, terrified tears.

‘Let, let Apple go,’ the colt says more bravely than he feels.

‘How sweet of you to keep in your thoughts.’

‘L-let him go.’

‘You are a troubled one, aren’t you? Delicious! Who would’ve thought that the quiet colt from the magic shop would ever have it in him to run away?’

‘Let him go.’

‘Hmm. Moon Glimmer. Pretty name. Pretty unicorn.’

‘Stop it,’ Eira cries. ‘Get out of my head! T-that’s private.’

He feels something enormous brush the edges of his mind; so the Book is more than merely a powerful magical object. The Book is alive.

‘I’ve always preferred foals,’ it says. ‘You all feel the world so much more intensely than grown-ups. Your heartache, I wish you could taste it, it’s simply divine; yet... there’s so much potential there as well. It seems a shame to eat you up here and now.’

A strange numbness spreads through Eira, infecting every part of his body, making his hooves shake, his head throb. For a brief second he considers running for the door; but there, the sound of the lock. Just like that, he is trapped.

He shuts his eyes.

He sees Moon Glimmer reaching out for him.

‘M-make it quick,’ the colt whispers, focusing all of his mind on his dear mother (she’s so close, he can almost touch her). The Books chuckles.

‘You think I’m going to eat you, dear boy? But you don’t eat an apple before it’s ripe: no, I’ve got something else in mind for you...’

The next thing Eira knows, he’s surround by darkness so thick he can’t see his hooves in front of his eyes. He hears Moon Glimmer as though from a great distance; she’s calling out his name

And

he’s

crying

out

hers;

he spirals through a void,

falling

falling

falling

FLUMP.

Eira groans as he wakes up in the snow. He rubs his head, feeling as though he has been asleep for days.

‘W-where am I?’

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud but how can he help himself? It’s snowing, it’s freezing. He’s not in Cherry Blossom’s house. In fact he’s not even on the mountain: it’s night-time in a strange town, and the houses seem empty aside from the one in front of him, the most peculiar one he has ever seen- a tree with windows, and the windows are lit...

Picking himself up, he trots through the snow to knock on the door.

6. Empty

‘A-and that’s it,’ said Eira. ‘I didn’t know where I was, but... but you were all so nice to me. I thought maybe I was dreaming, but d-deep down I knew I wasn’t, not really. Then your f-friend had the necklace and the Book... and...’

He blinked, reaching into his bag to retrieve the necklace. He ran the golden chain through his hooves, feeling the weight of the sapphire heart. ‘Cherry doesn’t have a brother,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all my fault...’

Apparently no longer caring that Sweetie and Twilight were there, he put his hooves on the table, placed his head in them and sobbed to his heart’s content, the necklace lying glittering beside him in the lantern light.

Sweetie Belle, feeling ill, did something which an hour ago would’ve been unthinkable: she climbed up on the table, sat down next to Eira and leaned against him, slipping her hooves so that she could draw him into the tightest embrace; and she didn’t bother with words because they had travelled well beyond that point. For a while, the three unicorns said nothing, simply content to listen to the sounds of the train as it spirited them through the snowy wilderness. The whistle. The roar of wind through tunnels. The wheels clacking against the tracks. Each sound brought them closer to Canterlot.

Closer to having to tell Eira the truth.

At last he said: ‘H-how am I going to sort this out?’

‘We’re gonna go straight to the Princesses, silly,’ said Sweetie Belle, letting go of him. ‘Right Twilight?’

Eira furrowed his eyebrows. ‘Princesses?’

Sweetie’s eyes widened as she realised the full meaning of what she had said (there was a reason the colt had called it Celestia’s night). She stared into those big, round eyes of his. His chest was rising up and down, and the filly could almost hear the voice that must’ve been whispering to him inside of his head, begging her to say that it was a slip of the tongue, that she had meant ‘Princess’. But for as much as Sweetie wanted the lie to transform into truth, it wasn’t how she had been raised, it wasn’t what Rarity would’ve done. She kept her mouth shut.

‘... H-how long have I been missing for?’

Eira wasn’t angry: he was scared.

Sweetie glanced at Twilight, but for once the lavender unicorn was out of ideas, and the filly knew that the look of heartbreak gracing the older unicorn’s face must’ve been a perfect mirror of her own. ‘Please tell me,’ said Eira, clutching the necklace as though it was a lifeline. ‘I’ve g-got to know. Listen, if Cherry Blossom’s all grown-up I can still... I can still give her back the necklace, it’s the least I can do.’ His voice cracked. ‘Why are you both looking at me like that?’

If he had seemed afraid back in the library, it was nothing at all to how he appeared now. ‘This isn’t going to be easy to hear,’ said Twilight, bracing herself. ‘So I’m just going to say it: it’s been-

She was cut off by the most gut-retching sound, like a hoard of dragons screeching the music of hell. Twilight gasped. Sweetie and Eira spun around: there, hanging in mid-air, was the pink satchel, and it had burst into bright, green flames which licked the roof of the carriage hungrily. The bag disintegrated leaving nothing but the Book floating above the carpet.

Except it was no longer a book.

‘Get back,’ Twilight hissed, levitating the foals out of their seats and down the aisle. Mesmerized with sheer horror, Sweetie saw the pages of the Book dissolve into a mess of ink, splattering on the floor like blood. All that was left was the black cover; that too fell, splashing in the ink where it screamed in agony, exploding in a ball of dark blue fire; and from the fire arose an appalling being. Was it a mare or a stallion? Whatever it was, it was enormous, almost reaching up to the ceiling. The monster’s fur was made of shadows. It had no cutie mark. Its eyes were pupil-less and glowed red, and it’s mane was long and flowing.

Sweetie remembered vividly Nightmare Moon in the town hall; yet whereas Nightmare Moon had projected the definite sense that she craved respect, to look into this creature’s eyes was to gaze at the darkness between stars. The filly sensed that there was a deep, relentless hunger lying behind those eyes which could never be satisfied in this or a thousand other lifetimes, emptiness of a sort she struggled to understand...

