Suns and Roses

by Cyrano

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Sex, Sunset Shimmer, Gore, Dark, Alternate Universe, Roseluck, Romance, Equestria Girls
Length: 10943

Sunset Shimmer is a runaway from another world. Roseluck wants to escape the shackles of her ordinary life. Together, they are two of the most successful bank robbers in the land, but all things must come to an end.

The Crystal Mirror brought Sunset Shimmer not to the steps of Canterlot High, but to another world all together. She meets Roseluck, a prisoner in her own home trapped beneath the authoritarian rule of her father, and the two embark on a journey of love and bank robbing as they search for somewhere they can truly be free.

Written for Oroboro's Sunset Shipping Contest: Changing Seasons
Set in an alternate Equestria Girls universe based on the early 1930's.

The word limit for the contest was 10,000, but after checking with Oroboro, I was told that it was a loose limit and not to go overboard. Hopefully this is not overboard.

Published 2017-08-30 21:50:06 UTC
Last updated 2017-08-30 21:50:06 UTC

Live and Let Die

Two girls drove down a southbound road one chilly autumn day.

Roseluck pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. In the summer months she had allowed it to fly free, fluttering in the wind behind the roadster as the two girls sped across the countryside. Those days had been filled with wild passion and reckless abandon, and despite the cool air, neither of them were willing to move on just yet.

Beside her, sitting in the driver’s seat with one hand on the steering wheel, was Sunset Shimmer. Her hair shared the same brilliant reds and yellows that adorned the trees flanking the road, and her eyes sparkled like the dew that clung to the grass. She wore a suit made for a boy but tailored to fit her lean form, a handsome cut that managed to retain some amount of femininity.

Roseluck found it quite dashing.

As her admiring eyes drifted downward, Roseluck frowned. The rose Sunset wore in her lapel – the one she’d insisted upon wearing to match the one Roseluck kept tucked behind her ear – was beginning to wilt. Roseluck’s hand drifted to her own rose, and sure enough the petals felt dry and brittle. Normally she would simply go to her garden and pick a fresh one, but given the circumstances that wasn’t exactly an option.

She was startled from her thoughts as a hand reached up and brushed a loose hair from her face, before gently caressing her cheek.

“Are you cold?” asked Sunset.

“No,” lied Roseluck. Sunset’s arm snaked around her, pulling her closer until both girls sat on the same side of the bench seat. Roseluck rested her head on Sunset’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck and relishing the warmth of her body. Sunset happy to share.

She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, but when Roseluck awoke the car was pulling into a filling station situated off a long stretch of open highway. She sat up, stretched, and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

“Hey,” said Sunset. “Good nap?”

Roseluck nodded. “You’re a good pillow,” she said with a smile.

“Not to mention chauffeur. Remind me, why do I always have to drive?”

“Because I asked you to, and you can’t say ‘no’ to me.” Roseluck batted her eyelashes and laughed. “Which is also why you’re going to fill up the tank while I go in and pay.”

Sunset rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Pick me up a pack of cigarettes while you’re in there?”

Roseluck frowned. “You know how much I hate those things.”

“Yes, but you love me, so you’ll get them anyway. Come on, I only have one left.”

Roseluck sighed. “Fine,” she said, “but if you think I’m letting you kiss me with tobacco breath, you’re crazy.”

“Head over heels,” replied Sunset.

Both girls opened their door and stepped out on either side of the car. It was a black roadster with teardrop headlights, a cab that could fit two comfortably (or three in a pinch), and its top down, exposing its occupants to the elements. Roseluck ran her fingers over the curve of the fender as she walked around the back of the car and popped open the trunk. Inside were two hastily packed suitcases filled with clothes and provisions, five burlap sacks stuffed to the point of bursting with cash, and a case containing the disassembled parts of a fully automatic submachine gun with a drum magazine.

Roseluck reached nonchalantly past the case and into one of the sacks, retrieving a pair of bills. That should be enough to cover everything, she thought, folding one hand around the money and closing the trunk with the other. She waved to Sunset, who was already beginning to fill the car’s tank with gasoline, and turned towards the station.

A gust of wind caught her as she approached, billowing her dress and making her skin tingle with goosebumps. Soon, the time for sundresses and top-down drives would be over, but Roseluck intended to hold on for as long as she could.

The tinkling of a small bell in the doorway heralded her arrival to the station. It wasn’t much warmer in here than it had been outside, but at least the thin walls did a serviceable job of cutting the wind. The air inside crackled with the sounds of radio as a popular song wound down to its conclusion, accompanied by the off-key humming of a burly attendant, who nodded at Roseluck from behind the counter.

“Hello, little lady,” said the attendant, his voice tired and gravelly. “What’ll it be?”

“Ten gallons,” said Roseluck, who had peeked at the gauge before she’d left the car. The attendant looked at her, then beyond her and out the window where Sunset was filling up.

“Nice car.”

“It was my father’s,” replied Roseluck.

“Hmm. Two dollars.”

Someone else might have argued the egregious price, or insisted that the attendant go and check the pump to ensure neither side was being ripped off, but it was cold out there and Roseluck could spare the cash.

“And a pack of cigarettes,” she added, a hint of revulsion finding its way into her voice.

“We only have Camels.”

“That’s fine.”

“Two-twenty,” corrected the attendant.

Roseluck sighed. “I’ll have to run back to the car to grab some change.” The attendant was unmoved, and a now rather dejected Roseluck returned to the vehicle.

“My cigarettes?” asked Sunset, who had walked away from the pump and was lighting up the last of her current pack.

“I’ve got to grab more money.”

“How much did you take?” asked Sunset, cocking an eyebrow.

“Two dollars.”

Sunset’s mouth hung open, nearly dropping her cigarette. “Highway robbery!” she proclaimed.

“We would know,” replied Roseluck with a coy smile. They both laughed. Roseluck retrieved another bill from the sacks in the trunk, and returned to the station to resume her transaction. She had just handed the attendant the money when the music abruptly cut out, only to be replaced by a man’s dour voice.

