Some nights, Twilight Sparkle’s mind refused to shut down and surrender to sleep.
She slowly rolled out of bed and crept to her writing desk by the window. A shroud of fog still hung over the Everfree Forest in the distance from the day’s late-spring shower, and the moonlight glittered off it like a snowbank, or a fine crystal chandelier in a sumptuously appointed ballroom. Even thinking about it as gemlike brought a wide smile to her face, yet she couldn’t exactly ignore fatigue—she propped her head up on a hoof and yawned.
Why tonight of all nights this particular thought wanted out of her head remained a mystery; nothing of note had happened that day, but perhaps that was the charm: that all this had become the new normal.
So she reached for her favorite quill and a fresh sheet of paper. She’d chewed and tasted all the various words and phrases enough lately—they’d taken full shape in her head, and now they only needed a bit of organization as she unleashed them. A quick tap in the ink, and her quill flashed across the paper.
Dear Mom,
You’d asked me a few weeks ago about how all this had started, and it completely slipped my mind. I remember telling you it was a long story, and only now is it pricking my brain enough to remind me I never followed through with you, not to mention compelling me to record it for some reason. I think once I’ve finished, I’ll transcribe this letter into the journal my friends and I have been keeping for years now—it definitely contains some wisdom about friendship.
Like many of the more interesting, frustrating, and heart-rending things in life, it all started with Discord trying to help.
“Thank you again, Rarity!” Twilight said, the hemline of her new dress swishing against her bedroom’s crystalline floor. She adjusted the collar a tad, tugged on one of the ruffles, and there! Perfect! Another quick shimmy of her hips had that delightful sound of new cloth rustling throughout the room again.
“Not at all!” Rarity mumbled through lips clamped down on a half-dozen pins. In the grip of her pale magic, they soon found their way over to the fold-out toolbox where they usually resided. “I should love to see you in it, but poor Coco is having her yearly bout with spring allergies, and she’s absolutely dragging herself to the store lately.”
Twilight let her gaze linger on her reflection a moment before she turned toward Rarity with another delicious swish of crinoline. “I hope it’s not too bad.”
Rarity waved a hoof and clicked her tongue. “No, no, but she could really use the help, and while I’d love to see you looking magnificent yet again—” she leaned in and lowered her voice “—diplomatic functions have never appealed to me.”
“I know, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll drop your name when I notice ponies admiring my outfit,” Twilight replied with a little smirk. “It never hurts to have the higher-ups know who you are.”
“Darling, if they don’t know by now, my publicity efforts for the last two years have been an utter failure,” Rarity said. She staggered a few steps backward, nearly keeled over on her imaginary fainting couch, then caught herself, calmly walked back over, and winked. “But you’re right—it never hurts. I wouldn’t refuse free advertising. Especially not with so fetching a pony displaying my wares for me.”
Why did Rarity always like to do that? Twilight’s cheeks burned, and she hid the one nearest Rarity with a hoof. “Rarity…”
With a chuckle, Rarity patted her on the shoulder. “One of these days, you’ll realize you’re beautiful. Until then, you’ll just have to take everypony’s word for it.”
She didn’t need to exaggerate just to make a point. Not that it wasn’t flattering, but—”Everypony?” Twilight squinted over that protective hoof.
“In my business, gossip flies everywhere. I hear things,” Rarity said, not even looking anymore as she began packing up her alterations kit. Within moments, she had it all stowed and was heading for the door.
But one little piece of her mane had gone awry, probably when she’d had to get in close to gather the dress’s waistline. Twilight reached out with her magic and folded it back into the coiffure, Rarity turning around to see what had happened. “Sorry,” Twilight said, glancing at the floor.
“No, thank you for helping,” Rarity answered with a smile. Then she looked Twilight up and down once, beaming like a mother sending her filly to the prom. Without another word, she left.
Silence.
The castle had always been a place of extremes, brimming with activity one day and bereft of companions the next. But now, with this sepulchral stillness, and wearing a dress meant for socializing, no less…
One last look in the mirror, and—wait, her eyes weren’t yellow! She heaved a great sigh.
Her reflection wore a manic grin and stepped out, changing into Discord with a puff of smoke. “Enjoying your little repartee?” he said.
Rarity gone, all quiet in here, and—she really wasn’t in the mood for this right now. “It’s not nice to eavesdrop.”
Discord merely waved a talon at her and rolled his eyes. “Oh, pooh. What I do, I do for your own good.” He stared at her intently, as if he expected a response, but… what in the world did he mean? He tapped his foot, and a low growl rose in his throat, then he finally threw his arms up in the air and sprouted a new pair to catch them. “Why don’t you just tell her?”
“Tell her what?”
“Puh-leeze.” Discord crossed his arms and glared back. “Rarity said it herself: ‘I hear things.’ I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”
Like frost on a window, a chill crept up Twilight’s body. “Noticed what? I-I didn’t—”
Discord huffed out a sigh. “I’m not here to tell you what you already know. Deny it all you like. But I will tell you what you also know but don’t know that you know because you won’t let yourself know it, y’know?” For just a second, Twilight thought she saw him wearing a puffy pink mane. But she only stared back, so Discord shook his head and flopped into a conjured-up beanbag chair. “She likes you, too, and if you weren’t such a milquetoast”—he poured the contents of a cow-shaped mug over a scorched piece of bread—“you’d use some of those fancy words you love so much to do something about it.”
Who did he think he was? A fire started in Twilight’s belly, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down, slowly extending her hoof Cadence-style. “I don’t mean to be unkind, Discord, but that’s really none of your business.”
“Struck a nerve, did I?” He wrung his hands and smiled a little too big. “While that has its entertainment value, I meant what I said. I just want to help. You’ve never had any trouble communicating to an annoying degree of precision whatever scientific, magical, or—pssh—friendship information you have to convey. Then why not for this?”
“Look, it’s not something I want to talk about,” she snapped, her teeth clenching as the pressure built in her head. “I can handle this, not that there’s anything to handle.”