It spoke.

‘Ponies are so trusting of books, even ones they know should never be read.’

The way Eira had described the voice, the filly had imagined something deep and smooth, like some of the more charming villains in her bedtime stories. The reality was different. The sound of it went through her like nothing had ever done before, like a pony was scraping nails over a sheet of steel.

‘Get behind me,’ Twilight hissed at the foals, who were more than happy to oblige. ‘Who are you?’ she spat at the Beast.

‘I’ve given up on owning a name,’ said the Beast (Sweetie put her hooves over her ears, but it was impossible to block out that horrible voice).

‘What have you done with our friends?’

‘Your friends are gone. You’ll never see them again.’

‘... That’s not true.’

‘I never lie.’

‘How do we know that?’

‘Because you already do.’ The Beast took a step closer to Twilight. ‘You’re smart enough to know- or think you know- that the only sensible way to live in the world is to be truthful, to never hold back in telling your friends and family that you love them. Yet haven’t you ever wondered if you would still love your parents if they weren’t your family? Would the ponies you call your friends still be important if you didn’t know them?’

The Beast advanced towards Twilight. She stood her ground.

‘When you’ve existed as long as I have, you realise, Twilight Sparkle, that there is nothing special about friendship. So you tell yourself that you had a bond with your friends before you even met, but what if you had never met them at all, what would that bond have meant then? Would it still have existed? Would it have mattered? You can’t have a connection with ponies that you don’t know...’

Now the Beast was hissing right into Twilight’s ear. Sweetie was paralysed with fear for the older unicorn.

‘The only true way to live is to know that, in the end, everything leaves, nothing is important. And if nothing is important, why bother lying? That’s the answer to your question: you know I’m telling the truth because there’s no reason to do otherwise. Don’t worry about your friends. They aren’t worrying about you.’

‘Stop it,’ Twilight said, silent tears streaming down her face. ‘That’s not true. Friendship’s important, it’s worth fighting for.’

‘Why fight for something if it’s only going to end?

‘Because that makes it even more special,’ said Twilight, forcefully. ‘If we know something won’t last forever but we do it anyway, that gives it value.’

She bowed her head and charged at the Beast, her horn aglow with powerful magic; but the Beast laughed, picking her with it’s shadowy mane (the mane seemed to have a will of its own), and hurled her down the aisle where she crashed in front of a screaming Sweetie Belle. Groggily, the librarian looked up at the filly before being plucked up by the mane again, and Sweetie’s heart stopped when, as if in slow motion, the Beast opened its jaws wide, wide, wider than what ought to have been possible. Realising at the last second what was going to happen, Twilight struggled desperately, frantically, twisting, pulling, biting. Her eyes locked with the filly’s-

‘Sweetie Belle-

The Beast stuffed Twilight into its mouth and swallowed her whole. Time stood still.

That had not just happened. It can’t have.

‘TWILIGHT!’

In a moment, Sweetie was going to wake up in bed drenched in a cold sweat, and Rarity was going to be there, Rarity who would climb inside the tent, sit beside her and listen to Sweetie as she recalled the nightmare: their argument over the Manehatten silk, about the chest, the Book, Eira, Twilight, every single detail. Rarity would clutch her tight, drying her tears, and together they would sleep until the dawn broke. Sisters looked out for each other. Sisters loved each other, were always there when you needed comforting...

Pure energy seemed to surge through the Beast; purple light burst from its eyes, almost blinding Sweetie it was so bright. ‘G-give her back,’ the filly said, her voice shaking like a leaf on the wind.

‘You and Twilight never told Eira the truth, did you? At any moment in his story you could’ve told him that a hundred years have passed since he was last seen in Equestria, but, selfish little ponies, you kept it to yourselves.’

Sweetie shook her head wildly to let Eira know that it wasn’t like this, that Twilight had been right on the verge of revealing the truth. But the damage was done. The colt wore the same expression Twilight had right before she had been eaten...

With a mighty roar, the Beast lunged at them. Sweetie shut her eyes knowing that this was the end-

It didn’t matter, not if it meant that she would be reunited with Twilight, with Rarity. Love flowed through her veins, purest love which drowned her fear, helping her prepare for the last breath she would ever take...

It never came.

She opened her eyes.

Half the lanterns were blown out, making the carriage gloomy, and all that remained of the Book was the puddle of ink on the carpet, surrounded by a few charred pieces of the satchel. There was no trace of the Beast. They were very much alone.

‘Where did it go?’

‘I-it vanished,’ Eira replied, his voice scarcely loader than a sleeping mouse. ‘It was going to eat you, and, and I was going to pull you back, but then it... disappeared into thin air...’

As they stared at the puddle, the filly felt a familiar, creeping sensation in the pit of her stomach, much as she had done earlier in the bedroom with Apple Bloom; though she couldn’t see anypony else other than herself and Eira, she was sure that they weren’t the only ones in the carriage.

‘You feel it too, don’t you?’ Eira whispered. Sweetie nodded. They huddled together, two little ponies with nowhere to hide.

In her mind, Twilight was looking at her, was calling out her name-

‘Eira,’ Sweetie whispered. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t know how to.’

It was tricky to know what to make of the colt’s silence. In a way, she almost would’ve preferred it had he been shouting his guts out at her, screaming that she no right to conceal the truth, that she should’ve been honest, that she ought to have told him the moment she had realised: at least Sweetie would’ve known, then, exactly how he felt.

‘We’ve g-gotta get off the train,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘Do you think this door opens?’

The filly knew what he was thinking: being in the end carriage, the door led directly onto the tracks. She spotted a little box tucked in the corner labelled: FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY. Well, if this wasn’t an emergency than what in Equestria was? Opening it, she found bandages, plasters, a sewing kit, and a little gas lantern small enough to hold in your hooves, or maybe even hang from your horn...