“We interrupt our regular programming to bring you an urgent message.”

Roseluck’s heart leapt into her throat.

“We have confirmed reports that, at 9 a.m. yesterday morning, a bank in Central Canterlot was held up by a pair of young women. Two on duty officers entered the bank on an unrelated matter during the heist, leading to a gunfight that resulted in one officer killed and the other injured. The criminals are still at large.”

Roseluck could feel beads of cold sweat forming on her brow. “If I could just get those cigarettes…”

But the attendant wasn’t listening.

“The first subject is young woman with strawberry red hair, standing at approximately five-foot, and has been identified as ‘Roseluck’, a citizen of North Canterlot, last seen wearing a green dress. Her accomplice, another young woman, has long red and yellow hair, stands at approximately five-foot-four, last seen wearing a man’s suit, and has been identified only by the alias ‘Sunset’. These women should be considered armed and extremely dangerous, and are wanted in connection to four previous heists, the murder of five police officers, as well as…”

During the broadcast, Roseluck had taken several steps away from the counter. The attendant’s eyes were narrowed, darting between her and the window, no doubt looking for Sunset.

“You know what, forget the cigarettes,” said Roseluck, already stepping towards the door.

“Nonsense,” said the attendant, “I’ve got them right here.” He reached down beneath the counter. Roseluck made it another two steps before he arose, the double-barreled shotgun in his hands aimed right at her.

Roseluck dove, and the attendant pulled the trigger.

Roseluck had always been proud of her garden.

The manor, with its dust covered rooms and trophies from battles she’d never fought, was always the domain of her father. Even years ago, when her mother still lived and her brother’s room was not yet abandoned, it was still indisputably his. He walked the halls like a general – a habit that predated his time in the war, she was told – and nothing would transpire without his explicit approval and consent. His presence hung over the manor like a thick, stifling fog, and within its walls he was beyond reproach.

But the garden was different. Her mother, having been of delicate constitution, never had the strength to plant flowers or tend to a garden. Her brother, a slender boy who made up for his lack of physical strength with an iron will, yearned for freedom that a simple patch of dirt could not provide. Her father could have hired a gardener, of course, but in a rare act of generosity (or, perhaps, laziness) he had entrusted the care of the garden to Roseluck.

From that day on, the garden become something of a sanctuary to Roseluck. It was where she would come to read her books, to spend long summer days digging in the rich soil and pruning leaves, and to hide when her father would drink and rumble through the manor like a thunderstorm. When her mother died it was where she’d come to cry, and when her brother left it was where he’d said his last goodbye. In the warm months, she would carefully sculpt it into a little slice of heaven on earth, and when the winter’s cold forced her inside, she would spend her days dreaming of what she would plant come the spring. And although her father often watched over her from a chair by the window, the garden became the one place that Roseluck truly felt free.

It was a warm spring day in her eighteenth year that Roseluck found something unusual in her garden. Her father had spent the night before deep in his cup, and Roseluck had heard muffled cries from his study as he cursed enemies (both real and imagined) into the early hours of the morning. He would not wake until late in the afternoon, and even then, his temper would be even more explosive than usual.

A perfect day to spend in the garden, she thought.

If there was one feature of the garden that could be said not to belong to Roseluck, it would be the statue. Roseluck was uncertain of its origins (though, from how adamant her father had became the one time she’d suggested removing it, she could only assume it was an heirloom) but, nonetheless, it was unmistakably the center point of garden. It depicted a towering horse made of white stone, rearing triumphantly into the air, and stood atop an ornate pedestal whose four faces retained their mirror polish no matter what the elements threw at them. It had been there since her childhood and, like the tall fence that separated Roseluck’s garden from the outside world, it was something she’d come to accept as a condition of her little taste of freedom.

This year, Roseluck had decided to surround the statue in a fiery wreath of red and yellow dahlias. She had spent many an hour carefully transporting the flowers from pots into the soil, and expected them to bloom as early as the first week of summer.

That is, of course, if something hadn’t crushed them.

It was all Roseluck could do not to cry out in anguish when she saw it: a crater of broken stems and torn leaves had appeared overnight in the shadow of the statue. She balled her hands into fists and blinked back tears, unable to think of anything but the weeks of work and months of planning that had been reduced to nothing in the space of an evening.

Her anger was so overwhelming that she almost missed the rustling of leaves.

Roseluck blinked. She squinted her eyes at the crater, noticing the rhythmic swaying of the surrounding foliage and the faintest flicker of yellow between the leaves. Whatever had destroyed her dahlias was still in the garden, and Roseluck had no intention of letting it get away.

She carefully bent down, grasping the wooden handle of her trusty garden hoe, before slowly creeping towards the crater. She was tempted to swing wildly, to bludgeon whatever it was before it had a chance to escape, but curiosity overwhelmed her and she decided to at least look it in the eye before she condemned it to the same fate as her flowers.

She wasn’t expecting to find a girl.

Curled up at the foot of the statue and clad in nothing but stray leaves and sunlight, lay the most beautiful girl Roseluck had ever seen. Her hair was like a halo of fire that surrounded and engulphed her, and if Roseluck wasn’t immediately convinced that the girl was an angel she might have thought that one of her dahlias had taken on a mortal form. Her skin was radiant and warm, as if she’d stepped out of the sun (out of heaven?) and into Roseluck’s garden.

Roseluck didn’t know how long she stood there, frozen in time by the divine creature before her, but eventually the girl’s breathtaking cyan eyes fluttered open, blearily taking in her surroundings, before finally coming to focus on the figure standing over her.

She screamed.

She threw up her hands in terror then, staring at her hands with a look of bewilderment and horror, screamed again.

Roseluck, realizing she was still brandishing the hoe like some sort of deranged killer, tossed it aside and dropped to her knees, extending a hand towards the girl.

“It’s okay,” said Roseluck, in the most calming voice she could muster. “You’re okay!”

The girl certainly didn’t seem okay. She pushed herself away from Roseluck, until her back was pressed firmly against the base of the statue.

“W-what are you?” stuttered the girl. “What am I?”