“You and your precious words,” he sang while wafting his talon at the air. “Do something useful with them for a change. Really connect with somepony.”
She’d teleport away, but he’d only follow her. “Why am I even listening to you? You’re the one who continually hangs all over Fluttershy.”
“That’s different.”
Now it was Twilight’s turn to smirk. “I’m not the only one who’s noticed. You can barely even mention friendship around her, never mind anything more.”
Discord harrumphed and crossed his arms. “I’m happy with the way things are. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
He hadn’t even said anything inflammatory, but before Twilight could reconsider, she blurted out: “Why do you get to decide who needs a push and who doesn’t? Don’t be such a hypocrite.”
A low growl sounded from his throat. “I said things are fine between us.”
“Don’t give me that! You insist on bothering me about it, yet you’re doing the same thing! Or is it because you betrayed her to Tirek and—”
She shouldn’t have said that. She didn’t say any more, but the worst of it had already come out. “I… I’m…”
Discord’s eyes blazed like hellfire, and he loomed over her. None of his usual sight gags or silly jokes, just shaking and grinding his teeth. “Alright, then. I have a little lesson for you. Words have power, a lot of it. They can build up and tear down equally, and you know that better than most. I tried to get you to use your precious words to do some good today, but we’ll play it my way.
“Words don’t make you who you are; actions do. But many ponies find it hard to act, so they talk and talk and talk instead. The most insufferable ponies are the ones who say one thing and do another, and you’ve said quite a bit today. But when your words and actions work together—that’s real power. It’s time you realized just how precious your words are. You have seven of them left to you. Make them count, because after that, it’s all over, done, finito! No speaking, no writing, no sign language, semaphore, charades, or anything else that can be taken as words!”
Twilight gulped. Would he really…? “Discord, you can’t be serious—!”
He quickly slapped a zipper over her mouth. “I’m feeling generous, so I won’t count those. Seven words!”
But… she… if he could… Twilight pointed at her bookshelves.
“Read all you like,” he said, “but nothing from you.”
Hurriedly, she yanked the zipper open. “But Discord!”
“Six, five,” he said, picking at a claw. Then he gave her a pointed stare before disappearing.
She could only watch the empty space left behind, her jaw trembling. Such deliberate cruelty… When had he ever done that since Fluttershy had reformed him? She shouldn’t have said those things, shouldn’t have, but how could she apologize now? Maybe she could get Fluttershy to help. What did that even mean, though? “It’s all over.” No way he’d actually kill her.
No way.
Twilight dipped her quill in the vial of ink and rubbed the back of her hoof against an itchy spot on her nose. A little tendril of soft snoring echoed through the cavernous room. That brought back memories. Long ago, when Spike was still young, he’d deny until his last breath that he snored. Not that it ever bothered Twilight. She found it rather cute.
With another grin, she turned her attention back to the page in front of her.
Of course, I’d spoken very rashly. Discord had a right to be angry, but he never knows when he’s gone too far, and I keep hoping he’ll learn someday. Maybe that mitigates things, but it still didn’t excuse my behavior.
I would have sought him out, to try smoothing things over, but after a night of seething over his interference and being scared witless that I’d soon die, I found myself in no mood to do so the next morning. But friends can always tell when something’s wrong.
When the sun finally breached the horizon and illuminated Twilight’s bloodshot eyes, she at least took some comfort in knowing that meant Celestia was on duty, not far away. Could she tell Celestia? She only had five words remaining. Probably not, and even then, could Celestia do anything about it? If she hastily wrote a letter, she might die as soon as she completed that fifth word, or… maybe it would happen later. How much later? Years? She still might have time to enlist help before judgment came crashing down on her. This needed thought.
If Twilight had one strength above all others, she could think.
Patience. Just a little patience, time to think, and she could figure this out. So she dragged herself out of bed and plodded downstairs to get breakfast.
On the way to the kitchen, a gleam caught her eye: that exquisite dress hanging in the entry hall. Tonight, her diplomatic function! She covered her eyes with a hoof and sighed. It was only one night. She could come up with an excuse for her silence easily enough for one night. Longer than that, though—
The huge front door opened a crack, and Rarity slipped in without a sound, a small but brightly colored kerchief tied over her mane to give her a little shelter from the cool morning. She eased the door closed again, then turned with a start, holding a hoof to her chest.
“Oh, Twilight, darling! I didn’t expect to see you up at this hour! I had a few last-minute adjustments to make to your dress.” She beamed at her creation, then cocked her head at Twilight. “Are you okay?”
Twilight smiled back and snapped a nod—wait, wouldn’t Rarity take that as a “yes”? She waited a moment in grim silence, but no further countdown that she could perceive. Oh yeah! He hadn’t protested when she’d pointed at her books last night. Maybe she had some leeway? It would be virtually impossible to avoid having a yawn taken as “I’m tired,” so a few things might sneak through that loophole. Moods, perhaps, but if she started pressing it as a guessing game and nodding at a battery of questions, she had no doubt Discord would put a stop to it, though he might give her a warning first. If she could even find him. What a terrible morning.
“Is something wrong?” Rarity asked, her forehead wrinkling.
With a short cough, Twilight tapped a hoof to her throat.
“Ah, I see. Terrible day to come down with laryngitis, but you’ll live.” Twilight almost flinched. “Is there something I can get you?”
Best not to push the nodding. Twilight sighed and continued smiling, then walked up to Rarity and put a hoof on her shoulder.
It elicited a shrug from her friend, but a glint ran through Rarity’s eyes. “I need to run your dress back to my shop to handle the last few details, but it won’t take more than an hour or two. Would you care to accompany me? If you’re not too busy, of course.”
So Twilight grabbed the dress in her magic and trotted toward the door. This early in the day, she still had plenty of time before her scheduled activities kicked in. Rarity soon followed with a giggle. And not a single word needed. She’d figure a way out of this and beat Discord at his own game if it was the last thing she ever did.