‘What?’ said Sweetie, picking up the lantern with her mouth. When Eira continued to give her a funny look, she put it down again. ‘I never learnt magic, OK? I don’t know how to levitate things.’

The door handle was stiff. She pushed on it harder. ‘Help me,’ she hissed. She kicked the door and then kicked it again, hard as she could, the memory of Twilight giving her extra strength.

One last kick-

‘WHOA!’

The door swung clean open and Sweetie lost her balance. Everything felt light; there was no ground beneath her hooves, and she was tumbling into the darkness of a mighty valley: the train had been travelling over a bridge. The blackness below was impenetrable; the drop must’ve been hundreds and hundreds of feet, and she was going to fall right through the tracks...

For the second time in as many minutes, time slowed down, and Sweetie could see everything with hawk-like vision: the glow of Canterlot’s lights in the distance, the look of surprise on Eira’s face as she fell away from him. I’m going to die, she thought dully, bluntly, and with her heart pumping terrifically and her brain clouded, it was the only one that entered her head. That, and Rarity.

Rarity.

Would she mind dying if it meant she could be reunited with her sister? Love flooded through her again, but it was different this time, because before she’d imagined the Beast would eat her up in a heartbeat. Now she had a thousand foot drop to think about her love, and time was trickling by so agonizingly slowly. What if she ended up in a different place to Rarity? What if... what if her sister still hated her, blamed her for everything that had happened? If she’d left the chest alone then right now they’d be leaving the party, laughing at Pinkie Pie’s antics, waving goodbye to Twilight and the others. Perhaps Rarity would’ve been in such a good mood she would’ve forgiven Sweetie for the silk incident.

Perhaps this. Perhaps that.

Or maybe this was meant to happen. Maybe I’m supposed to die tonight.

Sweetie yelled as she had the shock of her life: she stopped falling...

Eira’s horn was glowing blue with magic- a similar colour to Rarity’s- and he had caught her! He levitated her up into the carriage, put her down gently, and then breathed heavily from the effort it had taken.

‘I think,’ he wheezed, ‘you should p-probably take up magic. Comes in handy, see?’

He tried to smile. Sweetie Belle gaped at him.

‘You... you saved my life...’

‘It, it was nothing really. Just-

She threw her hooves around him. ‘I thought you were angry at me.’

This time he really did smile. ‘Hay! G-give me some credit. I’m not going to let a friend fall to their death!’

Sweetie let go of him, the horror of her fall weighing on her mind like a mountain; without pausing to think, she kissed Eira on the cheek, catching not just the colt off-guard but also herself- her face flushed every bit as much as his.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

‘D-don’t mention it.’

He looked out the door and gasped. ‘Look.’

Sweetie looked: they had crossed the bridge. Thick forests of conifers rushed past them, blanketed in snow, and the ground was merely feet away from them. All they had to do was jump.

‘R-ready?’ Sweetie said. She picked up the lantern again. She was shaking, but not because of the bitingly cold wind rushing through the door...

Eira nodded, and strapped his satchel around his back. ‘At the same t-time?’

The filly nodded back. They stood beside one another, two foals who had lost everypony dear to them; but they would get them back, by Celestia they would get them back. They would find the Princess in her castle, an alicorn who possessed enough power to raise the sun and the moon into the sky,  and with her help they would solve everything...

‘Three,’ said Eira (he said it slowly, it was obvious he was dreading this as much as Sweetie was). ‘T-two. Two and a half. One...’

The train shuddered sickeningly, sending a chilling feeling oozing through Sweetie. Quickly, she glanced back at the carriage but it was still empty, they were still alone.

‘Sweetie, what is it?’

‘I, I don’t know...’

She could see the fear in his eyes. Should they jump? But maybe that’s precisely what the Beast wanted them to do. Yet at the same time the train didn’t feel safe; every time Sweetie closed her eyes, she saw Twilight.

What would Twilight have done?

What would Rarity do?

It began to snow again, but the wind was lessening, and through the door the landscape didn’t seem to be moving as fast...

The train was slowing down.

A minute later it ground to a halt. All was dark. All was silent. The foals looked at each other, unsure of what to do or what any of this meant.

‘I think we should leave,’ whispered Sweetie. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling staying here.’

Though Eira seemed too nervous to even think about opening his mouth, he nevertheless nodded and tightened up his bag. He descended down the little metal ladder that hung off the back of the train, stepping lightly onto the tracks, Sweetie following behind him (as she touched the glorious, solid earth, she promised herself that would never step hoof inside a train for the rest of her life).

‘... Oh goodness,’ she said under her breath.

‘Oh goodness’ was right, for the train hadn’t stopped at all: rather, the back carriage had been disconnected. It rested on the tracks, lonely, the snowfall piling up on it: an oddly unsettling sight.

The snowfall was growing heavier. Just visible through it were the lights of Canterlot, gleaming not so much as half a mile away...

‘... Eira? What’s up?’

The colt was studying the forest as though he had seen a ghost.

‘Eira?’

‘C-can you see it?’ he whispered, pointing at the trees. Sweetie held up the lantern in her mouth, expecting to see monsters, ghouls, spirits; but then her heart sank because she saw something far worse. Just like that, she knew exactly why the Beast had brought them here.

Though you couldn’t see it buried in the snow, the filly knew that there was an old dirt road running beside the railway line. And where the road ought to be, she made out a sign weathered with age, pointing at a little path which led into the forest. There was only one way for the path to go: up the side of the mountain...

‘Oh Celestia, don’t do it,’ the filly whispered. ‘Don’t think about it!’

‘But I’ve, I’ve got to.’

‘But you don’t,’ Sweetie pleaded. ‘Whatever that thing is, it wants you to go up there. We’re so close! Please, I just want this be over. I just-

‘Just what?’ snapped Eira. ‘What then? You’ll go back home and you’ll be with your family and everything will be alright? Well thank Celestia, it’s a happy ending for all, isn’t it?’