Roseluck frowned. “I’m sorry?”

The girl wore a frown of her own, and after a moment of what looked to Roseluck like frantic thinking, spoke again.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my garden,” said Roseluck, when suddenly she was struck by the implications behind finding a naked girl collapsed in her garden. She grasped the girl by the shoulders, eliciting a flinch and a gasp of surprise as she searched the girl for injuries. “Are you alright? You weren’t attacked, were you? You weren’t–”

“No,” said the girl, trying to push Roseluck away with uncoordinated waving of her arms. “I just…”

“You just…?” prompted Roseluck.

“I ran away.”

Roseluck (somewhat reluctantly) let her go. “You ran away?”

The girl nodded.

“To my garden.”

She thought for a moment, then nodded again.

Roseluck looked around. The rest of the garden remained as immaculate as ever, and the ivy that clung to the fence was untouched, leaving no evidence it had been climbed. But how else could she have made it in here? Even the area surrounding the damaged flowers remained unmolested. It was almost as if the girl had fallen from heaven itself.

“So,” said Roseluck, “a runaway angel, huh?”

The girl turned her gaze from Roseluck, then back to her hands. “Is that what I am?”

Roseluck felt the blood rush to her cheeks as the girl’s new position left her particularly exposed. “What you are is naked,” said Roseluck coyly, but nonetheless averting her eyes. “Let me take you inside, we’ll find you something to wear.” She extended her hand to the girl who, after several long moments of what Roseluck could only assume was hesitation, took it.

Roseluck pulled the girl to her feet. She took a couple of wobbly steps before tripping on her own feet and beginning to fall, only to catch herself by grabbing hold of Roseluck for support. A blush burst onto Roseluck’s face as she wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist (to steady her, of course) and began to escort her into the manor.

The pair had made it about halfway to Roseluck’s bedroom when she heard her father’s thundering footsteps echoing through the halls.

“Oh no,” muttered Roseluck, freezing in place.

“What’s wrong?” asked the girl.

“My father,” said Roseluck, her voice barely more than a panicked whisper. “We can’t let him catch you in here!”

The girl looked puzzled. “Why?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Roseluck, hurriedly, “but right now we need to find you somewhere to hide!”

Roseluck’s eyes darted to the nearest door. It was her brother’s room – or had been, anyway – but more importantly it was the one room that her father would not, under any circumstances, enter. Praising her luck, Roseluck grabbed the girl’s hand (by this time she was walking mostly unaided), and pulled her towards the door.

“In here!”

The girl stared at the door for a few agonizing seconds, then a panicked look spread over her face and she touched her hands to her forehead.

“It’s not going to open itself!” Roseluck grasped the door knob, pulled it open, and pushed the girl inside. She stumbled, but managed to keep her balance. “I’ll be right back,” whispered Roseluck, “be very, very quiet!”

No sooner had the door clicked closed than her father thundered around the corner at the end of the hall. He was a tall man as well as broad, his full head of grey hair and well-trimmed beard doing little to conceal the bags under his eyes or his sunken features – not at all the handsome specimen featured in more than one portrait hung around the manor. The years may have sapped him of his looks, but the man’s raw strength was still frighteningly intact.

“Roseluck,” he barked. Roseluck winced and directed her eyes to the floor.

“Yes, father?”

“Don’t ‘yes father’ me,” he snapped. “What in god’s name was all that noise coming from the garden? I’d barely closed my eyes when suddenly all I can hear is shrieking!”

The girl’s scream. “I didn’t hear any shrieking,” lied Roseluck. It occurred to her that this might have been the first time she’d ever lied to him.

“What was that? Speak up, girl, I can’t hear a word you’re saying when you mumble at the floor like that!”

“I didn’t hear anything,” lied Roseluck again, louder this time.

“No?” Her father frowned and scratched his beard. “Remind me to telephone Doctor Hoarse to check those ears of yours. I know I heard something… must have been the Oranges next door – little more than glorified farmers, those ones. Twenty years ago if you’d told me…”

Her father’s grumbling only intensified as he brushed past her and continued down the hall. He had almost reached the end when he stopped once again.

“One other thing,” he said, “I’ll be going into town today, make sure dinner is on the table by the time I return.”

“Yes, father,” said Roseluck, again. She would prepare the meal, her father come home late (and drunk), and in the morning, he would complain that she’d wasted perfectly good food. It might even have bothered Roseluck, if she wasn’t already so used to it.

“Good,” said her father, and without so much as a goodbye, he was gone.

Roseluck waited until his footsteps were distant echoes before whirling around and throwing open the door. “Sorry about tha–”

Roseluck stopped abruptly when she saw the girl. She’d found her way into the closet, and was wearing one of Roseluck’s brother’s white dress shirts. She turned to face Roseluck.

“I found something to wear,” she said, sheepishly.

Roseluck couldn’t help but smile. The girl had clearly struggled with the buttons of the shirt, but, despite being tailored for a boy, it was a surprisingly good fit. The girl was closer to her brother’s height than Roseluck’s, and it wasn’t as if he was going to be coming home any time soon…

“Let me help you with that,” said Roseluck, moving forward to fix the buttons on the girl’s shirt. “And then we’ll work on finding you a pair of pants.”

“Thanks,” sad the girl, watching as Roseluck’s nimble fingers darted up and down before her. “You’re pretty good at that.”

Roseluck laughed. “I suppose. I used to have to do this for my brother all the time – you should see me tie a tie!” After another few moments of fumbling, Roseluck took a step back and admired her work. “There, done.”

The girl straightened the shirt out, and stood up straight. “How do I look?” she asked.

“Beautiful,” said Roseluck. She wasn’t talking about the shirt.

“That man–” said the girl, “your father – he called you Roseluck, right?”

Roseluck nodded. “That’s me,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Roseluck,” said the girl, “I’m Sunset Shimmer.”

Sunset Shimmer stared wistfully out the window, not at the garden, but at the road.

The first time Roseluck had caught her like this was after one of their clandestine trips into town. Her father would have thrown a fit if he found out that Roseluck had left the manor without his permission, but Sunset had longed to go and Roseluck was eager to keep her happy.

