Twenty Thousand Leagues of Timeworn Wood
“Mooooom!” The little white filly squeaked her disapproval of her mother forcing a dress on her. “It’s ugly!”
“Hush.” A gentle hoof patted her head. “It’ll just be for a little while.”
“I don’t care!” The dress crumpled on the floor with all the might of the filly’s fury. “My friends’ll make fun of me! I promised them something special!”
“Mom, can you help me?”
The little white filly dissolved in Rarity’s memory, replaced by a pouting cream-coated filly staring at her mother like she had murdered her family.
“Mom, please. You know how to talk to her.”
Rarity blinked at the grey mare, who looked at her with pleading eyes. “Oh, yes, of course, dear.” She struggled as much getting out of her rocking chair as getting her words out. “Now, Precious, listen to you mother, she picked you a very nice dress for your concert.”
Truth was, her daughter, Gemstone, hadn’t needed to pick anything. Anyone inspecting the dress crumpled on the floor would have noticed the exquisite and delicate stitching, and the flair and flourish that were the hallmark of Rarity’s work. Of course, she didn’t take offence in the filly’s hissy fit. Her rage had been her own years ago.
“But I don’t want it!” Precious' outburst couldn’t quite crack the gentle smile on Rarity’s face. Heavens, had she been that bad back then too?
“I’ll just leave you two be.” Gemstone hurried out of the room, heaving a great sigh of frustration. “Be nice with grandma!”
Precious only looked down at her hooves, not daring to look up to her grandmother by shame, or frustration, Rarity couldn’t tell.
“Precious, what’s wrong?” Rarity knelt next to her. “You don’t like your dress that badly?”
“No.” Precious sat on the floor, front legs crossed in a display of petty anger. “It’s ugly.”
Rarity’s smile tightened a little. Bratiness seemed to run in her family, but Precious really was something else. “It’s okay if you don’t like it, we can always get you a... better one.”
Precious' frown didn’t leave her, but she at least looked at Rarity straight in the face. “Really?”
Rarity nodded. “You can show me the dress you like and we’ll get it for you.”
A big, silly grin jumped on Precious’ face. “Thank you, grandma! You’re the best!”
“Not the best at making dresses, apparently,” Rarity muttered under her breath as her granddaughter gave her a big hug.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.” Rarity levitated her purse to herself, giving a small sigh. Precious would be happy with a dress of her own choosing, of course. Still, she couldn’t have been that far off from something she would’ve liked, could she?
“This way!” The little filly bounced like a rubber ball down the stairs of Rarity’s house and toward the shopping district. “I’ll show you my favourite shop!”
“That sounds lovely.”
They turned the corner to Sun Street, the shopping district, and Rarity stopped. Tall shops and boutiques filled the streets, all painted in bright colours and surrounded by fountains and benches. Even as her old store, Canterlot Carousel, stood sandwiched between two hooficure salons, she could've stepped in another city for how much she recognized the place.
They walked for a good while on Sun Street. The other boutiques where she had made herself a name so many years ago still proudly bore their “Rarity’s favourites” certificates. Well, those that were still open, of course. Yet the new ones were barren of all insignia, not that there could have been enough paper in all of Canterlot to give them all a certificate for how many they were. Strange new looks and designs filled the myriads of youth shops, and already patterns wove in and out of her mind. She paused several times in front of the new genre stores, giving a close eye to the daring clothes. Yes, a fantastic idea blossomed in her mind. “Rarity’s precious line”: a line of clothing made for fillies her granddaughter’s age and inspired by the works of new and rising designers. By the success of her “Firehose apparel,” a line inspired by the silliest of things —first respondent clothing— she had no doubts that the union of her mastery of fashion and the fresh taste of the youth would find success. She chuckled. Why hadn't she visited that part of town again? There were so many new ideas, so many new point of views on fashion.
“We’re here!” Rarity froze at the foot of the stairs that Precious was jumping more than climbing. “Look how totally awesome it is!”
“Oh, my,” Rarity squeaked. In a great bay window, a clerk fiddled with a mannequin’s clothes, and she hoped against hope he was removing the tacky, overly colourful... thing to replace it with something more sensible. “Are those… tatters?”
“Yeah! Candy Cane came with one of those yesterday!”