Maybe it was the sight of the path, or maybe it was because the Beast’s revelation had had time to sink in, but some long dormant part of Eira awakened, obliterating his stutter, making him shout at the filly. And Sweetie Belle didn’t know what to do. It was different when Rarity shouted (they were at one another’s throats so often); to see this, a shy, shy colt speak so angrily...

‘We’ll make it better,’ Sweetie whispered. ‘Celestia will-

‘Celestia can’t bring back my Moon Glimmer from the dead. She’s gone forever, and you know it.’

‘N-no, she said she’s always gonna be with you.’

‘Well she’s not. She... she left me...’

The lights of Canterlot had been swallowed up by the snowfall. Sweetie was shaking. Eira was crying.

‘I, I have to do this,’ he said. His voice had cracked. ‘I have to see the house.’

‘Wait, you can’t leave me to just-

She was ignored; Eira was already running towards the path, his horn glowing with magic to light the way. Sweetie rushed after him, ploughing through the snow.

‘Wait.’

She had thought, perhaps, the cover of the trees would shield her from the snow, and any other time they probably would’ve; except the storm was rapidly turning into a blizzard. Even with her lantern it was hard to see more than a few feet ahead of her.

If she lost him... if she strayed off the path and didn’t notice...

Sweetie was seized with sheer terror.

‘WAAAIT! WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT!’

But the only reply came from the howling wind freezing her to the bone, the snow blowing into her eyes, and her heart telling her that she had to carry on, don’t give up, don’t give up dear little Sweetie Belle.

The wind intensified. She wondered if she had risen above the treeline, was walking exposed on the mountain.

She couldn’t see the glow of Eira’s horn.

... She was lost.

7. Blizzard

‘Hello...?

...Somepony!

...Anypony...’

But nopony answered her

lost

between white snow

and black night.

Sweetie called again, and this time she heard somepony call back to her, and her relief was such that she almost tripped over in the snow.

‘OVER HERE,’ she cried, ‘BY THE LIGHT!’

Though she could hear the other pony it was impossible to see them; the ferocious snowfall was blinding her, huge flakes blowing in her eyes, cold wind stinging. She was soaked. This was coldness like she’d never experienced, and her mind was so overwhelmed that there was only room for one thought at a time: you’re not going to freeze to death, you’re going to find that pony. You’re not going to freeze. You’re not going to freeze.

‘WHERE ARE YOU?’

It wasn’t Eira- that much she was certain of- however the harsh wind made the mysterious voice muffled and indistinct. It sounded like a filly, possibly. What was she doing out here?

... Why did the voice sound so familiar?

‘H-HELLO?’

Sweetie’s teeth clattered, her throat was sore. She wasn’t sure how long she could continue shouting out like this.

Then she had the shock of her life as she heard the other pony again, and realised that the voice was her own. But... how? She wasn’t even opening her mouth, so it must have been her imagination... yet it sounded so real...

It said:

Having a sister is just about the bestest thing in the world,

but it sure isn’t the easiest.

In the darkness past the lantern light, the filly saw shapes dancing. As she squinted her eyes they became more and more vivid, until suddenly she gasped, because she wasn’t in the blizzard anymore but instead trapped in the earliest memory she had: not of home, not even of her parents, but Rarity’s face smiling down at her.

Being sisters is a wonderful thing, but it takes teamwork.

Now Sweetie Belle was four years old, laying on the kitchen floor, relishing the coolness of the tiles after the heat of a summer afternoon; but then she jumped as from upstairs there came a dreadful cry. A moment later Rarity burst into the kitchen, started running the tap over a bleeding hoof.

For a second, Sweetie considered how strange it was that she was in the boutique and not in the blizzard; what was yet stranger was the fact that this felt... it felt...

It felt right. It felt normal.

Another second passed and the memory of the blizzard was blown away- all that mattered was here and now. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked her sister (that her voice was even higher than usual never crossed her mind).

Rarity gritted her teeth. ‘Just leave me be, O.K?’

‘... Did you hurt yourself? Can I make it better?’

Rarity shut her eyes. Sweetie was certain that she was about to be told off, but then her sister took a deep breath, her expression softening into a weak though sincere smile. ‘Darling,’ she said after a pause. ‘You don’t need to ask that. You’re already making it better.’

Sweetie blinked. ‘Huh? But, but I didn’t do anything.’

Confused, she watched the older unicorn switch off the tap and tie a towel around her hoof. ‘Just you being here is something,’ Rarity explained. ‘Come on. I’m finished for today... I feel like I never get to see you anymore now that I’ve moved here, and you’re being picked up tomorrow, are you not? Why don’t we go and see if you’re as natural as dressmaker as I am?’

‘We’re going to make a dress together?’

Rarity beamed at the wonder in the filly’s face.

It was only later Sweetie found out that her sister had cut herself whilst working on a dress for a very important client. It was later still she discovered that, after spending the afternoon with her, Rarity had stayed up all night to get the dress finished on time.

Mostly it’s about having fun together,

even if it means getting your hooves a little bit dirty.

It was the week after Sweetie’s fifth birthday, and it was raining, and how she had ever managed to persuade Rarity to take her to the park was something of a mystery, even to herself. But never mind: here Rarity was dressed in a yellow raincoat, and though she point blank refused to step off the path, the mere fact she was here was more than enough to fill Sweetie with excitement.

‘Sis, look how far I can slide!’

‘That’s nice dear,’ said Rarity, flinching at the sight of her sister jumping into a muddy puddle. The smile, however, was real: Sweetie saw it flash across her sister’s face faster than a shooting star.

That evening, Sweetie Belle felt unwell. ‘Is it honestly any wonder, young lady?’ Rarity said once she’d put Sweetie in the bath. The filly’s response was to shiver, so the older unicorn leaned over the bath, turned on the hot water once again for a minute or so, then magicked a sponge to start scrubbing the mud off the Sweetie’s fur. ‘You’re positively filthy, darling! But you only have yourself to blame- I warned you not to go splashing in puddles.’