That beautiful sound.
Rarity hummed to herself over the whirring of her sewing machine, some lilting melody Twilight had never heard before, but it didn’t matter. Rarity had such a lovely voice, unfocused when she had her attention on something else, but like an orchestra warming up: jumbled, but with the virtuosity underneath, and an occasional eruption of decadence. Then with the maestro giving the downbeat, making order from the deluge of sound, it burst through in astonishing clarity.
“…Do you think?”
Twilight perked her ears, lost her dreamy smile, and raised her eyebrows.
“I was just asking if you liked the pink accent or if you thought something metallic might provide a starker contrast.” Rarity brushed some lint off Twilight’s dress as it dangled from its hanger.
Her cheeks pleasantly warm, Twilight shrugged and pointed a hoof at Rarity.
“Nonsense, dear. You have your own sense of fashion. Remember just last week when you suggested I put out some lavender in my shop in Canterlot? I never would have thought of it myself—any floral odor would have satisfied me—but lavender did so perfectly fit the designs I debuted that day.” Rarity let out a low chuckle and scrunched her nose up. “Leave it to you to apply science to fashion, but bless your heart, it worked. More than one customer noted that it complemented the whole feel of the line, not just the appearance.”
Rarity had actually followed her advice? She’d seemed happy enough to hear Twilight’s contribution, but honestly, Twilight had intended little more than to show interest in something her friend found so important. Friends did that, right? The socialization side of things still tended to elude her at times, but not for lack of trying.
“A delight for all the senses,” Rarity echoed. Yes, the lyrical voice, the soft coat, the sweet perfume she wore, the deep blue eyes.
She’d never just sat there and watched Rarity work before. It tended to distract her and stifle her creative moods, but not today, for some reason. One more row of stitching along the hemline, and Twilight shifted in her chair, resting her head on her forelegs again.
A few times, Rarity glanced up, but only an instantaneous flick of the eyes, and her smile grew incrementally, a little suppressed giggle even interrupting her work. Twilight had become a distraction. Not good—well, yes, the attention did feel nice, like a silk wrap. Warm but free, not overpowering and stultifying with thick layers, just close, fitting, and—
The sewing had definitely slowed. So Twilight stopped watching and picked up one of Rarity’s nearby romance novels to peruse the blurb on the back.
And the humming resumed.
Yes, I should have seen it coming. It’s not like I hadn’t noticed we’d spent a lot of time together over the previous few months. I flattered myself that I caught as many longing glances coming back my way as I sent hers, but it never amounted to more than daydreams and imaginings. At least we’d become very good friends, and honestly, that would have sufficed.
The quill’s nib had run dry, and Twilight poked it at her lip. The moon had shifted, and its light, before only illuminating the top of her page, now bathed all the blank space in a gleaming ivory.
She laughed quietly to herself at the images floating through her head. When she’d proudly proclaimed that she could levitate her first book, the A-plus splashed across her first test at the School for Gifted Unicorns, the time Princess Celestia had given her full charge of raising Spike—all events she’d chattered on endlessly about with her mother. Since an early age, they’d had somewhat of a long-distance relationship, but one that never failed to warm her heart.
And then that started to change.
“Still?” Rarity said as she leaned forward in the tub. Aloe and Lotus paused in putting cucumbers over her eyes.
With a sheepish nod, Twilight shrugged and cleared her throat.
“Maybe you should visit a doctor. A week is a rather long time to see no improvement.” Then Rarity did ease back and allow the twins to pamper her. “At least the steam in here should help your throat.”
She’d adapted better than anypony else. Twilight had let all her friends make the same assumption, but only Rarity had simply rolled with it, remaining close, yet giving her space.
“It’s not often I find you speechless,” she said with a chuckle. “Not that I’m making light of your situation. But do you remember the time we came back from gem hunting in that filthy cave—Spike had accompanied us—and we got all the way upstairs before you realized he’d neglected to wipe his feet at the door?” Now a little snort of laughter erupted.
Yes, she remembered the day quite well…
“Icky mud all over those fine rugs, and just when you’d put out the fire in your eyes, done the ‘Princess Cadence’ stress-relief hoof move, and told him it was alright, he pointed out the muddy hoofprints of yours right alongside them!” Rarity laughed so hard that her cucumbers plopped right into the water. Red-faced, she held a hoof to her chest, and then Twilight lost it.
It wasn’t even that funny a memory! But just seeing Rarity get so tickled about it—heaven forbid she’d been the one trailing mud in, or she would have long since declared it off-limits as a topic of conversation.
Twilight laughed silently along—it was so hard to keep from doing it out loud!—and when Rarity finally collected herself, she heaved a great sigh and wiped away tears. At least she didn’t have any mascara to run. Still, she fished around in the tub for the fallen cucumber slices and flashed Aloe an apologetic grin.
“Ah, me!” Rarity said, fanning her face. “Things certainly got a lot more interesting once you moved to Ponyville.”
Yes, they had. But now Rarity had her eyes covered again, so Twilight glanced around the room. Over near the entrance, a small vase of… hyacinths!
Of all the flowers. Purple ones, even! Twilight levitated the vase to herself and took a sniff of the richly sweet aroma. Then, on a whim, she sent it floating toward Rarity and tapped it on her shoulder.
She removed one of the cucumbers to have a peek, then a broad smile flowed across her face. And she squinted at Twilight. “Did you plan this? Did you ask them to have hyacinths here?”
Twilight shook her head and waved her forelegs.
“I wouldn’t put it past you. Just like that day you found some growing wild in the park and picked a few for me. You even had the sense to use an odd number—they sit better that way. At the time, I wondered how you knew they were my favorite.”
Twilight could only shrug.
“Just luck, I suppose?” Rarity asked, and when she got a nod in reply, she placed the cucumber back over her eye. “No matter. They tasted delicious. You’re always so thoughtful.”