But Sunset wasn’t happy. She would never say it, but Roseluck knew it all the same. Whatever it was that Sunset Shimmer was searching for, what she’d sacrificed everything for, it was still out there, and in its place, she’d found Roseluck.

Roseluck approached her from behind, her many years of experience tiptoeing around her father allowing her to cross the manor’s floor in complete silence. She wrapped her arms around Sunset’s waist and rested her forehead between the blades of her shoulders. Sunset stiffened in surprise then, recognizing the embrace, sighed.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” replied Roseluck.

They stayed like that for a moment, Sunset staring out the window as Roseluck held on to her as tightly as she could, before finally Sunset turned around. She smiled warmly at Roseluck – a good facade, but not quite good enough – enveloped her in a hug of her own, and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Roseluck couldn’t say for certain when she’d fallen for Sunset, nor did she know exactly what it was the other girl saw in her, but in the weeks since Sunset’s sudden arrival into her life, the little hint of a crush that Roseluck had felt for her had transformed into something more. Sunset must have felt the same way, because as spring turned to summer and the two girls grew closer together, their relationship blossomed into something more than mere friendship. Roseluck had never been in love before, but if this wasn’t it, it had to be the next best thing.

But while Sunset’s presence was the answer to Roseluck’s loneliness, whatever demons had chased the runaway angel into her arms still lurked at the precipice of Sunset’s mind, and an exotic bird, Sunset Shimmer was never meant to be caged. Roseluck had hoped that the trips to town would sate her, but the little taste of freedom only served to remind her of her captivity. Sunset was restless. She wanted to leave.

And Roseluck didn’t have the heart to make her stay.

“Come on,” said Roseluck, taking Sunset’s hand and leading her away from the window. “Father will be home soon, we wouldn’t want him to see you in the window as he pulls in. Besides, I want to talk to you about something.”

Sunset allowed herself to be shepherded through the manor’s long halls and into Roseluck’s bedroom. While it didn’t offer the same sanctuary provided by the garden (her father had never allowed her to collect trinkets or decorate the walls), it was one of the few places the young lovers could have some assurance of privacy. Roseluck sat on the bed, and when Sunset sat next to her, she cupped her hand between two of her own and squeezed it.

“Sunset,” she said, “having you here has been amazing, but I can’t keep asking you to stay for my sake. This house was my mother’s prison, my brother’s prison, and my prison. I won’t let it be yours.”

Sunset’s brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”

“I think it’s time to leave.”

Roseluck felt Sunset’s hand tense. “Rose–”

“Just listen to me. If you stay here you’ll end up resenting me, and I couldn’t live with tha–”

“Rose!” Sunset’s outburst jolted Roseluck from her prepared speech and she immediately capitalized. “You were miserable before I got here – you told me yourself! I’m not just going to leave you here!”

“I know,” said Roseluck, “that’s why I’m going with you.”

There was a pause, Sunset considered her for a moment, then laughed.

“You couldn’t have started with that?”

Roseluck smiled, feeling the tension begin to drain out of the room. Sunset ran her free hand through her hair and breathed a sigh of relief, before turning her gaze back to Roseluck.

“Where are we going to go?”

Roseluck shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What are we going to do for money?”

“I don’t know.”

“So why are you smiling?”

Roseluck lay back on the bed, her arms spread on either side of her body, staring upward not at the ceiling, but past it. “Because,” she said, “for the first time in my life I can ask myself those questions. We can go wherever we want, do whatever we want, and, whatever happens, we’ll be together.”

“I like the sound of that,” said Sunset. She climbed on top of Roseluck, straddling her hips and leaning in until their noses were almost touching and her hair surrounded them like a veil. Roseluck felt a rush of exhilaration as their lips met, placing her hands on Sunset’s waist and pulling her closer.

The door to the room exploded open.

Roseluck watched Sunset’s eyes go wide before a hand closed itself around Sunset’s collar and ripped the two lovers apart, sending Sunset hurtling through the air and crashing against the dresser on the opposite side of the room. Standing between them, his face red and pulsing veins jutting from his head and neck, was Roseluck’s father. He loomed over her like a summer storm, his hands balled into tight, trembling fists and his teeth barred in fury. Roseluck was no stranger to her father’s wrath, but she’d only ever seen him like this once before: the night before her brother had left, when her father had beaten him within an inch of his life.

“How dare you,” he seethed. He took a step forward and Roseluck drew instinctively away. “First I have to hear about you parading around town with a man like a common whore, and when I get home I find that you’ve brought him into my home?!”

“Her.”

Terror gripped Roseluck’s heart as she looked past her father at Sunset, who had made it back to her feet and was now glaring defiantly at her attacker. “And if you call her that again I’ll–”

Roseluck’s father struck with incredible swiftness for a man of his size. His fist landed squarely in Sunset’s gut, causing her to double over and cough violently. Roseluck shrieked, but her father wasn’t finished yet. He brought his knee up into the girl’s face with a sickening crack, sending her once again to the floor with blood streaming from her nose.

“Father!” cried Roseluck, grabbing his arm as he advanced once again on Sunset. He spun, striking Roseluck with the back of his hand, knocking her backwards onto the bed. He then grabbed a handful of Sunset’s fiery hair and began to drag her out of Roseluck’s room.

“Stop, father!” she shouted, ignoring the throbbing pain and the tears that flowed freely down her face as she gave chase. He didn’t listen. He dragged Sunset down the hall and out into the garden, drawing her up before throwing her forward into the dirt. She bounced once, her limp body landing at the foot of the statue in the same spot Roseluck had found her nearly four months ago. Roseluck rushed to her side, only to be stopped by her father grabbing her arm and holding it in his iron grip.

“Let me go!” she pleaded. “I need to–”

Her father wrenched her backwards, nearly ripping her arm from its socket and sending her toppling to the ground.

“Don’t touch her!”