Sweetie snivelled; not because she was sad, but rather her nose was running. ‘Totally worth it,’ she said.

She smiled at her sister. Rarity smiled back. Soon, the two of them were giggling and then properly laughing, and it was impossible to stop.

*

There was an awful thunderstorm scheduled for that night, so thank Celestia for Rarity: their parents were on holiday (what was new?) so it was just the two sisters alone, and Rarity refused to leave Sweetie’s side. ‘Sweetie Belle, you’re burning up. Do you want me to fetch another glass of water?’

A crash of thunder was all the answer Rarity needed; despite her throat feeling so swollen, the filly yelped, throwing the covers over her head. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she sobbed. ‘Please.’

Rarity stared at the shaking lump that was her sister. The poor thing. After the bath she’d seemed a little better, that is until she’d thrown up in the kitchen and again in the bathroom. Now she was sweating buckets, and the older unicorn had insisted on giving up her bed (‘I absolutely must; I don’t mind sleeping on the futon.’). Though she ignored the requests to keep the light on, she did, however, stay awake with Sweetie.

Rarity got into bed next to her sister.

‘It’s just a storm, Sweetie Belle. It’ll pass. It is nothing to be alarmed about.’

‘It’s so loud,’ the filly whispered. She removed her head from under the blanket, pressed up against Rarity. ‘Why do we even need a storm?’

‘We can’t have sunshine without a storm every now and then.’

‘But why?’

Sweetie gulped at a flash of lightning. Rarity wrapped a hoof around her.

‘If it was sunny all the time then the crops would wither. The water would dry up. We wouldn’t appreciate-

‘Apprish... huh?’

Rarity thought for a moment. ‘If it was sunny all the time,’ she said, ‘then... we’d get so used to it that we would no longer notice it. A good storm every now and then reminds us why we like it so much.’

The filly tried to think about this, but with her tummy feeling like it was being attacked by knives, with her head foggy, it was too much for her. So she buried her face into her sister’s fur, shutting her eyes, listening to the wind pounding against the windows, the rustling of leaves and twigs, the patter of rain, the thunder. It would’ve been the easiest thing in the world to feel frightened; but even the depths of panic her sister made her feel safe.

Rarity placed her head on the pillow next to Sweetie’s and stroked the filly’s mane. ‘You are loved, Sweetie Belle,’ she whispered so quietly that the filly wondered if she was dreaming it. ‘You’re so loved. Never ever forget that. Never let anypony tell you otherwise...’

Sweetie opened her eyes.

She was met not only with her sister’s loving gaze, but something else as well: a glimmer of light just past Rarity, blue in colour. ‘W-what’s that?’ she asked, but Rarity didn’t seem to hear her. Suddenly, she felt cold, like she was going to throw up again.

The light was getting stronger and stronger. The little unicorn couldn’t figure out what was making it.

‘Rarity, what is it?’

She sat bolt upright, but ill as she was this made the room spin, made everything seem faint and indistinct. She was colder than ever. It felt like she was being attacked with ice...

Whumph.

Sweetie Belle fell over in the snow, dropping her lantern (it was extinguished immediately). Where was Rarity, where was the bedroom? What had happened?

... She’d lost herself in memories, that’s what...

‘Calm down, Sweetie. You’re alright. You just forgot yourself for a minute.’

Her forehead was covered in sweat. It had felt so real. No, it had been real; no memories were that vivid, it wasn’t possible.

The following morning the storm had blown out and Rarity had made her breakfast in bed. By the evening she had been back to normal, and-

‘Stop it,’ she said to herself. ‘This isn’t helping.’

She shook her head, and as she did, it occurred to her the snowfall had almost died out. In front of her was that strange blue light...

Actually, not strange after all: it was Eira.

8. Tens of Thousands

‘EIRA!’

Sweetie ran like there was there was tomorrow, and jumped on top of the colt, knocking him over in the snow. She wasn’t even sorry; to feel the warmth of his body against hers, the feel of his fur, his mane, his tail, it was enough to make her cry- relief like this, the bliss of it, almost made being separated worthwhile. In that moment, the filly was lighter than air.

‘Don’t ever leave me again,’ she told him (a pang of rage deflated her relief: it was twice that he had left her that night). ‘Or else.’

Eira stood up. He looked at his bag- it had fallen off when Sweetie had jumped him- and looked at his hooves. The light from his horn dimmed a little. ‘Alright,’ he said in a voice flatter than paper.

Though the blizzard had died, the wind remained. Sweetie’s teeth chattered. From nowhere, she thought of walking to Twilight’s in the snow, how lovely the sight of it had been, how she’d imagined the mountains of Canterlot to be peaceful giants watching over a snow-covered Equestria. Now she was here, the idea was loathsome- if she never saw snow again then it would be a lifetime too soon.

‘... Are you alright?’ she asked.

The wind howled. Slowly, Sweetie Belle took notice of where she was: high, high above Canterlot, and the streetlamps gleamed like stars. And though Eira’s magic wasn’t tbright, it was enough to illuminate a little stone wall coated in a layer of snow.

Sweetie stared at it, a strange unease creeping over her: this wasn’t a good place. She couldn’t put the feeling into words, but standing here beside the wall made her feel… sad, somehow. Lonely and forgotten, for she sensed without being told that this was a place overlooked by generations of ponies. When summer came, the wall would be overgrown with vines and creepers. Here, in the heart of winter, it was a dead place, snowbound and desolate.

Sometimes all it takes is to look at something from a different perspective.

Suddenly, Sweetie realised that she wasn’t looking at one wall, but rather four: four low, stone walls arranged in a rectangle. With a jolt in her stomach, it occurred to her that they hadn’t been built so low on purpose: a house had once stood here. A hundred years was all it had taken for nature to reduce it to rubble.

