Rarity looked up from her most recent designs in her sketchbook to see her clock’s hands showing it was past dinnertime. “Oh dear, was I really in the zone for that long?” she mumbled to herself, realizing she’d barely paid attention to Sweetie Belle leaving to sleep over at Scootaloo’s. She’d approved it well beforehoof, but she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty she’d only spared a look over her shoulder and a “have fun!”

Putting her creative materials away, Rarity entered her foyer to see that she hadn’t even gone through her mail for the day. Oh goodness, she thought to herself, perhaps Sweetie Belle is right. I do need a break more than I thought. She smiled as she began sorting through her mail. At least Friday she and I will have a well-deserved sisters’ day where we can relax and enjoy each other’s company for a while.

Placing her new issue of Cosmare on her reading table, Rarity brought the next letter up to her face. She froze, her telekinetic grip on the rest of her mail faltering and letting it slip to the floor. Her lips trembled. “S-S-S-Straight Lace?”

She tore open the envelope and extracted the letter in an instant, her pupils dilating at Ms. Lace’s elegant cursive. “‘Dear Rarity Belle, I am most honored to accept your...!’” she skimmed through the rest, a joyous squeal growing inside her until she released it in an ecstatic cry. “Straight Lace will review my summer line! I’ll be the shining star of Canterlot if she gives me her stamp of approval!”

She leapt into the air, laughing in delight as she bounced around her store’s front room. “Oh, I’ll have to make sure all my displays look perfect! And perhaps I might even preview my latest sketch, if I can commit it to fabric quickly enough!” She read the letter again, scanning for a date. “I will visit the Carousel Boutique for our session... Friday?!”

Rarity looked up in shock. “That’s only a few days! Dear me, perhaps I won’t be able to show her my most recent concept after all...” She gasped, putting a hoof to her cheek as she recalled her schedule. “Oh dear, that’s the same day Sweetie Belle and I are having our sisters’ day! Oh, she’ll be so disappointed...”

Pursing her lips together as she reread Straight Lace’s immaculate hoofwriting, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, I’m so sorry Sweetie Belle, if I had any idea I’d actually get a response from Ms. Lace, I would never have gotten your hopes up so much about our special day...” She fell to her haunches, mumbling, “I’ll have to reschedule our sisters’ day. I hope she isn’t too angry...”

Opening her eyes, she looked at her clock. “Perhaps I should go out and tell her now, while she’s with Scootaloo. A good night’s sleep alongside a friend might help soften the unfortunate news in the morning. I just hope she forgives me...”

“So, Sweetie Belle, wanna play Thunderhead?” Scootaloo asked, looking through her boxes of games.

Sweetie Belle yawned. “We played that to death the last couple times I came over to sleep here. Plus, you always find all my clouds in like two turns anyway. Hey, why don’t we play Yahtzee?”

Scootaloo winced. “I’d rather not play anything too noisy. I know Headmistress Golden Braid is pretty lenient, since she lets me have slumber parties here even though I’m technically not supposed to have guests over, but she’ll still probably have to chew us out if we’re rattling dice really loud once curfew starts.”

“Alright...” Sweetie Belle muttered, kicking a hoof on the floor. “Maybe we could just—”

A knock on the door interrupted her. The two fillies stared at each other for a moment; surely it wasn’t lights out this early?

“Sweetie Belle, dear? Mind if I come in?”

“Rarity?” Sweetie Belle answered. She shared a shrug with Scootaloo. “Sure.”

Rarity gingerly opened the door, stepping inside and closing it behind her. “Sorry, Sweetie Belle. I don’t mean to interrupt your sleepover with Scootaloo, but I have some news I’d rather tell you now than later.”

“Um, OK. What is it?”

“Today’s post included a letter from Straight Lace. She’d like to visit my boutique and review my summer line.”

“Oh, wow!” Scootaloo replied. “That’s really good news!” Her eyes darted over to Sweetie Belle. “It is good news, right?”

Sweetie Belle nodded. “Rarity’s been worrying about it ever since she sent Ms. Lace her proposal.” She turned back to her sister, tilting her head. “But why is it so important you had to come to tell me now?”