“Oh, that’s… nice.” Maybe whoever had designed those… things… had designed them with poorer people in mind. Even then, rags? The local thrift store held acceptable enough clothes for a bit a piece. “Is she your friend?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, does she need new clothes?”
Precious gave her a weird look. “Why would she need new clothes? Everyone’s jealous of the ones she has.”
Rarity blinked. “Pardon me?”
“Yeah! These clothes cost so much no one can afford them.” Her ears went flat against her head, her eyes lighting up with longing. “She’s so lucky...” She pushed the door to the store, not taking her eyes off the tatters. “Come on, I’ll show you what I want!”
Rarity stepped inside and recoiled before the stench and look of the store. Sweat, oil, and all kinds of nasty things that only belonged in auto shops mixed in the air like a bad potpourri. Everywhere she looked, bright neon colours looked back at her, and she felt forced to avert her eyes as not to lose them to third-degree burns. Teenage foals nudged each others, whispering and pointing at her. She forced a smile when she saw Precious' grin and gave the tatters’ price tag a look as she passed by them, ignoring the teenagers. “For the love of—” Her eyes went wide at the sight of the price. Who in their right mind would even think of buying those things, and who would pay such an amount for them?
“It’s all right, grandma, you don’t have to buy me those.” Her eyes were alight with repressed want. “Mama says it’s too expensive.”
“Sweetie,” she said with a pang of worry, “are all things here… like this?”
Precious shook her head. “Nah, just this one. That’s why it costs so much.” She gave the rags a longing look. “They’re unique.”
So that was what the bright “Unyk” on the front of the dress had meant.
“Anyway,” the filly continued with a sour face, “mama doesn’t want me wearing those. She says that I don’t need fancy clothes to be unique.”
Fancy?
“Oh, by the way, don’t tell her I brought you here.” She gave Rarity a wink. “She’d kill me if she found out. But you used to be a designer, right? You understand that I need something better than that boring dress she tried to make me wear.”
Boring dress? Rarity’s eye twitched at the thought. Her dresses, boring? And excuse her very much, but she was still a designer.
“Look!” Precious almost pounced on a rack of clothes that looked just right for a circus. “My friend Cavalry has one of those!”
Rarity turned and turned the shirts on the rack, busting her head trying to find a reason —any reason— anyone would want to wear them. She gave up, and instead tried to find why the store’s manager wasn’t ashamed of displaying such atrocities on his shelves.
“Here!” Precious ran through two rows of nothing but hats so mismatched Rarity thought she would faint. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Precious bounced up and down in front of a ensemble —if it even could be called that— that some poor, deranged soul had thought brilliant to put on display. Rarity dragged herself to her granddaughter, feeling sick from the assault on her senses. The dress shone, and not in a good way. Blue, purple, pink, orange, yellow, and white —all neon— fought on a fabric not dissimilar to silk dipped in oil. She had to be kidding. Was that what fashion was like these days?
“Do you like it?” Precious stared at her with her big, silly grin that always melted her grandmother’s heart. Rarity’s smile wavered, torn between telling her the truth —that the dress had to be one of the worst things she had seen in her life— or lying to spare her feelings.
“It’s… special.”
“I knew you’d like it!” She snatched the dress from its hanger. “Can I have it?”
“Wait a second, now.” Rarity gave a nervous laugh and pulled the dress from Precious' hooves. “We don’t want to pay too much, now, do we?”
Precious’ face dropped. “But it’s not that expensive.”
Rarity licked her lips, searching for a way out of buying the dress. “Look, I’ll just check the price, and I’ll see if it’s good, all right?”
Precious nodded and bit her lower lip, pawing the floor in nervousness. Rarity flipped over the price tag, and her eyes were assaulted by the jumble of letters and numbers that tried to pass for a a name. “What is this? H- four- rmon- three?”
“It’s ‘H4rmon3’, ‘Harmony’. It’s a special dress made to remember the old elements of harmony.” A spark glimmered in her eyes, and she grinned. “I think you know them.”
“This is…”
“I told you it was special.” Precious caught Rarity in a tight hug. “I wanted to get it because you’re way cooler than any expensive dress.”
“Precious, goodness.” Rarity wiped a tear. “I’m very touched by your thought, but wouldn't you want a… better dress?”
Precious sighed and gave Rarity a look halfway between disappointment and anger.