It wasn’t really their place to eat flowers Aloe and Lotus had put there, Twilight supposed. Still, she would have liked to see Rarity enjoying herself. But she floated the vase back onto its jardiniere.
Then Rarity spoke again.
“It seems like we always do rather casual things together, though. Well, saving the world notwithstanding. Why don’t we cook something, have a nice night in, maybe see a play?”
Twilight’s heart seized up, and little butterfly wings flitted all over her back. Did… did she just arrange a date? A real, honest-to-goodness date? And all without a single word.
Take that, Discord!
Twilight had never been as good a cook as Rarity. But they’d had so much fun together! Spinach souffle and salads, with a mousse for dessert. Just like that first Winter Wrap Up—Twilight could remember it as if it had happened last night—when she’d had to fix Twilight’s bird nest, so too did she have to touch up this recipe or chop something a little finer or clean up the splatter from some overzealous mixing.
Rarity still had a spot of flour on her cheek, but it didn’t stand out much against her natural color, so Twilight didn’t say anything. Well, of course she didn’t say anything.
A delicious dinner, and only fair that Twilight should clean up, so she made a beeline for the sink before her friend could get up from the table.
“It’s my house, dear—I can do that,” Rarity said. But Twilight shook her head and turned on the faucet. “Well, I’ll keep you company, then,” she replied, sidling up to the counter.
And that lovely humming started up again. More than once, Twilight caught herself closing her eyes and letting her mind wander, but on the third escape from her little private domain suffused in beautiful singing, the sound had stopped, and Rarity stared pointedly at her.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to distract you.”
Twilight smiled and shook her head, but Rarity kept looking, her eyes eventually drifting downward. “I wonder if you wouldn’t stay awhile and indulge me.”
Of course! But she’d never seen Rarity look so uncertain before, casting her eyes about the floor. By now, Rarity had figured out she’d have to glance back up for her answer, so she did. And Twilight nodded brightly. It didn’t seem to help.
Rarity tapped one hoof against the other. “If something is wrong, you can tell me.”
Twilight’s legs went rigid. She’d love to tell her. But she couldn’t. It was all terribly unfair, and Rarity had been incredibly understanding.
“But I won’t press you on it. Just know that I will help in any way I can.” Then she forced a tight-lipped smile and stood up straight. “To business, then. I could use your eye on a new fashion line I want to try out.”
Twilight raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I get too mired in the minutiae at times, and I could use another viewpoint.”
The eyebrow went higher.
“Yes, I know we’re both detail-oriented mares, but you have the ability to take a step back when it’s somepony else’s issue, something that doesn’t immerse you. Like when you told me it didn’t matter Maud had said those chartreuse gems were so common; you convinced me that it didn’t make a difference, as long as the end product sparkled just the way my vision wanted it to. And you were right!”
For a moment, Twilight gaped at her. Of course Rarity couldn’t help but epitomize generosity. So Twilight always found herself on the receiving end of Rarity’s gifts, tangible or not. And the time they’d spent together more and more lately had felt so one-sided, at least to her. Just the notion that she’d given back even a fraction…
Twilight managed to hold in the tears threatening to escape, but her grin did buckle a bit. And her friend’s own smile returned to the bright, genuine one she knew so well.
“Right. You wash, I’ll dry, and then we can move to the workroom. I need your studious eye. I have the aesthetics handled, but there are some technical aspects of the design process that I’d wager you could improve upon.”
Absolutely! Wow, to think that she could actually make a meaningful contribution… She wiped her cheek dry where some water must have splashed on it.
I couldn’t even attribute that to Discord. He said he had my own interests in mind, but Rarity was the one who asked for that “date,” so it had nothing to do with him. If he had a point to make, things didn’t turn out the way he expected. All I’d learned was that I’d gotten along just fine.
It did get frustrating at times, though, without a ready means of communication. Rarity could understand the gist of my smiles and nods, but not much else.
How late had it gotten? The timepiece on the shelf lay wreathed in shadows, and she couldn’t see the clock tower outside from this angle. In the absence of any other sound, her quill’s scratching rang throughout the room, but it wouldn’t actually bother anypony. She’d always taken comfort in the sound. Her precious words.
But not long after, I inadvertently found a way around it.
“Oh, pooh,” Rarity said. “I’ve run out of silver thread. Would you mind watching the shop for me while I go out and acquire some more?”
Twilight walked into Carousel Boutique’s showroom from the kitchen, where she’d just finished clearing the breakfast dishes. They seemed to share a lot of meals these days.
She nodded, earning her a one-hoofed hug around the neck. “Thank you, dear,” Rarity replied, pressing a cheek to Twilight’s before heading out the front door. “I shan’t be long.”
Too quiet. When inspiration had Rarity in its grip, only pencil rubbing and the occasional satisfied hum might sound, but many days, conversation and whirring sewing machines would punctuate the creative process.
But now, only the silence pressed on Twilight’s ears.
She strolled over to one of the work tables, where some manner of dowel lay with gradated hues of threads and yarns draped over it. Several of them, in fact.
Twilight tapped a hoof over the grays and blues. The more this had dragged on… Only yesterday, Rarity had told her, “I just want to remind you once more that if you have something you need to discuss, even if you don’t want to, then I am always here to listen.”
Every couple of days, she made a comment in that vein. But Twilight knew what it meant. Rarity might even say it more directly when she returned. She always had “Why won’t you talk to me?” scrawled across her face, even as she uttered those words of understanding.
Blue and gray. They felt right. Twilight unclipped a few of the shades and twisted them around each other, knotted like her insides, whenever she let these thoughts occupy her.
She’d gotten through a good dozen of them before Rarity pranced through the door again, a shopping bag in hoof. Had Twilight really been at this so long? An hour or more, but it had passed in an instant.
“Is everything alright? You look rather dour.”
Twilight blinked and glanced up.
Rarity didn’t return her gaze, however. She merely poked a hoof at the twisted threads and intertwined colors. “To put such dreary shades together, over and over… You must be in a dreadful mood.”