Eira, as though he could see something Sweetie couldn’t, walked up to a gap in the wall. He raised a hoof. He waved it in mid-air, as though knocking an invisible door – a door that had rotted into nothing decades beforehoof…

‘It’s really been a hundred years, h-hasn’t it?’ he whispered.

Sweetie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. There was a lump in her throat and it wouldn’t let her speak.

So she walked up to him and stood beside him. Silence bound them. It said more than spoken words ever could: I’m sorry, Eira, Sweetie’s silence said. Oh Celestia, I’m so, so sorry.

Eira took a deep breath. Despite everything, he managed a weak grin. ‘It’s alright,’ he said. His voice trembled, but Sweetie knew that it wasn’t from the cold. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say either.’

This was too much for Sweetie Belle. For the second time in as many minutes she threw her hooves around him and held him tight, clutched him, pressed her face into his fur – she didn’t want to let go. What was it like? What was it like knowing that everyone was it to know that everyone you ever knew was dead, dead, dead? Even the buildings he had once known were gone; stone wasn’t as permanent as it appeared.

Everything fades.

Finally, Sweetie Belle loosened her hooves allowing Eira to cross the wall into what remained of Cherry Blossom’s home. His smile had vanished, replaced with a blankness so complete that it rivalled the white, fresh snow.

1. The Night that Apple Vanished

**T H E    F I L L Y

A N D    H E R    G H O S T S

B Y    S T A R S W I R L    T H E    B E A R D E D**

— 1 —

The Night that Apple Vanished

A hundred years ago, a house rested on the mountainside high above Canterlot. Unlike the city’s graceful towers it was built of brown stone, and was incredibly old. And for one of its inhabitants, that night would be the last time that they ever saw it.

It consisted of a single room, in the corner of which were two beds for two unicorns, and it was surrounded by tall trees through which the lights of the city below gleamed like diamonds. ‘Or like stars shining through the leaves,’ Cherry Blossom had once told her older brother, who had smiled in agreement. Cherry Blossom and Apple Pie, living alone in their special little home...

That fateful night, it was stormy (though neither could remember a storm being scheduled). The rain was so heavy that it was impossible to see Canterlot’s lights.

‘D’you think it’ll ever stop?’

Apple Pie looked at the pink filly standing on a chair, her face pressed against the window, her bright yellow mane appearing to shimmer in the light of the candles. ‘Think what will ever stop?’ he asked.

‘The storm silly! It feels like it’s going to last forever.’

‘So you think the weather team is just going to let it rain until everything is washed away?’

‘... We could live on a boat.’

She smiled, and then a crash of thunder made her made her yelp, made her fall spectacularly from the chair. Smacking her head against the bookcase, she sent an avalanche of books tumbling from the shelves down on top of her; but Apple caught them with his magic. ‘I, I meant to do that,’ said Cherry, her cheeks flushing. ‘Promise.’

‘Right,’ said the orange stallion. ‘So you meant to be scared, fall off your chair and smack your head. Hah!’

He didn’t say it unkindly. Nevertheless, when Cherry told him, ‘I’m not scared of anything,’ she found it hard to hide the resentment in her voice. She huffed as she looked around for her Mother’s necklace; it must have fallen off when she’d hit the floor.

Where was it?

Under the bookcase?

Under the table, the desk, the oven?

From nowhere, a horrible thought sneaked up on the filly as horrid thoughts are prone to do, and it embraced her like some dark creature of the night: had she even had it on in the first place? Her stomach squirmed. She was certain, certain, that she’d been wearing it on the daily round delivering pastries in Canterlot. But after that...

‘Sis? Are you alright?’

‘Mum’s necklace,’ she whispered, fighting to stop her lip trembling. Apple stopped smiling.

‘Cherry, listen.’

‘I must’ve dropped it, oh dear, oh dear-

‘Cherry.’

The filly’s eyes watered. Apple knelt down to whisper in her ear. ‘You remember what Mum would say on a scary night like this?’

‘That somepony needs to give the weather pegasi their pay rise?’

‘No, silly! There are so many things to be scared of- lightning, thunder- but so long as you remember you’re not alone, that’s all that matters. Come on. It’s just an old necklace. I keep telling you, Mum never even wore it, she wouldn't want you to be worried about it.’

‘... It’s not just an old necklace. I’m not worried.’

It would’ve been easier to believe had she not been scanning the floor franticly, but even in the depths of panic her brother made her feel safe. He nuzzled her and she nuzzled back, for the briefest moment forgetting about her troubles, about all her worries...

KNOCK. KNOCK.

A draft blew out the candles along with any thoughts of missing necklaces. The filly and her brother looked at each other in the remaining light of the fireplace, and then at the door, each of them sure they hadn’t imagined it.

Apple Pie rose to his hooves.

‘Don’t,’ said Cherry, but the stallion merely stared at that thick wooden door which moments ago neither of them had given a second thought to. Now it was everything. In the gloom, every sound seemed important. Every drop of rain against the roof. The wind through the trees. The rumble of thunder.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

‘H-hello?’ cried a voice. ‘Anypony in?’

The fur on Cherry’s back prickled. Perhaps she was imagining it but she heard terror leaking out of the edges of that voice, and somehow- don’t ask how- she knew it had little to do with the storm raging on the mountainside.

‘Please, p-please let me in. It’s so cold out here...’

Apple Pie sighed.

‘Don’t,’ the filly hissed again as he strode towards the door, but he frowned at her, saying: ‘That is not how Mother raised us, Cherry Blossom.’

With that, he opened the door.

The filly’s first thought was of a phantom. See the ragged cape lit by lightning! Look at that wild mane, those filthy hooves, those cold, cold eyes. She almost tripped over a chair in an effort to back away.

But then her brother locked his gaze with hers; she gulped, forcing herself to look at their visitor. It was a colt the same age as her, the single wettest unicorn she’d ever seen. Under his bag and cape he had a sandy brown coat of fur and an icy blue mane the exact same colour as his eyes. Like herself, he’d yet to earn his cutie mark.