“Listen, this dress is…” Rarity swallowed, trying to get the words out. “Lovely. However, if you wanted to wear something commemorating the elements of harmony, you only had to ask me. I'm a seamstress, remember?”
“Your dresses are weird.”
Rarity forced a smile. “Well, they may be weird—”
“May be? Mama told me your stuff was more like art than actual clothes.”
Rarity made a mental note to berate her daughter when she got home. “Alright, so I tend to make my dresses with a bit of flair, but—” She stopped at the pleading look Precious gave her. “Listen, I know a boutique that specializes in special clothing like that. How about we go take a look before buying anything here?”
“It’s a limited edition.” Precious’ look became even more pleading. “I called them a week ago to make sure it would be there for me, and I have to take it right now or they’ll sell it to someone else.”
Rarity sighed and shook her head, but Precious caved in with the promise that they’d be back before the dress could even think of getting stolen. “You’ll like the other place way better anyway. Silver Lining is one of the very best in Canterlot.”
The Fine Thread was a much more acceptable boutique than whatever the other had been named —she hadn’t been able to read the ridiculous stylized sign over the door. Instead of the foul smell of sweat and oil, a fragrant bouquet of roses floated through the air. The pale pastels of the place were much easier on her eyes than the neon of the other place, and she sighed at the respite her senses had. A silver-coated unicorn trotted toward the two of them with a wide smile and bowed before Rarity.
“Miss Rarity, dear me, how nice to see you.” When he straightened, his smile had widened some. “I can see you haven’t been satisfied with Streets of Canterlot.”
“Nice to see you too, Silver Lining.” Rarity gave a small nod. “What was it you said about the streets of Canterlot?”
“Well, you smell of oil and sweat, and there is only one place in Canterlot that smells like that— beside the auto shops, of course.”
“Oh, are you talking about that…” Rarity bit down on the harsh words as she remembered who was at her side. “…boutique on Sun Street? The one with the… interesting neon obsession?”
Silver Lining nodded and was about to add something when he noticed Precious standing beside Rarity. “Oh, are you here for the little one’s clothes?”
Precious turned her head away and frowned. “I’m not little.”
Rarity patted Precious on the head and gave an apologetic smile. “Yes, and I have just the design in mind for you.”
His smile widened. “It’s a custom, then?”
She nodded, told Precious to wait, and went into a side room to discuss the specificities of the dress with Silver Lining. “My granddaughter wants something to commemorate the achievements of the elements of harmony. I didn’t even know people still cared about us.”
Silver Lining nodded as he typed on his Red Macintosh —who could’ve guessed Ponyville's famous farm pony would go on to become a leader in technology— and turned the screen to Rarity. “I think you’ll like this one.”
Rarity’s eyes widened. Silver Lining’s designs had earned him a place at the top of Canterlot’s elite, but this— this was something else. “I think she’ll love it!”
“Very well, I’ll prepare everything, just go wait for me with your granddaughter. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Silver Lining disappeared behind a curtain, and Rarity went out the room. On a chair, Precious was busy playing with her video game console, and Rarity stepped between the rows of clothes, examining the Fine Thread's top-of-the-line array of dresses of all kind. It wasn't that much different than looking at her own closet. Everywhere she looked, her own designs stood like pillars supporting the world of fashion. Subtle or bold, delicate or expressive, no current had escaped her creative wrath. She breathed in deep. The alleys stretched into the infinity of the Fine Thread, hangers full of swimming colours melting into each other in harmony. Harmony, the backbone of her work. Colours didn’t flow well without harmony. Dresses couldn’t be complete without harmony. She traced the stitching of one of her nearby creations, humming a tuneless song to herself. She had made a name for herself with her forward thinking techniques, her revolutionary vision. What had shocked and shaken the fashion industry, what had astonished the critics, in the end, had been her total disregard for the mainstream, her reinvention of classics. Yes, her daughter had been right calling her dresses art. It took a tried and true fashionista to make real dresses. Not at all like…
She frowned at herself. In a full-body mirror, an old mare stared back at her, dignified in her steps, but tired and… bitter? Distraught? She chuckled. Had she grown so old already? So old she had become just another bitter grandma complaining about the “youth these days”?
Rarity went to sit next to the frowning Precious, who stared at the distance, tapping her hoof on the floor. “I’m sorry it took some time, sweetie, but we’ll be ready soon—”
“Can’t we just go back to the other place?”