Rarity’s smile grew strained. “Well, see, the thing is... she’s coming in on Friday... the day we scheduled for our sisters’ day...”

Sweetie Belle’s face screwed up in annoyance, and she looked down at the floor. “Oh.”

“I’m so terribly sorry, Sweetie Belle. I promise we can reschedule, and I’ll make it up to you.”

“You said that last time!” she blurted out, looking back with a frustrated glare. “You promise we’ll spend time together, and then something just ‘comes up’ and you have to cancel!”

“I know, I know dear,” Rarity said. “But this could make or break my store in Canterlot! You wouldn’t want her to say bad things about my work, would you?”

“Well maybe you should reschedule meeting with her instead of canceling our day together!” Sweetie Belle yelled, causing Rarity and Scootaloo to flinch. “I wish I could tell you what to do more, instead of you constantly dictating when we get to do things!”

Rarity put a hoof to her chest. “I know, I know. I wish I would pay more attention to what you want. I’ve been terribly insensitive toward your feelings.”

Outside the window, the ponies heard a clapping noise.

Rarity turned to look out the window, but the dark exterior plus the lights on in Scootaloo’s room made it nearly impossible to discern any details. “What was that?”

“We’re not done talking!” Sweetie Belle said. “You always do this to me, and I’m sick of it!”

“Now that’s going a bit too far!” Rarity replied firmly. “You should watch your tone!”

“I should watch my tone?!” Sweetie Belle shrieked, staring defiantly up at Rarity with blazing tawny eyes. “I think you’re the one who should be watching her tone!”

“M-Me?!” Rarity exclaimed in shock. Scootaloo, for her part, had zipped under her sheets, which were trembling as purple eyes peeked out at the scene.

“Just who do you think you are?!” Sweetie Belle stomped forward. Rarity leaned back slightly, but held her ground. “Since when do you get to tell me what to do? Since when is it in your authority to order me around and tell me what’s best?!”

Rarity opened her mouth to reprimand her, to say how ridiculous she was being, how she was her older sister and guardian and therefore had every right to tell her what to do. But being nose-to-nose with her, pressing her horn into Rarity’s bare forehead, with a withering glare that would have incinerated her on the spot if looks could kill, Rarity found herself feeling quite intimidated, and she retreated a step.

As if sensing her advantage, Sweetie Belle followed, backing her into the wall. Her coat darkened from white to an aluminum gray. “I certainly hope things will be different between us from now on, or else there may be some painful consequences for you! I do not tolerate ponies disputing my decisions, least of all you!”

Now properly frightened, Rarity risked wiping her face clean of spittle with a ruby-red hoof. “T-That’s not what I intended at all! I was merely—”

“I don’t care what you intended!” Sweetie Belle had the height advantage now, staring down her gray muzzle into Rarity’s terrified forest-green eyes. “You have stepped out of line, and if you don’t choose your next words carefully—and I mean very carefully—you may find yourself out a job. Unless that is what you want?”

Rarity bit her lip, feeling sweat trickle down her face and through her disheveled blonde mane, before deciding to debase herself to the mare chastising her and hope for the best. “N... No, Headmistress Widow Peak. Of course I’d like to keep my job.”

“Then explain why you think you can argue with me about what’s best for my orphanage, Miss Marinara?” Widow Peak drew herself to her full height, towering over her as she tucked a strand of her straw-colored mane behind her ear with a flick of her magic.

“I...” Marinara looked down, glimpsing her own ladle cutie mark as she stared at the ground, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that would appease the Headmistress. “I would never argue with you, Headmistress. Your rules are final, your word is law.”

Marinara brought her gaze up to see Scootaloo shaking beneath her blankets. Feeling her mouth tremble, Marinara threw herself at Widow Peak’s hooves. “Please, please don’t fire me! I enjoy my work here, helping cook and watch out for the children! I don’t have the money to start over if I lose this job! I’ll do anything, just please don’t kick me out!”