And she recognized him. ‘Hay! You’re the boy from the shop!’

‘S-Eira,’ he said, a hopeful smile appearing on his face as he held out a hoof. But Cherry Blossom didn’t take it.

... Smile fading, he lowered his hoof...

‘What in Equestria are you doing way up here?’ said Apple Pie. ‘Weather like this? You could have been... well, killed.’

Eira patted the floor, avoiding Apple Pie’s worried eyes, the pink filly’s glare. ‘C-can you keep a secret?’ he said after a while.

Cherry’s heart beat, beat, beat against her chest; coolness rushed through her body as she gazed at this unicorn standing dripping wet in her home. What was he doing here? Even when you counted their conversation in the shop from earlier that day, they had talked for barely minutes, yet that was enough to trust her with secrets? Something else was at work here, something she couldn’t see yet. Something dark.

‘I’m afraid we weren’t raised to keep secrets,’ said Apple. ‘And by Celestia, you’re absolutely soaking wet. I'm sure Cherry Blossom wouldn’t mind if she leant one of her towels. My name’s Apple Pie by the way. You want to sit down?’

It was so like her brother, thought Cherry, to be so honest. Herself? She would’ve let him tell the secret, only then deciding if it was worth hiding or not. Look at the way Eira kept glancing at his bag, at how he constantly looked out the window as though expecting monsters to come and spirit him away. Relighting the candles, she sat down opposite their visitor and tried to catch her brother’s eye. He was noticing these things too, right?

... Right?

As they sat, the question grew ever larger in her mind, like how snow gains momentum as it flows down a mountain, transforming into an avalanche: what was he doing here? The seconds dripped by but the brown unicorn remained silent, and so Cherry allowed her imagination to gallop ahead of her. Was he a thief come to steal their processions? But they were just bakers so that was unlikely. Was he a murderer? On the run from the Royal Guard? It certainly would’ve explained his nerves...

The rain grew heavier.

Eira began to tremble.

He kept peering up at Cherry as if to say something, yet couldn’t seem to summon the courage. ‘You know,’ said Apple Pie, breaking the silence, ‘my sister’s right. I think I've seen you before.’

‘I, I work in a magic shop in town,’ said Eira. ‘Or used to.’

‘Used to?’

‘The truth is... I’m... I’m r-running away.’

As if on cue, lightning, and Eira gasped and looked at his bag as if checking it was still there. Cherry and Apple exchanged a glance.

‘What’s in the bag?’ the stallion asked.

‘Um, n-nothing. It’s nothing.’

But he looked uncomfortable, so Apple asked again. ‘What’s in the bag, Eira?’

‘It’s nothing. I p-prom-

‘If you can’t promise that you can keep that promise then don’t you dare make it,’ said Apple, abandoning his warmth and kindness (it was so rare her brother spoke like this that, unnerving though it was, Cherry found it mesmerizing to watch).

Eira cowered. ‘O.K, O.K,’ he said. ‘But you’ve g-got to say you’re not going to be mad at me- it’s not what it looks like. I’m not a thief.’

‘Never said you were,’ said Cherry. As the colt opened his bag, she saw that he was visibly shaking.

And through the fog of her suspicion, sense, miraculous sense crystalized in Cherry’s mind. She placed a hoof around her neck: she had been in the magic shop earlier, had talked to Eira before leaving; then she remembered how the colt had burst from the shop doors, how he had yelled something across the street, however by that time she and Apple had already been far away on the back of a cart, and then Eira was gone. But something else had gone missing as well. She just hadn’t realised until now...

From the bag, Eira produced a big, black book which he put on the table, then he looked inside again and (Cherry’s heart raced) he pulled out-

Nothing.

His face fell as he felt around inside the bag. But it was empty.

‘That's it?’ Cherry hissed. ‘Where's my necklace?’

‘I, I don't know, I-

‘That's a lie and you know it. You have my Mum's necklace.’

‘Cherry, stop it.’

Apple held the filly in place with magic; it was all that stopped her from getting her hooves around the terrified colt. ‘Use your head -- why would he climb halfway up a mountain at night in the middle of a storm just to give you back a necklace? He doesn’t have it. He doesn't even know you.’

The stallion looked Eira in the eye. ‘Right?’ he added. ‘I suppose you were heading over the mountain when the storm hit, and this was the first house you happened across. I’m right... aren’t I?’

The colt’s continued silence was answer enough. A stunned Apple Pie released his sister from the magic. ‘I’m not a thief,’ Eira whispered. ‘The c-chain was loose, she dropped it, I swear, I swear on everything.’

‘... Where is it?’ Cherry asked yet again.

The colt stared at his book.  Brother and sister stared at it too, the filly quivering as she remembered this wasn’t the first time she had seen it. Goodness, he had been so eager to show it to her in the shop; their latest acquisition, found in the heart of the Everfree Forest itself. Not simply a book, but a book filled with the deepest darkest magic known to ponykind...

‘The pegasus who gave it to us, he, he said it was like... like it had a m-mind of its own. It drove my mentor mad, trying to figure out its secrets and I... I think the book knows I stole it. I think it’s angry. I think the book caused this storm.’

Cherry rolled her eyes. ‘That’s honestly the best you can come up with?’

But Eira was being serious. Something in his face made Cherry think that maybe, just maybe, she should take the idea seriously too.

The three of them gathered around the Book and the filly opened it.

‘My necklace!’

There it was, plain for them to see in the candlelight: the most beautiful, detailed picture of a necklace. The thin chain was inked pure gold, the sapphire heart which formed the centrepiece a stunning blue. Mother’s necklace, exactly how Cherry remembered it, every curve, every link on the chain; yet what was this? The ink was fading right before their eyes. Soon, where before there had been a picture of mother’s necklace, there was now nothing at all; and the three unicorns were left staring at the whiteness of a blank page.

Despite the storm, everything felt still.