Rarity blinked. “But, Precious, you told me you’d see this dress first.”
“But somepony’s going to take my dress if we don’t go back!”
Rarity bit her lip. They had been gone for only a dozen minutes. The dress would wait, but Precious looked on the verge of crying. “Listen, Silver Lining is going to be back soon. If you don’t like what he’ll show you, we’ll go back for the other dress. Deal?”
Precious sighed and pouted, but she nodded. Rarity gave her a patient smile. No, she was confident in her decision. The Fine Thread had had their “Rarity certificate” longer than any other boutique in Canterlot for a reason.
“Ladies!” Silver Lining gave Rarity and Precious a small bow. “Are you ready to see your new ensemble?”
Rarity gave Precious a small nudge. “You’ll love it, I promise.”
Precious gave her a doubtful look, but stepped in front of the screen Silver Lining rolled over to them.
Rarity had heard of those screens before. A new technology —thank you Big Mac— they could project a design on anyone standing in front of them. Silver Lining pushed a button, and light flickered on Precious, who raised her eyebrows in surprise as she found herself adorned with a realer-than-life virtual dress. Six colours wrapped around each other like waves in an ocean, and six gemstones jutted from the neckpiece, contrasting with the colour they were standing on. It looked softer than a feather too, the promise of the finest of silks clear in the way it flowed in the imaginary wind. “Oh, Silver Lining, this is wonderful!”
The designer gave yet another bow. “Only my finest work for my finest patron.”
Rarity turned to Precious. “How do you like it?”
A shiver ran through Rarity as the filly opened her mouth. Her cream-coloured coat washed off, leaving only pure white behind, and suddenly, she was home, her mother looking at her with expectant eyes.
“It’s pretty…” The filly turned on herself, examining the dress. “But it’s not what I want.”
“What do you mean?” Rarity’s mother gave a desperate sigh. “It’s the best dress you could ask for your concert.”
Rarity examined the stitching, examined the fabric, examined the colours. “It’s pretty… but it’s not what I want.”
“I don’t understand. You wanted a pretty dress, no?”
“It’s boring!” Rarity passed the dress over her head and dropped it on the ground. “I want something good, not something that looks like it’s made out of air!”
“Rarity, that’s not very nice. Mister Goldenhoof spent a lot of time on that dress.”
Rarity gave an exasperated sigh. “I. Don’t. Care.” Why wouldn’t her mother understand? She was so stuck on what dress she should wear, to be sure it wouldn’t be different from her classmates, but that was exactly what it needed to be.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t care!” Precious had tears in her eyes. “I don’t care if it’s the best dress for you. It’s not the best dress for me.”
Rarity clicked her tongue, suddenly aware of where she was. “I’m so, so sorry, Silver Lining, but I think we’ll have to look at another model.”
“No prob—”
“I don’t want to look at another model!” Precious gave an exasperated huff. “It’s all the same! It’s always the same!” Precious threw her dress on the floor and stormed out of the Fine Thread.
Rarity opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed and shook her head. “Silver Lining, you are a very talented designer, but I’m afraid your style isn’t my granddaughter’s favourite.”
Silver Lining’s smile dropped, but he still gave a polite bow. “I’m sorry I couldn’t satisfy your demands.”
The moon was already rising in the sky when Rarity left the boutique, sighing. Her dresses were too artsy, Silver Lining’s, who found success in designing dresses for younger audiences, were too boring. Just what did Precious want?
“Can we go back to Streets of Canterlot?” A small voice next to her asked.
Precious pawed the ground, looking at her from the corner of her eyes. She gave sigh and muttered a “never mind,” kicked a rock, and took off in the direction of Rarity’s house.
“Precious, wait.” Rarity walked up to her. “Do you want that dress so bad?”
Precious gave a nod, and Rarity’s face sunk. Why? She had won countless prizes, appeared at the side of every single major name in fashion, set the basis for three whole fashion movements, and yet here she was. Unable to understand what her granddaughter wanted. Unable to understand what she saw in the eyesore that was the H4rmon3 dress. For the first time in her long, fruitful life, Rarity was at a loss.
“It’s not you.” Precious sounded on the verge of tears. “I love your dresses, but…”
“They’re not what you want.”
“Yeah.”
“And you want that dress from the other shop.”