Sunset was struggling to stand, her back pressed firmly against the base of the statue. The blood from her nose had mixed with that of her split lip and was dribbling down her chin, and her left eye was swollen shut and ringed with purple. Roseluck was torn between relief that she yet lived, and horror at what her father would do next.

His nostrils flared, and with a contemptuous glance at Roseluck, he struck Sunset once again. She crumpled into a heap on the ground, where her father delivered her a devastating kick to the ribs.

“You’re killing her, father!”

For a moment, it appeared that Roseluck’s cry had stayed her father’s wrath. He looked down at Sunset’s beaten and bloodied body, spat, and looked back at Roseluck.

“A woman,” he said, his voice laden with disgust. There was no love or familiarity in his eyes, only pure, unfiltered hatred. “What did I do to deserve a daughter like you?”

“Hate me all you want,” begged Roseluck, “but please, just let her go!”

Her father stared at her for a moment before he spoke. “Do you love her?”

“Yes,” replied Roseluck. There was no hesitation.

“I loved your mother,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and withdrawing a large, six chamber revolver which, in the red light of the setting sun, appeared for a split second to be engulphed in hellfire.

“Let us mourn them together.”

Her turned, pointing the gun at Sunset. Roseluck didn’t have time to think, instead she dropped her shoulder and charged at her father, catching him by surprise and sending them both tumbling to the ground, the gun landing somewhere nearby. Roseluck tried to scramble to her feet but her father was faster; he pushed her onto her back and wrapped his fingers around her throat.

Roseluck tried to speak – to scream – but could barely manage a gurgle. She grasped desperately at her father’s hands, and when they wouldn’t relent she raked her nails across his face, not quite able to reach his eyes. He roared in pain and outrage, squeezing even tighter. Roseluck’s heart pounded in her ears, and her lungs cried out for oxygen. She felt her arms grow weak, and her vision began to fade.

Then she heard the shot.

Her father’s grip loosened, and Roseluck felt something hot and sticky drip onto her face. She gasped for air, a sensation that felt as though she was sucking it in through a narrow straw, before his limp form lurched forward like a revenant committing to the morbid completion of its final act. Once again Roseluck found herself unable to breath, though this time not from the hands around her throat but from the hundreds of pounds of dead weight crushing her torso. She tried to push him off, but what little strength remained within her was not nearly enough. Roseluck felt a chill, starting at the tips of her fingers and toes, and rapidly moving up through her limbs and into her chest. Her body wracked itself with convulsions as every cell fought desperately and pathetically to live. The pain was unbearable, and the one small blessing bestowed upon Roseluck was that she didn’t have to suffer for long before the darkness overcame her.

Roseluck had died.

It had to be true, for when she opened her eyes it wasn’t the murderous silhouette of her father standing over her, but that of an angel.

“Rose!”

Sunset tossed the gun aside and cradled Roseluck in her arms, pressing her face into her chest and staining her dress with blood and tears. “I’m so sorry, Rose,” she sobbed. “I had no other choice! He was going to…”

But Sunset was too distraught to continue. Roseluck tried to respond, but her voice came out as little more than a painful rasp. Instead, she took Sunset’s hand in her own and pressed it to her lips. Sunset sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve.

“Whatever happens,” said Sunset, squeezing her hand, “we’ll face it together. It doesn’t matter what we lose, if we have each other, it will be enough.

“I love you, Rose.”

The cigarette dropped from Sunset Shimmer’s lips, lying forgotten on the asphalt as she dashed towards the filling station. Her hand slipped into the pocket of her jacket and she withdrew the revolver from its hiding place. It was the same gun that had started them down their path to crime, and through it, Sunset was becoming well acquainted with death.

What would Celestia think of her now?

It didn’t matter. The first few jobs had been easy: point the gun, fill the bag, get away. It was exhilarating, the same burst of adrenaline and surge of pride that Sunset felt when she’d mastered a spell before she came to this world. But things changed, summer ended, and the body count started to pile up. Policemen searched for them, radio broadcasters vilified them, and wanted posters flooded the streets with their likenesses. It was never supposed to get this bad.

They could have stopped after they killed their first cop. He’d been making a withdrawal when they kicked down the door. Sunset told him to freeze – everything would have been alright if he’d just listened! – but he didn’t. He pulled a gun on Roseluck, and Sunset didn’t hesitate. Roseluck started carrying a gun after that, and ever since their trail of blood only grew deeper. They were in over their heads, and if they didn’t stop soon, Sunset was worried they would drown.

One more job and that would be it. They’d have enough money to be set for the rest of their lives, and when they crossed the border not even the cops could touch them. They just had to make it there alive.

Sunset tried to open the door quietly, to get the jump on whoever had fired the gun, but the bell over the door gave her away. The attendant whirled around and Sunset found herself staring down the twin barrels of his shotgun. She ducked just in time to dodge the hail of shot that tore sizable hole in the door behind her, showering her in tiny splinters of wooden shrapnel. The attendant swore loudly, breaking open the shotgun in a futile attempt to reload before Sunset could take her shot, only to scream and drop the weapon as a bullet ripped through his left bicep.

Sunset took a step forward, gun trained on the wounded attendant while her eyes frantically searched the station. “Rose!” she shouted, and for a split second the only reply was a dreadful silence.

“Sunset!”

Roseluck poked her head out from behind the magazine display and, seeing the attendant lying on the floor, made a beeline for Sunset. It was all Sunset could do to keep the gun level and resist throwing her arms around her.

“Rose… I thought– when I heard the shot…”

“Shh,” Roseluck hushed her and ran a soothing hand through her hair. “It’s okay,” she said, “we’re okay.”

Sunset could have stayed like that forever, but the whimpering of the attendant pulled her back to reality. He had curled into a ball, his shotgun lying forgotten in the steadily growing pool of blood beside him, and posed about as much threat as the damaged radio, which sparked and sputtered as it tried desperately to play its music despite having caught a bad case of buckshot.

“P-please,” he stuttered, “take whatever you want, just go!”

“We’re not robbing you!” said Roseluck. In one fluid motion she vaulted over the counter, landing with a flourish on the other side before ducking down out of sight. When she reappeared she was holding a carton of cigarettes. Sunset gave her a look.