‘What, in all Equestria, have you brought into our home?’ said Apple Pie, turning on the colt. However, though Apple’s voice was powerful, there was a distinct lack of fury in it. It appeared he trusted that Eira had been oblivious of the Book’s true nature.

A shiver danced down Cherry’s back.

‘Just answer!’ she cried when the colt remained silent, because suddenly she could scarcely take it: first he had lied about running away (probably), then he’d lost her necklace and now he acting like a coward. Rage bubbled in her heart like water over fire, and if her brother wasn’t going to be angry then she’d have to be mad enough for both of them. ‘Why d’you bring it here?’

‘I... it’s j-just... in the shop, you seemed really interested in it, and I thought-

‘Well I’m not interested,’ Cherry spat. ‘And now I don’t have Mum’s necklace and it’s all your fault, and-

And she was crying. On Eira’s face she saw the look of one who had hoped for everything and lost it all, but if hating him made her feel better then that’s precisely what she was going to do. She let her disgust wrap itself around her like a python, let it consume every fibre of her being; pure loathing for Eira and his awful, horrible Book. ‘You, you have to leave,’ she said. ‘Now. You and your Book, both.’

Through her tears it was difficult to get the words out, but she managed. Oh goodness she managed. Storm or no storm, this dim-witted colt wasn’t going stay here a second longer.

‘I have to l-leave?’

‘Yes. Go back to Canterlot. Don’t ever come back.’

The filly jumped as she felt something on her back- her brother had put a hoof around her. ‘You’re going to make him walk back down to Canterlot on his own in weather like this? Hmm?’

More than anything else, it was the disappointment dripping from his voice that dragged the filly out of her anger. Peering into his eyes, she spied a warning resting behind them: this isn’t how Mother raised us.

Suddenly, she thought of an endless meadow. It was a dream she often had: she’d be chasing Apple Pie, calling out his name but he wouldn’t hear her, wouldn’t turn around... Cherry Blossom shook her head, trying to forget the dream, letting the sounds of the storm wash over her, remind her where she really was- not in an imaginary meadow but here in her house. She pressed her face against her dear brother, shutting her eyes, wishing that everything would go away; Eira, his Book, the storm. I just want it to be me and Apple, the way it’s supposed to be... and all the lights gleam like stars...

After what felt like the longest time she opened her eyes, discovering her face wet from her tears. Her gaze found the colt’s. His eyes were like snow on the highest peak in winter, eyes that had forgotten all about warmth and love and kindness.

She gulped.

Too proud to say sorry, she trotted over to the chest by her bed to fetch him a towel, then she stood beside Apple Pie and stared intently at her own hooves, blushing furiously.

‘Eira can have my bed tonight,’ said Apple after a long pause. ‘We’ll figure out what to do in the morning, but in the meantime I want the Book out of the house.’

‘Th-thank you,’ Eira said, his voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the storm. ‘I'll, I'll make it up to you, I promise.’

The stallion grinned. ‘You really think we would’ve sent you away? You must be shattered. Let’s get some sleep.’

Apple Pie put his hooves around the Book.

And in the space of a heartbeat, everything went wrong...

There was the loudest roar of thunder, like a colossal beast disturbed from it's thousand year slumber. A gust of wind opened the window, blowing out the candles and the fire, and Cherry yelled from fright as a silver light lit the room: the Book was glowing! Apple still had his hooves around it.

‘Let go,’ she told him.

But for whatever reason he didn’t, or couldn’t, and he stared transfixed at the Book. Cherry hooked a leg around his to try and drag him away.

‘Let go.’

He didn't respond, but this was just a game, wasn’t it? Any second now her brother would let go of the Book, pretend he’d been put under a strange spell; then he’d throw it outside where it belonged, then they’d go to bed, then in the morning they’d send Eira on his way and everything would return to normal. That’s what was going to happen. Everything would be alright. Everything would be O.K...

Now Apple's eyes were glazing over, and though filly felt her tears return, she didn’t care (there wasn’t time to). She shouted at Eira, ‘don’t stand there, help me!’

He was petrified. He didn’t move.

And above the sound of the storm Cherry heard a voice; the most terrible voice she had heard in her entire life. It was deeper than oceans, and it spoke in an ancient, long forgotten language, on each word of which rested the weight of thousands of years. It was sounding from the Book.

Apple’s eyes were distant, his voice stolen, his hooves still glued to the cover. The filly shrieked as something almost unimaginably cold brushed against her hoof; without thinking she backed away and saw that a formless shadow had emerged from the Book. It felt its way up Apple’s legs. It covered his head and his body, then the moment every part of him was concealed, the shadow retreated back into the pages of the Book, taking the stallion with it: Apple was gone. The deep voice stopped. The candles and the fireplace relit themselves.

‘... A-Apple?’

Cherry stepped closer to the Book (Eira put a hoof around her but she shoved him off). ‘Apple?’

Her breath came in shallow bursts. Her head swam, her coat was freezing. Never before had Cherry Blossom felt as scared as she did then, reaching out a hoof towards the Book.

She flipped it open.

There he was.

In the picture, her brother wore a slightly shocked expression. His orange coat was inked beautifully. His green eyes were perfectly drawn. You could almost smell the cutie mark on his flank- a pie- and his mane was redder than a freshly picked apple.

‘No. No no no.’

The foal's tears splashed on the page. Scared what would happen if the ink ran, she wiped her face, but even before she had lowered her hoof the picture began to fade away exactly like the necklace had done. A moment later her brother was truly gone.

In her mind, the pink unicorn heard that abysmal voice again. It seemed to come from within the walls, the table, the kitchen, the chairs, the beds, the fire-

Her head felt like it was going to burst. She, she couldn't stay here, it was too much.

So she ran. She rushed past Eira, burst through the door into the storm, and the colt shouted, ‘STOP! WAIT!’

But Cherry didn’t stop.

She kept running.

And running.

And Running.