Widow Peak lifted a forelimb in disgust and took a step back, finally giving Marinara some breathing room. “Then I hope you’re thoroughly aware of your place here, Marinara. You are a cook, nothing else. If you decide to ever dispute my authority again, consider yourself unemployed.”

“Of course not, Headmistress, never...” Marinara cautiously got to her hooves, staying close to the wall away from Widow Peak.

The shaking blankets shifted, and Scootaloo’s uncertain face appeared. “U-Um, Headmistress?”

“What?” Widow said sharply, turning her gaze onto the filly.

Scootaloo let out an eep, but didn’t retreat under her covers. “Well... I was just wondering...”

“Spit it out!”

She flinched. “I-I know the rules say everypony has to be in by curfew, but I was wondering if maybe I could sleep over at my friend Apple Bloom’s house sometime?”

Widow Peak paused for a second, then laughed. “Absolutely not!”

“O-Oh, OK,” Scootaloo said, but Widow Peak continued speaking.

“What, do you think you’re entitled to a sleepover? That you can run off and play with your friends anytime you like? Is that what you think?”

Scootaloo bunched her sheets up against her mouth.

“Is that what you think?!”

“No, Headmistress!” she answered.

“And well you are not! Children feel entitled to everything! It’s like they think the world belongs to them and they deserve extra on the side for being young!”

Widow Peak tittered, her boots making loud clomps on the floor as she paced and tossed her head around the nearly-bare room. “You’re lucky to have what I give you! Three meals a day and a bed to sleep in, and all you have to do in return is earn your keep cleaning and doing chores! If it weren’t for me, you’d be out on the streets! You should be thankful, not asking if you can have a slumber party!”

“I-I am thankful!” Scootaloo squeaked. “I shouldn’t ask for things I don’t deserve, I’m sorry!”

Widow let out a loud hmph, turning to Marinara, who reflexively pressed herself back against the wall. “Can you believe she’d ask for something like that? Do you think she deserves such a thing?”

Marinara gulped, the Headmistress’s reprimand still fresh in her mind. “N-No, of course not, Headmistress. You’re absolutely right, children should count their blessings.”

Widow Peak narrowed her eyes at Marinara for a painfully long moment before closing her eyes, shaking her head as she turned toward the door. “Lights out is in ten minutes.” She threw Scootaloo’s door open, marching through before shutting it loudly behind her.

Marinara held her breath, waiting for the Headmistress’ boots’ hoofsteps to fade. As they tapered off out of earshot, she allowed herself to exhale, putting a hoof to her chest and feeling her heart pound as she glanced toward Scootaloo.

The filly had screwed her eyes shut, twisting her blankets in her hooves, and she shortly burst into tears. Marinara rushed over, pulling her into a tight hug. “S-She’s so mean, Mari! Why is she so mean?!”

“Shh, shh, calm down, it’s over now sweetie...” Marinara murmured as she patted Scootaloo’s back.

“Why can’t Golden Braid be Headmistress? Why does it have to be her?!” Scootaloo’s face was a mess of tears and snot as she bawled.

Marinara hiked herself up onto Scootaloo’s bed, feeling it sag under her weight. She froze for a second, hoping her plumpness wouldn’t cause its legs to fail, before lifting Scootaloo up and depositing her on her lap. She rocked slowly from side to side, hugging Scootaloo tightly against her chest.

Scootaloo continued to cry as Marinara caressed her mane and whispered calming sentences. As her sobs slowly quieted to sniffles and whimpers, Marinara began to sing in her ragged, out-of-tune alto as best she could:

Don’t worry, don’t worry, the sun will still rise
Her warming gaze watchful while soaring the skies
Don’t worry, don’t worry, just look for her spark
Light comes in the morning, no matter how dark...

Scootaloo’s bought up her fetlock and coughed, and though her eyes were still red, her tears had stopped. She looked up at Marinara, and Marinara smiled gently back. “Y-You’re so nice, Marinara... I don’t know what I’d do if the Headmistress had fired you...”

Marinara felt a panicked twinge in her chest at the recent memory. “I don’t know what I’d do either Scootaloo... I love all you children so much, I couldn’t bear it if I never got to see you again...”