“Yeah.”
“The dress that was next to the rags?”
“…yeah.”
“The dress that looked like someone had dipped in paint and then in oil?”
“…”
Rarity knelt next to Precious, who kept her head low, her eyes full of shame. “There’s no shame in liking something different, Precious, but I just want to understand why you like it.”
Precious rocked on her hooves for a moment. “I dunno.”
“Is it because it comes from that shop? Because everyone buys from it?”
“No.”
“Is it because you like neon colours?”
“Not really.”
“Then what is it?”
Precious looked up for a moment, looking herself at a loss for words. “I think,” she said slowly, “it’s because it’s different.”
“Different? But the other dresses were different too.”
“Not like that. You and mama, you always give me the best dresses I’ve ever seen, but it’s always the same. It’s bright, it’s right, it’s… perfect.”
Rarity blinked in confusion. “But then, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I don’t want to always be perfect! I want something unique!”
“I want something bold, something unique!” Rarity twisted a bright ribbon around her mannequin, and grunted, dissatisfied by the look. “No, no, that won’t do.”
The sweat and blood of a whole week permeated the small room, fabric, threads, and needles strewn on the floor. Rarity let herself fall on her haunches, giving an exasperated sigh as the clock ticked ever closer to her deadline. In every magazine, every poster hanging on her wall, critics praised all those dumb, overused designs. Those old, never changing dresses that always followed the same principle. Look pretty and appealing. Never try anything new. The motto of those who pretended to be high art critics, yet couldn’t tell the difference between a bad design and a different design. Something bold. Something new. Rarity grabbed her pen and lashed out the sketch scribbled on the paper next to the mannequin. Even she had fallen victim to that trap. Too conservative, not daring enough. Just the right proportions, pleasing colours, yes, but nothing new. She needed something new. "You'll never be a real designer— I'll show them!"
A whine broke Rarity out of her daydream. She and Precious were standing in front of a multicoloured counter, a spiky-maned clerk looking at them.
“I’m sorry, you just missed it.” The clerk pointed to a young filly prancing out the door of Streets of Canterlot, squeaking in delight at her new dress. “We can order a new one if you want. It'll be here in a week.”
“My concert is tomorrow.” Precious’ face dropped. “I can’t wait a whole week.”
“Sorry.” The clerk looked genuine, but pity couldn’t bring the dress to them any faster.
They sat on the steps of the shop, Precious looking back at it like she was hoping time would undo itself and bring back the dress to its hanger. Rarity sighed, and rose to her hooves. “Come on, sweetie, we’re going home.”
Precious sniffled as she got up. “I guess I’ll just wear that boring dress mama bought me.”
Rarity nodded with a pang in her heart. Boring dress. Normal ponies would kill to have the privilege to wear one of her handcrafted creations, but Precious wasn’t a normal pony. The disappointed sighs and disgruntled looks of normal ponies didn’t matter to her. But Precious wasn’t a normal pony, and all her success, all her influence were nothing but crumbling towers of sand if her granddaughter so wished to hate her work. Boring dress.
They climbed the stairs to her house. The silver keys weighed in Rarity’s hooves. Gemstone wasn’t there. Probably stopped at that theatre downtown. Precious let herself fall down in Rarity’s couch, sinking in the cushions like they wanted to swallow her whole. Water gargled in Rarity's teapot.
“Tea?”
“No thanks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“If you want, I can-”
“I’m fine!”
Rarity’s face didn’t fall. It couldn’t fall much further. Precious heaved a great sigh, and sunk farther into the cushions. Rarity sat down on a stool, the scratches and fading spots on her tiled floor vanishing behind her, and sighed.
“How was your concert, dear?”
“Fine.” Rarity swung her legs absentmindedly, gazing at the pale dress hung over a chair in the back end of the room, its washed-out pink unable to contrast with the white of the frills.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still mad about your dress.” Her mother let the teacup clang against the table. “You know, I paid good money to get it.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t mean it, and made no effort to hide it. Her gaze kept boring holes in the dress, and her teeth ground together, the noise sounding like the sound her hooves had made when she had dragged them to the stage, where every one of her classmates had waited her arrival with held breath. Instead of the “ooh” and “aah” that should have greeted her, however, only the disappointed faces of the expectant foals had broken the order of the room. A filly had even snickered at her before the entire class followed. To get home and unleash all her spite at her mother had been the only thing that had held her back from turning away running and crying. Now that she faced her, full of rage, she couldn’t even do that.