“What?” she asked. “I paid for these!”

Sunset shook her head. “What are we going to do about him?”

Roseluck came out from behind the counter. She gave the attendant a long look, before turning back to Sunset. “Leave him,” she said.

“Are you sure? If he calls the cops–”

“I won’t, I swear!”

“–if he calls the cops when we’re this close…”

Roseluck looked around, spotted the telephone sitting on a little table in the corner, and with a grunt of effort pulled off the wire connecting the receiver to the base.

“Can’t call anyone without this,” she said, dangling it for a moment between her fingers before letting it drop to the floor. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Sunset nodded and followed, kicking the shotgun away from the attendant just in case. They rushed back to the car, Sunset not even bothering to open the door, instead opted to leap over the side and into the driver’s position. Roseluck climbed in next to her, and without another word they sped off down the empty highway.

“That was too close,” said Sunset. By this time the filling station was little more than a speck in the distance. “What if a cop drives through here, or even someone with a fast car? The only reason we’ve stayed ahead of the police this long is because they never know where we’re heading next. If he talks to someone…”

Roseluck laid a hand on her knee. “We did the right thing.”

“He tried to shoot you, Rose!”

“He missed.”

“So did the others!”

“It doesn’t matter! We’re not assassins. He attacked us, we defended ourselves. As for the others, they chose to throw their lives away over a few bags of money.”

Sunset took her eyes off the road for a moment and stared at her. “That’s cold, Rose.”

Roseluck sighed. “Says the girl who’s regretting not killing someone? Summer’s over, Sunset, cold is just something we’ll have to get used to.”

Sunset didn’t respond.

“Don’t worry about them. By this time tomorrow we’ll be across the border and all of this will behind us. We’ll have each other, and that will be enough.”

Tomorrow. One last job stood between the two girls and freedom. Whatever awaited them at the South Canterlot Bank, they would face it together. Roseluck was right about one thing, after tomorrow, one way or the other, this life would be behind them.

She took a hand off the wheel and laced her fingers between Roseluck’s. Sunset had already given up one life. It had been hard, but, this time, she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Twilight Sparkle never wanted to work in a bank.

In fact, if she’d been asked just last year where she’d be now, she would have immediately answered ‘university’. She had a whole host of offers from some of the most prestigious institutions in the country, as well as an eagerness to learn that was unmatched by her peers.

What she didn’t have was money.

Even with the most generous of scholarships, she would still be required to eat and pay rent. This wouldn’t have been a problem, but for her whole life Twilight had lived under the financial umbrella of her parents. When the economy took a nosedive (thanks in no small part to the bankers she now served) Twilight’s parents were not spared from the fallout and, as a result, Twilight’s plans for university had to go on the backburner.

It was only for a year, she had told herself, but as the one-year mark drew closer and more little emergencies strained her savings, Twilight Sparkle was starting to fear that she would have to wait even longer. After another sleepless night worrying about her finances and grasping at a dream that seemed further and further away, Twilight was preparing for another monotonous day managing deposits and withdrawals, when a strange group of men entered the bank. She might not have given them a second thought (strange sorts entered the bank on an almost regular basis) until out of the corner of her eye she caught a gleam of gunmetal sticking out from one of their belts.

The four men went directly to the bank manager and spoke to him in hushed tones. His eyes went wide and his skin pallid, and Twilight felt a nervousness come over her that was only compounded when the manager finished speaking with the men and approached her desk.

“Ms. Sparkle,” he said, pulling his kerchief from his jacket pocket and mopping thick beads of sweat from his brow, “there’s something I must attend to… an errand that simply cannot wait.”

“Oh,” said Twilight, doing her best to conceal her rising panic, “is there anything I can–”

“No, no!” interrupted the manager. His breathing was quick, and his eyes darted back and forth from the door. “Just stay here and… work. Yes, work. Lots of work to be done.”

The memory of a radio program her father had been listening to the day before crept its way into the forefront of Twilight’s mind. A grim broadcaster had warned of a string of daring daylight robberies that had spread across the country. Her father had tried to say something to her, but she’d brushed him off. No one would rob the South Canterlot Bank… right?

Twilight wished she could be as sure now as she had been then. She glanced back at the four men, who had spread out around the bank, looking busy but not actually doing anything. She leaned in so that only the manager could hear her words. “Are these men robbers?” she asked in barely more than a whisper.

“What?” asked the manager, before glancing once again at the door. “Of course not! These gentlemen are from the Sheriff’s department, and they’ll be watching over the place while I’m on my errand. Speaking of which, I really must be going!”

The manager didn’t even stop to retrieve his hat before he fled out the door, leaving Twilight alone with the four men. The four officers, she supposed, but none of them had the gallant air she associated with police officers. On the contrary, Twilight became distinctly aware that one of the men was watching her.

At first, she ignored him, but as the minutes ticked by she noticed his breathing growing heavier and nearer, and whenever she looked up from her work she caught him leering lecherously at her. His gaze made her skin crawl, and though she did her best to ignore him and focus on the task at hand, her silence only seemed to goad him further. Before long, the man’s shadow loomed over her and obfuscated her work.

“Do you know why we’re here?”

The man’s voice had an unpleasant rasp, and his breath was hot and stank of onions and stomach acid. Twilight recoiled in her chair, but politely met his dull eyes.

“The manager said you were here to watch over the bank while he was on his errand.”

The man laughed, followed by a chorus of chuckles from his fellow officers. “His errand, right. And do you know what we’re on the look out for specifically?”

“Ne'er-do-wells?” asked Twilight, timidly.

The man cocked an eyebrow. “What now?”

“Robbers,” clarified Twilight.

“Not just any robbers,” said the man, “the worst of the worst. Roseluck and Sunset: a couple of girls form up north who’ve been making their way across the country, stealing whatever they want and shooting anyone who gets in their way.”

“I hear they’re real pretty,” said one of the others, licking his lips. “We’ll see how pretty they are when we’re done with them.” Twilight shuddered.