Again, Twilight blinked. And her mouth hung open.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised. Fashion is half psychology, you know.”
With a start, Twilight reached for the collections of thread again. What to do? Think, think, what colors would convey fun, sadness, excitement, emptiness?
No. Just… just go on first impression. How did fun feel? Kind of… orange, but that dull, dark purple kept creeping in. So she twisted the two together, and on a whim added a light green.
Her brow furrowed, Rarity studied the colors for a moment. “Are you… hungry?”
Twilight shook her head and rolled her eyes to the side. What else might convey—?
“Outside? You want to go outside?” Rarity said with a squint. “To the park? How about a picnic lunch?”
And Twilight’s stomach growled. Maybe she was hungry. Just luck? Or had Rarity read her better than she’d read herself? Either way… she nodded.
“But I can’t help thinking you feel guilty about it somehow.” A sympathetic grin accompanied her assessment as her gaze lingered on the dull purple.
Twilight hadn’t intended that, but she couldn’t exactly disagree. Did Rarity get all that from the colors? Or did she just know Twilight that well? Some of each, she supposed, but noticeably more accurate than before today.
Rarity walked into the kitchen and began gathering a few supplies for a nice lunch in the park, out in the sunlight. She chattered about her current project, but Twilight only caught a small part of it. The colors swirled in her mind. The wonderful colors! Not words, or some ominous warning would have accompanied them, a continuation of that fateful countdown.
In a way, they could… they could talk now. Not words, but impressions, and that should suffice. Rarity, bless her, wouldn’t complain, would still abide this stupid forced reticence with grace. As an afterthought, she added the racks of colored thread to the picnic basket on their way out.
Rarity’s eyes followed the yellow thread twisted with the blue, then to where the blue wound through a multicolored yarn. “You…” She held a hoof to her nose for a moment. “Ah! You, um, our spa appointment. Er, date—” Her cheeks darkened a touch. Yes, they used to use the term so casually, but it’d taken on a rather different meaning lately.
“It’s at noon?”
Twilight shook her head and circled a hoof in the air.
“One o’clock? Two? Ah, two, yes.”
Only a few days after Twilight had stumbled onto this sort of communication, but Rarity had caught on quickly. She really did have a talent for reading ponies, at least through color or fashion or… something.
Twilight lit her horn, and the yellow twirled with some pink before darting around a bright green and deep brown.
“O-okay, something about Fluttershy. A flashy green like that—does she need help with her animal sanctuary?”
Kind of the right track. Twilight pursed her lips.
“I know, I know—I’m trying.” Rarity twisted her mouth into a frown. “It’s just… sometimes it’s a pure emotional response to the color, which of course will differ from pony to pony. I have to take into account which colors you like or not. But then sometimes you go on a tangent where it’s context-dependent.”
Once in a while, Rarity could really sound like a linguist, but who knew where that came from? Though she’d be the first to say that fashion was a language.
So Twilight laid down a single white thread. Blank slate, start over. They’d established that one yesterday. The pink and yellow twisted together—“Fluttershy,” Rarity said. Twilight closed her eyes and chose a sedate blue this time, braiding it with the rest, then adding deeper greens. “A calming shade… where she would feel comfortable? Her cottage?”
Breaking into a broad grin, Twilight snapped her eyes open. The warmth surging through her chest… She dared to reach out and hug her friend. They could talk, in a way! Nopony else had that intuition, that rapport with her subtlest mannerisms, and she’d barely managed getting a few basic thoughts across to anypony else. But Rarity…
Twilight wiped away the beginnings of tears. Such a silly thing to cry about. Fluttershy’s house. She needed to get ahold of herself.
She wove in a dark brown, and Rarity’s eyes flicked back and forth between the colors and Twilight’s face. “Tea,” she said, as if it were some immediately forgotten triviality. Yes, tea at Fluttershy’s house, but Rarity had departed from that trail as soon as she’d gotten its scent, now latched onto those tears Twilight must have failed to hide. She frowned.
“It’s okay. We’re doing fine, and there’s no reason to get upset about it.”
No, no, not upset! They were talking, finally talking! But Rarity deserved so much more, and as she peered back with those deep pools of blue, that unasked question still dwelled behind them, the one that had built a wall that nothing else could break down. Maybe after a time, Twilight could weave such a strange tale and explain everything, but that might take years, and—
And she was upset. More than upset, she—she grabbed one of the racks of thread and entwined red, red, red, darker red, darkest red, bright orange.
“Why… you’re frightened, dear! Whatever for?”
Twilight’s forelegs went limp. She always had a plan, always, and if she had to deal with its shortcomings, so be it. But Rarity shouldn’t have to pay the price. Yet her beautiful friend took the initiative to draw her into a hug.
Rarity merely held her. Twilight couldn’t have asked for more, nestled into the crook of her friend’s arm, nose just behind her ear, where she dabbed that elegant oleander perfume each morning. Twilight closed her eyes again and breathed it in, watching the colors play inside her eyelids.
A blanket drifted over her shoulders. “There. Is that better?” She must have been shaking.
Twilight took a deep breath. Thought would get her through this, and even if it dragged on for years, she’d find a way to communicate. If she’d found one loophole, she could find others. But it was terribly unfair to Rarity, let alone her other friends. If she lost any of her relationships as a result of this…
No. Not a chance. She had the power of her mind.
Rarity still peered intently at her, but Twilight waved off her concern and nodded. They did need to get to Fluttershy’s in time for tea, after all.
A warm color. Soft orange, with tan laced around it. She gathered the twisted thread and pressed it against her friend’s shoulder, and after squinting at it for a moment, Rarity smiled. “You’re welcome, dear.”
It all felt so natural. I had a lot of friends, of course, but I don’t think I’d ever enjoyed one-on-one time so much before. As unique a mare as Rarity is, it made things even more special that I could share my feelings with her in a way nopony else understood. Yes, I wished other ponies could understand, but it became our special thing, and it felt so appropriate that it used the tools of her trade.