Scootaloo’s overhead light clicked off, plunging her room in darkness. Neither reacted, Marinara silently holding Scootaloo close and swaying back and forth as minutes ticked by.

Eventually, Marinara rose, gingerly shifting her weight so she didn’t put undue stress on Scootaloo’s bed. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in for the night. Tomorrow’s a new day, OK?”

She heard a sniffle. “OK...”

By now Marinara’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she quickly made Scootaloo’s bed back up, tucking her sheets in as Scootaloo squirmed beneath her covers and put her head on her pillow. Marinara pulled her blankets up, tucking her in.

“Thanks, Mari...”

“You’re very welcome, sweetie,” she said, giving Scootaloo a light kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast, OK?”

“OK...”

She smiled, hoping Scootaloo could see it in the dark, before making her way back to the door and slipping through it into the shadowy corridor.

Hearing the door click shut behind her, she let her smile drop, lowering her neck as she let out a deep, morose breath. Poor, poor thing... I hope she feels better tomorrow. Headmistress Widow frightened her nearly to death, and I’m sure she’ll take it especially hard considering she’ll have to tell her friend she can’t sleep over at her house...

She resisted the urge to kick herself. If only I were brave enough to stand up to her! Widow Peak refuses to let children be children! The way she treats them, they’ll never have the fillyhoods and colthoods they need to play and grow! Children should be able to cherish being young!

Marinara took a few steps away from Scootaloo’s door before slumping to the hallway floor. Who am I kidding? Being brave isn’t the problem. I’m just afraid to lose my job. Opposing Widow would probably mean I’m out a home, too. It’s just... the cruel way of the world. Not everypony can get what they want, or need.

She brought her head up, propping it up on her red hooves folded in front of her. Just look at me. I’m so pathetic, I can’t even protect fillies and colts from being screamed at. Some pony I am. She shut her dark green eyes, trying her best not to let her tears leak out. I just... What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to do anything?

Taking a shaky breath, Marinara stood, sweeping her messy mane out of her eyes. She took a moment to get her erratic breathing under control before continuing down the corridor, her sagging form growing dimmer until darkness swallowed her whole.

Marinara stifled a yawn as she stirred the morning’s cornmeal porridge, closing her aching eyes for a few relieving seconds as she rotated and mixed her wooden spoon around the large pot. I hope Scootaloo slept better than I did last night, considering, she thought, grateful for her restful moment as her stirring slowed. I hardly caught a wink, and it’s a hard day’s work ahead of us today. It was always a hard day’s work at Widow Peak’s orphanage, but she had taken to reminding herself most ponies weren’t accustomed to such grueling workdays. It helped keep her mind away from monotonous, heart-hardening thoughts.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and she started, looking over at another kitchen employee who’d nudged her. Grinning sheepishly, she whispered a “thanks” and gave herself a light slap on her cheek, taking care not to dislodge her hairnet. She began glancing up at the clock every so often to keep herself alert, watching and waiting as the hands slowly ticked forward.

The second the minute hand ticked to 6:55 AM, she heard the orphanage cafeteria’s double doors swing open from behind the kitchen’s serving window. Widow Peak’s tall silhouette entered, pausing for a moment as if spontaneously inspecting the large room in front of her. After a moment she stepped to the side, facing perpendicular to the doorway and moving her head to track who entered.

Marinara did her best to keep from looking directly toward the Headmistress’s imposing outline and instead directed her attention toward the now-open double doors as dozens of pony shapes trickled in, most hugging the wall away from Widow Peak as they filed up to the serving window. Despite the hoof traffic, the cafeteria was almost completely silent other than quiet, delicate hoofsteps and an occasional suppressed sneeze or cough.

The kitchen clock’s minute hand reached the top, signifying it was 7:00 AM. As if in reaction, Widow Peak’s silhouetted head glowed with an orange halo behind the kitchen window and let the cafeteria’s double doors shut. If any orphans were running late, they’d be out a meal.

Widow Peak turned and walked down the cafeteria’s central aisle, her boots thumping loudly with each hoofstep on the polished wood floor as she walked down, made her way around the staffer’s table in the back, and moved to the head spot. The moment she had sat in her chair, Marinara slid the kitchen window open and began holding plates out to the fillies and colts standing in line.