“Word is they shot up a filler station a few miles from here – left a man with a bullet in his arm, lying in a pool of his own blood. Sheriff thinks they’re heading for the border, and guess which bank sits right in their path?”

Twilight swallowed. “This one.”

“Clever girl. Lucky for you, Sheriff sent four big, strong officers over to keep an eye on the place. To keep an eye on you.”

Twilight didn’t respond.

“Now, here’s an idea: let’s you and me go in the back and check out the office, make sure everything’s in order and the vault is locked up tight.”

“I really don’t think–” started Twilight, but the man cut her off.

“Then let me do the thinking for the both of us. Now get going before you make me angry.”

Twilight slowly stood from her desk, palming a pen into her sleeve. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to accomplish, but she was certain that she didn’t want to be alone with this man without something to protect herself. She didn’t own a gun, so a pen would have to do.

“There’s a good girl,” murmured the man, ushering her into the office. Twilight looked at each of the other officers in turn, but none of them would meet her eyes as she passed. The man closed the door behind them. “Show me around,” he ordered.

“Well, umm, this is the manager’s office. That’s his desk, where he does his work; over there are the cabinets where we keep the files – the filing cabinets, I guess; in the back is the door to the vault… and it looks like you found the liquor cabinet.”

The man had done more than find the cabinet, he’d broken open an old bottle of scotch (a gift from a client) and was in the process of taking a long draw. When he was finished he sighed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, extending the bottle towards Twilight. “Want some?” he asked.

Twilight shook her head. “I’m not supposed to drink while I’m working.”

“You’re not working now, are you? We’re just having a chat.” When Twilight remained stalwart, the man simply shrugged and took another drink. “Suit yourself.”

Twilight wrung her hands together, careful not to reveal the pen in her sleeve. “So, you’ve seen the office, I guess we can go back now, right?”

The man gave her a lascivious look. “Not yet,” he said, “we’ve still got to check out that vault.”

Twilight hesitated. “I’m not supposed to open the vault,” she protested.

“I’m an officer of the law,” said the man, waving the bottle as he spoke. “Come on, don’t make me open it for you.”

Twilight reluctantly reached into the pocket of her blouse and produced the iron key. It was one of only two copies, the other being held by the manager, and despite her disinterest in the job, Twilight had felt somewhat honored to have been trusted with it. She approached the vault door and inserted the key, unlocked it, and took a step backward, only to collide with the man who had silently moved behind her.

She could feel his hot breath on her neck, the sickening odor of onions now mixing with the stink of the scotch.

“That’s it,” her murmured, and Twilight was overwhelmed with a sense of revulsion and the animal instinct to flee. “Now, why don’t you and me–”

Whatever horrible thing the man was going to suggest was lost as a cry came from the front of the bank.

“Nobody move!” commanded a feminine voice.

Twilight Sparkle never thought she’d be thankful to be a victim of a bank robbery, and the sentiment last only until the first shot was fired.

Twilight screamed, dropping the key to the floor. The man drew his pistol as a flurry of automatic gunfire roared from the front. Twilight, having only just regained her senses, was about to dive under the desk for cover when the door to the office slammed open, revealing the silhouette of the man who had kicked it open.

No, thought Twilight as her eyes adjusted to the corona of sunlight at the figure’s back, not a man. Though she wore a man’s suit, the robber was unmistakably female. Torrents of red and gold hair cascaded from her head, and for a split second the light reflecting off the steel of her revolver held an almost celestial warmth.

That is, until Twilight realized the gun was pointed right at her.

Suddenly, an arm snaked itself around Twilight’s neck, and she felt herself being dragged in front of the officer like a human shield. Twilight grasped feebly at the arm, but his strength was too much for her.

If there was one upside to her current predicament (and Twilight had to seriously consider whether this was, indeed, an upside) was that the cowardly act of the officer was equally surprising to the robber. The woman lowered her gun, ever so slightly, and spoke directly to the officer.

“Put it down and no one else has to–”

Her words were cut off by the cacophonous blast of the pistol hovering mere inches from Twilight’s right ear.

The pain was indescribable. Twilight’s ears rang with such intensity that she couldn’t hear her own scream. She pulled her hands from the man’s arm and clapped them over her ears, but the damage had already been done. Tears stung her eyes, blurring the image of the robber before her who, clutching her shoulder, collapsed out of sight behind the manager’s desk. The officer took a step forward, dragging Twilight with him as he moved into position for the kill, when Twilight felt his arm press against the pen in her sleeve. Deftly sliding it from its hiding place, Twilight hesitated for just a second before driving the pen into the meaty flesh of the officer’s thigh.

Although she couldn’t hear it, Twilight could feel the howl reverberate in his chest before the officer threw her away from him. She stumbled, her balance hampered by the damage to her ear, and landed hard against the filing cabinets. Dazed from the impact and still wracked with pain, Twilight managed to pull herself into a sitting position just in time for the officer to level his pistol at her head.

He shouted something that Twilight couldn’t understand, spittle flying from his mouth like a wild animal. Twilight took what she was certain would be her final breath, when a hail of gunfire ripped into the man’s torso and coated the vault door in a thin film of blood. As the officer’s lifeless body fell to the ground his pistol discharged, the bullet embedding itself in the metal cabinet mere inches from Twilight’s head.

She screamed again, and this time was almost relieved to hear the muffled sound of her own voice.

In the doorway stood another woman. She had strawberry red hair, a rose tucked behind her ear, and held in her hands a smoking submachine gun fitted with a drum magazine. She wore a flowing green sundress that drifted ethereally as she lowered the weapon and dashed to the other robber’s side, kneeling down to assess her wound. She peeled away the suit jacket to reveal the blood-soaked dress shirt beneath.

Twilight winced – that was a lot of blood.

The woman in the dress moved quickly, grabbing a letter opener from the manager’s desk and cutting off a long strip of her dress, using it as a makeshift bandage. It wasn’t enough. Blood soaked through the bandage almost as quickly as it was applied. Despite their best efforts, it was clear that neither of these women were trained in first aid.

“Pressure!”