A few clouds had obscured the moon, and Twilight considered lighting a candle, but she kept the quill going with her magic, and the faint glow let her see well enough. Had it gotten past four o’clock already? It felt that way. The words simply flowed from her, and it could have been only minutes as easily as hours ago that she’d finally opened the floodgates to let her story out. She sighed and freshened her quill in the bottle of ink.
But as comfortable as we’d gotten, it took a near disaster to prod me into any more.
Twilight let herself into Carousel Boutique—Rarity had given her a key some time ago—and headed straight for the kitchen. It was a bit early for Rarity to be up yet, but a nice gourmet coffee aroma would wake her. They’d do each other this particular favor once in a while, but of course nopony needed a key to get into the castle. Twilight had always seen it as a municipal building, so she left it accessible at all hours for whoever might need it.
Only once had somepony abused that privilege, when Berry Punch had imbibed a bit too much, but luckily she didn’t resist when—oh yeah, Rarity had been visiting that evening, too, and helped walk Berry Punch home.
Come to think of it, Rarity had gotten into one of her frazzled moods that day from trying to juggle too many things in her head simultaneously, but Twilight calmed her down, as she always did. That was the first time it had clicked with her—she actually gave something back that Rarity valued highly, something that made her worthy of having her best friend as her…
Her marefriend.
Twilight blinked, and her back went rigid. They’d spent so much time together and even gone on what both of them had referred to as dates, but it’d never occurred to her to use the word before. And now that it had, it fit so well.
She practically bounced on her hooves as she set up the coffee maker and poured the grounds in. Everypony else knew, she supposed. She’d caught enough sly smiles from her friends, remembered enough times they’d conveniently left the two alone.
If she could, she’d thank them; at least they’d all shown her as much patience as Rarity. But more and more these days, Rarity could pick up elaborate meanings from the threads Twilight wove. It was only a matter of time before Rarity would know everything, and then they might find someone to help, or at worst, Twilight could still fully communicate with her.
And there came the rich scent of coffee as the pot began to steam. It wouldn’t take long for Rarity to come downstairs now, and Twilight idly fidgeted with the rack of threads on the counter. They’d left some in several rooms, both here and in the castle, just to have them readily available, and Rarity had even decorated a few. Her favorite, the one in the Inspiration Room, used a motif of Twilight’s cutie mark made up of individual diamonds from Rarity’s. Another thoughtful gift from somepony who never seemed to run dry of them.
Just like every morning, the same colors emerged from her weaving: soft pink, ivory, deep blue, all entangled into one mood. Sometimes she’d leave it for Rarity to find later, and sometimes she’d place it more conspicuously, but her marefriend always smiled at it. With the coffee almost ready, she levitated two mugs out of the cupboard, and then the sound of hoofsteps carried in from the staircase.
Her marefriend. Twilight wore an especially big smile today, but Rarity must have come to the same realization some time ago.
As she walked in and took the cup of coffee Twilight offered, she glanced down at the colored braid and smiled. “Good morning to you, too,” she said.
Twilight raised an eyebrow.
“Well, it’s not a code per se, but I always take that as a ‘good morning’ from you.”
Uh-oh. If Rarity interpreted that too literally… Twilight’s face flushed. She couldn’t tell Rarity not to think of it that way. She shook her head, but Rarity might not realize why, might think Twilight didn’t intend the pattern as a greeting. She waved a hoof, but Rarity kept talking!
“Whenever I see it, I can almost hear you saying the wor—”
Twilight lurched forward and kissed her.
But… oh crap, should she close her eyes? Should she enjoy it? Should she apologize?
Well, in order: no—and Rarity’s own eyes had shot wide open; yes, a little should be allowable; and probably not, given that the lips currently pressed to Twilight’s felt like they’d curled into a smile. Yes, then, definitely enjoy it.
The warmth bubbled up in Twilight’s chest, she could swear she was floating—a quick check, and her wings still clamped to her sides and no magic in her horn, so she wasn’t actually floating. Why get hung up on that? For once in her life, just quit analyzing and feel!
Soft lips, that wonderful perfume, and Rarity’s eyelids had lazily drifted halfway back down. Twilight fought off a shiver and pulled back, unable to keep her eyes from flicking down at Rarity’s feet, but her… marefriend lifted her chin back up and peered at her with a very amused grin.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever do that, dear. You’re a bit difficult to read in that regard, or I might have taken matters into my own hooves by now. I didn’t want to scare you off, though.” She so calmly took her cup of coffee and sat down next to Twilight, but she did reach out and hold hooves. Yet Twilight’s heart remained at full throttle.
Rarity’s smile faltered. “Calm down. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Quickly nodding, Twilight took a deep breath. It just wasn’t like her to do that! But living without words had forced her into it—worked to her benefit for a change! Yes, actions spoke louder, as Discord had said, but she couldn’t figure his purpose. She’d done well enough without words, as much as he’d exhorted her that she misunderstood their power, as if she ever could. And without them, she hadn’t acted any differently, not deliberately.
Rarity was waiting for a response.
Twilight squeezed her hoof back and leaned a little closer; this time, her marefriend took the initiative, giving Twilight a peck on the lips. It seemed almost anticlimactic, so casual, but… no, in a way, that was the point: they’d known each other so long that they felt entirely comfortable. Things hadn’t really changed, not that much. Just a different kind of friends now, or for a while back, she guessed.
Warm and light at the same time, and Twilight could have sat there all day, but Rarity stood to freshen her coffee. “What should we do today?”
Honestly, just watch her work, or just watch her. But Twilight owed her that much. Something they hadn’t done together in a while…
She wove together lots of different colors, though she lacked the talent to make recognizable forms from any of them. Maybe that didn’t matter. A few blocky ones, a few reminiscent of landscapes in green and blue and florid specks of hue.