Widow Peak never took meals with the rest of the orphanage. In fact, Marinara had never actually seen her eat at all. But she’d never been absent from her head seat at the staffer’s table, watching over everypony as they ate their breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Marinara smiled at every foal as they received their breakfast for the day, a helping of porridge and half a banana. As usual, the responses she got varied. Some would return her smile, albeit with varying degrees of sincerity. Others didn’t even make eye contact with her, picking up their plate with their mouth and trudging over to the beverage table to pour their water or milk. But most just stared back, or nodded their heads.

Smiling and balancing another plate on her forelimbs as a unicorn filly delicately grabbed it with her mouth and moved on, Marinara allowed a small sigh to slip through her nostrils. She wished dearly she could even tell the children “good morning,” but Widow Peak was adamant there was to be no talking in the cafeteria during mealtimes, and the food they were serving wasn’t crunchy or noisy enough to sneak a whispered conversation in. Despite having a cafeteria filled with colts and fillies eating or standing in line, the only sounds were occasional squeaks from the benches as the children seated themselves and a faint general din of spoons quietly scraping against bowls and cups being placed back on tables.

Scootaloo, normally an early bird in the morning meal line, crept up to receive her breakfast in the last half of the pack. Her eyes were downcast, and Marinara could see they were still swollen and red.

Marinara held a plate out for her, but didn’t let go at first when Scootaloo made to grab it with her teeth. Scootaloo finally looked up, meeting Marinara’s eyes, and the mare flashed her a toothy grin. Scootaloo huffed in amusement, the corners of her own lips turning up a little, and Marinara let go of her plate, taking a moment to watch as she moved on to pour herself a glass of milk.

Marinara felt a pair of eyes piercing through her and glanced up to see Widow Peak staring at her from her head position at the staffer’s table, crooking an eyebrow with a faint frown upon her face. Marinara’s smile vanished in an instant and she dipped her head, focusing on the next plate she was serving to a blue pegasus colt with an unkempt orange mane. She looked up and smiled at him, but couldn’t help but worry if her expression looked a bit less bright than before.

Serving dishes to the last few orphans in line as other staff members began coming to the window, Marinara came to a resolution in her head. I won’t let you win, Headmistress. She didn’t look Widow Peak’s way again, even when she felt her tawny eyes boring through her. I won’t let you make these children in your own image. Maybe I can’t afford to fight you, or speak out against you, but I can’t stand by and watch you take away their love either.

The last pony took her plate, and Marinara closed the kitchen window, giving herself time for a breath before heading dishwashing side to begin scrubbing plates and bowls and silverware as foals finished eating and returned them. If she hurried, she’d get finished before the leftover porridge for her own breakfast got cold.

If I can’t muster up the selflessness to speak against the Headmistress, at least I can comfort the fillies and colts when they’re sad or scared, she thought, cleaning plates and bowls with quick, precise sweeps only possible with years’ worth of built-up muscle memory. I can’t stand to see them hurting so badly... but if all I can do is offer them a hug and tell them it gets better, it’s just what I’ll have to do.

She repeated her promise to herself over and over in her head, hoping to ingrain it so deep not even Headmistress Widow Peak could scare it out of her. She had to stay strong and put on a brave face, for fillies like Scootaloo. She didn’t want to even think about what might happen if their young lives were completely dominated by fear and misery, with not a smile or hug to be found in what was their home.

Dividing her attention from the bowl she was dipping in hot soapy water, she watched from her peripheral vision through the closed kitchen window as she heard Widow Peak’s boots stepping around the staffer’s table. Listening through the wall as she cleaned, Marinara’s ears swiveled to follow her as the Headmistress’ shadow stopped in front of the double doors before they flung open once again.

You may take away their toys, she thought as the sharp clack of the Headmistress’s boots grew faint. You may even take away their shouts of joy. But I pray to Celestia you let them keep their smiles.

Author's Note

Next Up: Family Trees, featuring Scootaloo and the Apple family