“Come on,” Rarity’s mother picked up her empty teacup. “It’s time to get to bed. Everyone will have forgotten all about your dress tomorrow.” She pushed her gently off the table and up the stairs. “Up you go.”
Rarity looked back at her with one last mournful look before stepping into her chamber. Once the door closed behind her, anger blazed anew in her. Not a real designer, I'll show them! She took out her pen and scribbled, and scribbled, and all night, she cut, and sew, and cut again, and sew again, until the soft purr of her sewing machine lulled her to sleep. I'll show them.
“I think I have something you’d like.”
Precious followed her into her room like a slug would a piece of rock, and Rarity almost had to push her into it. One last try, Rarity.
You've always been good at last tries.
“It’s something I made a while ago, well, five things, actually. I hope they’re as… different as I remember.” Precious gave her a doubtful look, but her face seemed to rise up some as Rarity grinned and opened the doors of her closet. “It’s somewhere around here, give me a second.”
Dust and time had made their home a long time ago inside her closet. With each step, Rarity could turn back time, each of her previous creation —experimental or failed— staring at her with eyes of gems and marbles, the loose strands of fabric swaying in the air moved by her passing. At the far end, more than thirty years ago, she clicked on a light, and grimaced as the things that sometimes liked to haunt her nightmares shone in the neon’s glow.
Under the light, five dresses shone under the weight of their too many gemstones or the heavy rubber and plastic covering them. A purple gown covered in stars. A dress that would’ve been more at home in a muddy farm garden than in Rarity’s closet. One that looked like a cupcake peacock with what looked like real frosting. One that looked like an antique Pegasian battle armour, complete with a faded rainbow crest and gold shoes. And the last, a wilting flower with a broken-down bird nest. All of them horrors that she had created more than thirty years ago for the Grand Galloping Gala.
“It’s… perfect.” Rarity gave a start. Behind her, Precious walked into the light, her eyes as wide as her grin. “It’s exactly what I want.”
“I wasn’t sure if they would do. It’s… old stuff.”
Precious stepped to them, lightly, and reached out to touch them, caressing the old fabric with awe, like what she had in front of her had been the garments of some ancient goddesses.
“I want something like that," she whispered. "Something that goes against anything anyone would even think of having. Something unique.”
Rarity stepped to the dresses, and for the first time, she saw something in them. Despite their uselessness at any fashion contest, they still resonated with the excitement of those she had made it for. They lacked any subtlety, but, in the end, hasn’t that been why they had been perfect for her friends? And Precious, still mesmerized by the shifting colours on Rainbow Dash’s dress, didn’t want to enter any fashion shows.
“I have an idea,” Rarity said. “Instead of picking one of these dusty old things, how about you help me make the dress you want for yourself?”
Precious’ eyes gleamed. “Really?”
“Really. I can even make it as special as these ones if you want.”
Rarity recoiled under the force of Precious, who almost tackled her in a hug. “Oh, thank you, grandma! You’re the best!”
Rarity spent the night with Precious, nodding and smiling as they weaved fabric together, laughing all the while as Precious prodded her with silly little jokes and anecdotes. In the end, when Precious adorned the patchwork-like abomination they had created together, pride swelled inside her. Pride that Precious had decided and created her own dress with her —like she had wanted to at her age— and pride that she had been able to put her dearly held ideas aside to help her. She looked around for Spike or Twilight and the journal —force of habit— and chuckled.
“Even at my age, I still surprise myself.”
“What was that, grandma?”
Rarity shook her head and chuckled while Precious spun on herself, sending her dress swirling around her, the mismatched colours and patterns shining in the light. The bell rang, and Rarity gently pushed Precious to her mother, who stared agape at her new ensemble. Rarity just shook her head at her and smiled until they were out of sight. When they turned the corner of the street, she closed the door with a click.
The stairs creaked under her as she made her way to her room, ready to call it a day. She flipped a switch, and her closet went dark again.
She threw a piece of paper in the trashcan, the words "Rarity's precious line" scratched in haste at the top. No, "the youth" just wasn't her style. It didn't matter. After all, she only needed one filly to be happy with the work she had done for her to be happy herself.