“Rainbows? The… the weather factory in Cloudsdale? I suppose we could, but you know how much effort it takes to cast that cloudwalking spell on me.”
Twilight shook her head and lifted the heap of strands onto the newspaper, over an advertisement for one of Rarity’s shops.
“Oh, in Canterlot?” Rarity squinted and tapped a hoof to her mouth. “Of course! The art museum. Yes, I’d love to go.”
And the cafe there had some of the best mushroom sandwiches around. Such a great day stood to get even better!
All without words. She’d solve that, given enough time, but she’d made do perfectly well.
“Oh, and we only have ten minutes to catch the next train!” Rarity erupted with a glance at the clock, then raced for the door, dragging Twilight behind her.
Twilight normally kept a small pitcher of water in her room, in case she woke up with a tickle in her throat. Funny, she sometimes found herself whispering along as she wrote, and on this particular night, it had left her mouth dry. So she poured herself a glass and sipped at it as she returned to her letter.
Nothing in life can go perfectly, however. That’s what keeps it interesting, I suppose, but I couldn’t continue ignoring the problem forever. Well, no, I didn’t ignore it. I’d researched it as thoroughly as possible, but I couldn’t let on that it concerned me so much, or Rarity would worry. Something was wrong, though, terribly wrong, and somepony that close to me would notice.
Rarity had been dropping more hints lately. A reminder to see the doctor, which of course always turned up nothing, or a “did you say something?” floating in from the other room.
She couldn’t take it personally, since Twilight hadn’t spoken to anypony. For that matter, only they had this unique way to share impressions. Shouldn’t Rarity enjoy yet another thing that made her special?
She leaned over the scrumptious dinner she’d made them and looked Twilight in the eye. “You do know that you can tell me anything, right? If there’s something wrong, I’ll help however I can.”
With a half smile, Twilight nodded. Of course she’d tell her. She’d tell her anything she wanted to know, if she could.
“I mean… all our friends have noticed. It’s not a secret.” No chance of that, not after weeks of it. “But it’s just strange that there’s no reason. Nopony can find anything wrong with you, but that never seems to surprise you. I’ve… really had to hold myself back, as I don’t feel as if it’s my place to pry.”
Over and over, Twilight had told herself Rarity would never say that to her. But she had to. Wouldn’t Twilight in the same situation? Far sooner, too, and Rarity had treated her with much more understanding and patience than she deserved. Still, prickly frost climbed its way along her nerves. Rarity would finally ask.
“You avoid it, but you don’t act upset by it, either. I…” She pursed her lips and blinked twice. “I miss hearing your voice. I miss you telling me how you read an article about optimal product placement in my shops, I miss hearing you when I lose my glasses and you find them on top of my head, I miss listening to you fill me in on how your day went. I won’t press you, darling, but you have me worried. You have us all worried.”
Twilight hadn’t been sitting idle. Every night, she focused the entirety of her magic on breaking this… whatever, but how would she even know if it worked? She didn’t feel anything release, but she’d never felt any of this at all, so how to tell? Say another word and risk hearing that countdown again? Look for Discord? Nopony had seen a trace of him since that night, but that wasn’t exactly unusual. He’d frequently disappear for weeks at a time.
It wasn’t even the silence—more that she couldn’t explain it, and that hewed way too close to a lie of omission. Lying to the one pony she’d grown to love like no other, it was… it was wrong, and whatever pearl of wisdom Discord thought this rigmarole was supposed to convey, she’d had just about enough of it, and… and it didn’t matter, because she couldn’t explain it specifically enough! And even trying would just get everypony even more worked up about it, with nothing to be done!
Magic and thought. Magic and thought would get her through this with enough time, but how much time would have to pass before she lost everything else?
She pounded a hoof on the table, Rarity jerking back, then reached for her rack of colored thread, the one in the other room as well, and piled them in an unceremonious heap on the table. She flung a hoof toward it.
Rarity’s throat spasmed. “Discord did this to you?”
With her eyes squeezed shut, Twilight waited for the inevitable follow-up.
“What did he do? Why didn’t you say so before? How can we counteract it?”
All questions she couldn’t answer. So she laid out the single white thread again. Maybe she could just tell Rarity to leave it, that she could handle it herself.
“Yes, start over,” Rarity said, cracking a little smile. “That thread’s practically had those words stamped on it since the beginning.”
No. No! Lost in her thoughts, trying to figure out how to relay anything about this or just plead with Rarity to drop it, and she—
Rarity had said it. And Twilight had been too absorbed to stop her.
“Four, three,” a voice echoed inside Twilight’s head. “Don’t think I hadn’t realized your little trick. It’s gone on quite long enough.”
Again, Twilight pounded a hoof on the table, and she flung the clumps of thread against the wall, barely catching a glimpse of her open-mouthed marefriend. Cold, shivering, and tears rushing. How much longer could Rarity even be a marefriend like this? Her own actions had shown nothing but her true feelings, yet apparently that hadn’t satisfied whatever twisted logic Discord applied. And without her words, four of the seven gone now, she’d lose this wonderful… whatever it was!
She couldn’t even keep her crying silent anymore, but if Discord cared, he didn’t say anything. Noise now, the first she’d voiced in weeks, as any hope of making a life with Rarity crumbled around her.
Twilight choked on her tears and ran out the door.
Twilight huddled on her bed, against the wall, next to that wonderful dress on its hanger.
Nothing, nothing anymore! Weeks and weeks of effort, and it all came to nothing! Worse than starting over—
That phrase! It had cost Twilight all she had. Building up that intuitive way to talk with Rarity, but it was gone now, and how could she even start to rebuild? If she even tried, she’d hear that voice in her head, counting down lower still.
At least Rarity knew that Discord had caused it, but what good would that knowledge do? Tell Celestia, maybe, or Fluttershy. But Twilight couldn’t give any details or argue about it if Discord denied everything. It might be months before he turned up again.
Rarity was faithful. She’d stay with Twilight, but with all means of communication shut down, what kind of relationship did that leave them? Not to mention her friends, her royal responsibilities… Discord liked to pull pranks, but why did he want to ruin her life?
It was over.
Right as everything had gotten started so well. Twilight wiped her tears away, but no matter how much she fought them, they always returned with reinforcements. She couldn’t just sit there and admire Rarity. That was no basis for a relationship. Nice of her to realize that now, as she’d done little else for years. But of course Rarity would put herself second and hang on until well after this… relationship they had died a slow, festering death.
A slight scratching at her bedroom door—Spike had tried to offer her some comfort several times, but when she inevitably didn’t answer him, he’d… bless him, he’d plunked right down on the floor outside and stayed there like a most loyal guard. But now another voice: “It’ll be alright, Spikey Wikey. Thank you for watching out for her, but I think I should go in.”
Hoofsteps approached her bed slowly. Then soft forelegs curled around Twilight’s neck. “I don’t know why Discord’s taken your voice from you, but surely we can do something about it,” Rarity said quietly into Twilight’s ear.
Twilight nodded, shook her head, shrugged. What did it matter anymore?
“I wish you’d let me know something sooner. You didn’t have to deal with it on your own.” She ran a hoof through Twilight’s mane, and for one who got so frazzled when things didn’t go her way, Rarity sounded as calm as she’d ever been. “I don’t want you beating yourself up. This changes nothing between us. Well—” she chuckled lightly “—maybe I am a tad miffed that you didn’t trust me with your secret, but it doesn’t change how I feel.”
It didn’t change how Twilight felt either! Not from the start, it hadn’t dampened her affection at all, the affection she couldn’t admit to Discord or Rarity or even herself or…
It was over.
Discord had said something like that. It nipped at the back of her mind, but what did he mean? Actions and words together, creating more than they could apart. All leading to one thing here.
Maybe it was over, and maybe it wasn’t. But no matter what, Twilight refused to go through the rest of her life, however much or little remained of it, without making sure Rarity knew.
Her body shuddered, and she clung to her marefriend desperately. She breathed in that beautiful perfume, felt that lovely heart beating against her. And with a freeze creeping over her…
Three words left.
“I love you.”
Rarity gasped. Without loosening her grip one bit, she jerked her head back to return Twilight’s gaze. Her mouth twitched back and forth between a gape and a smile, and her own tears joined Twilight’s falling on the quilt. “Y-you can talk?”
Maybe never again. Maybe death awaited just a few seconds off. But Rarity knew that she was truly loved. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d cast her lot.
“I love you,” Twilight repeated. It no longer had a price to say it, so she’d never stop. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” Her voice broke with each fresh wave of tears, yet it always returned, always came back to say the most important thing it ever had. But what did all this mean?
“I love you too, darling.” So many questions perched on the edge of Rarity’s lips, but she left them stranded. She wouldn’t have known that she might not get another chance to ask, but so much the better. “I love you too.”
So warm in that embrace. They both shook and cried, and if possible, they could sort it all out later, but for now, all that mattered was this amazing mare in her hooves, this amazing mare whom she had no hope of deserving, but who loved her back anyway. For whatever time she had left, nothing could be more perfect.
Then a voice rang through her head once more. “Two, one, zero.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself.
As she cracked one open again, the voice continued: “There, was that really so hard?”
I still don’t know Discord’s true intentions. I haven’t seen him since the time he put the curse on me, but as I said, that’s not exactly unusual for him. I don’t know whether to yell at him, thank him, or both. Maybe I’d made him angry enough that he lashed out, or maybe he thought he was helping. Even so, I have to think he could have found a less cruel way.
Honestly, I may still be under the curse. What did he mean by “it’s over”? For all I can tell, he might show up as the grim reaper at any moment. But I obviously wouldn’t be so flippant about it if I thought he actually might. In any case, I’ve spent my seven words, so the die is cast.
No, I think he meant that my relationship with Rarity would be over. Not that he’d force it to end—more that if I couldn’t realize the truth of it myself and communicate it in an open and straightforward manner to the mare I loved (even if I didn’t quite realize it yet), then what hope did we have?
I know, I know, Rarity could have easily said so as well, but I understand. She’s more experienced in such matters, and she wanted to let things develop at my pace. She held back for my sake, not because she couldn’t make herself do it or even figure it out in the first place. I agree with Discord on that one thing: this is entirely on me.
It still amazes me that someone so fascinating loves me, but then she says the same thing about me.
The few clouds had moved along, and moonlight once again bathed Twilight’s writing desk. It angled up the wall enough to finally illuminate the clock: only a quarter past two. Funny, she’d half expected to see the first pink tint of dawn outside.
From the room’s shadowed half, a mumbled groan sounded, then the soft swish of sheets.
“Twilight, dear, come back to bed. You have to be up early to catch your train, remember?”
Yeah. A monument dedication in Fillydephia, and the first train left Ponyville at six. Glinting in the silvery light, her dress—that dress Rarity had made her a few months back—drew her eye. So perfect for her in fit, in color, in style. In that short time, she’d already found a dozen opportunities to wear it, and the upcoming day would provide another. So beautiful.
“Just a minute,” Twilight replied. “I had something on my mind I needed to deal with.” Rarity gave a knowing smile and turned back over. She’d gotten used to such things.
Anyway, there it is! I promised you at the wedding reception that I’d give you the whole story, once I had the time to tell it. (And by the way, I did leave an invitation for Discord with Fluttershy, in case he made an appearance.) I’m going to wrap things up, since I have to get an early start this morning. I’ll write to you again later, Mom.
Love,
Twilight Sparkle
She folded her letter up and put it in the outgoing mail stack. Then she let out a long, luxuriant yawn, scratched her ribs, and rolled into bed, suddenly having very much difficulty keeping her eyes open. Cool sheets, a cushy mattress, a fluffy pillow. And cuddled up against that wonderful warmth.