Both women turned their heads towards Twilight, who was almost as surprised as they were. What was she doing? Not only were these women criminals, they were murderers! But they’d saved Twilight from the officer (however unintentionally) and Twilight wasn’t the sort of person who could sit idly by while someone bled to death in front of her. She had to do something.

“You have to apply pressure!”

Twilight’s words were muffled and distant, barely audible over the intense ringing in her ears. The women looked confused. They didn’t understand. Twilight rose to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her. The room around her started to swim, but she didn’t have time to wonder whether this was a symptom of damage to her inner ear, or the first signs of shock. No, someone needed her help, and Twilight Sparkle was going to help them.

She took a step forward, stumbled, and caught herself on the manager’s desk. The woman in the dress was eyeing her warily, her hand drifting towards the gun she had laid on the grown while she treated her partner’s wound. Twilight raised her free hand, displaying her open palm as a sign of nonaggression.

“I can help!” she said, praying that her good intentions weren’t about to get her killed.

The other woman – Sunset, Twilight remembered, and the one with the rose must be Roseluck – said something that Twilight couldn’t make out and nodded towards the body of the fallen officer. Roseluck responded, equally inaudibly, and gave Twilight a dubious look before stepping aside.

Twilight wasted no time. Using the letter opener, she cut away much of Sunset’s sleeve as well as the blood-soaked bandage, before quickly applying one of her own. Sunset protested – Twilight was certain she could make out the words ‘too tight’ above the tinnitus – and Twilight immediately tried to calm her.

“It has to be tight,” said Twilight, trying to ignore how wrong her own voice sounded as she bound Sunset’s arm into a sling using what remained of the sleeve. “Any looser and you’ll risk bleeding out before you can get to a doctor.”

Twilight watched as worry wrestled with agony as the dominating emotion in Sunset’s eyes. A hospital wasn’t exactly an option for the two robbers, but without proper care it didn’t matter how tightly Twilight bound the wound because bandages could only slow the bleeding, not stop it completely. It was only a matter of time before, whether by loss of blood or infection, Sunset would die.

When she finished, Twilight’s hands were covered in blood. She wiped them on her skirt, not worrying about how difficult it would be to get out of the fabric, focusing instead on the peculiar sensation of blood drying on her skin. She’d done everything she could, and now Sunset’s life rested firmly in the hands of fate.

Roseluck returned, holding in her hands the submachine gun and a hefty sack that Twilight could only assume was filled with money. She felt a twinge of guilt about failing in her duties as a clerk, but the rational part of her mind screamed at her that she was just lucky to be alive. She took a step back to give the robbers some space.

Sunset, using the arm that wasn’t bound in a sling, grabbed hold of the manager’s desk and tried to pull herself to her feet. She’d almost made it when her legs buckled beneath her and she collapsed into a heap on the floor. Roseluck knelt down, wrapped an arm around Sunset’s waist, and tried to help her up. But the bag, the gun, and Sunset were too much for Roseluck to manage, and after another futile attempt, she set the bag on the ground slid it towards Twilight.

“W-wait!” stammered Twilight as Roseluck hoisted Sunset to a standing position. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Keep it, give it back, it’s up to you,” said Roseluck, and to Twilight’s surprise and relief, she understood her. “With that kind of money, you could do whatever you want.”

Twilight picked up the bag and watched the two women limp their way out of the office. She wasn’t going to keep the money, of course, but even as she prepared to put it back into the vault, a little voice in the back of her mind reminded her that, if she applied now, she could be in school in time to start the spring semester.

Winter wind stung Sunset’s face as the two girls sped down the highway. She was trembling uncontrollably, and numbness jabbed at her extremities like tiny needles in her flesh, but she wasn’t cold. No, despite the freezing conditions, Sunset’s skin burned with fever and the fires of infection coursed through her veins as hot sweat dripped from her brow. Her breathing was irregular, and with each ragged breath she felt a little more of her strength slip away.

She was dying.

She didn’t want to admit it, but it was childish to ignore the truth. Sunset had seen enough people laid low by bullets to know that she didn’t have much time. If they didn’t reach the border soon…

Beside her, sitting uncharacteristically in the driver’s seat, was Roseluck. Her face was streaked with tears and dried blood from when she’d tried to wipe them away, and her teeth were bared against the wind. She was wide-eyed, desperate, and Sunset wanted nothing more than to hold her close and tell her everything was going to be alright.

But that would be a lie.

The car went over a bump, sending a fresh lance of pain ripping through Sunset’s body. She grabbed her shoulder with her left hand and cried out, jamming her eyes shut to halt a fresh onslaught of tears.

“Sorry!” said Roseluck, “we’re almost there, I promise!”

Sunset groaned and, with great effort, reached into her breast pocket and retrieved the carton of cigarettes they’d picked up at the filling station. She pulled one out and put it in her mouth, allowing the rest of the carton to fall to her feet. She fumbled with the lighter, but whether it was the cold or her own weakness, she was unable to get it to light. She was about to give up when she felt Roseluck’s hand gently close around her own. Roseluck hated when she smoked, but put up no fight as she lit the cigarette and Sunset took a long drag.

It didn’t help. She was still dying and now her mouth tasted like ash.

Following the speed limit, the trip to the border would have taken an hour, but the pair were on track to make it in half that. Sunset wouldn’t have believed it if it weren’t for the watch strapped to her wrist – each second felt longer than the last as the pain in Sunset’s shoulder spread throughout her entire body.

It was agony, but it would be over soon.

The car crested a hill, the last hill before they reached the border, when they saw them. Four pairs of headlights stared defiantly at them through the darkness, stretching the length of the road. Behind them, crouched behind open doors, were eight police officers with their pistols drawn.

“Stop,” said Sunset, “turn around!”

“No,” said Roseluck.

“What? Rose, they’re blocking the road! We have to find another way!”

“We can’t!” Roseluck looked at her tearfully. “It’ll take us hours to find another way, and that means…”

She didn’t have to finish. In a few hours Sunset would be dead.

The car slowed to a stop about ten meters in front of the blockade. An officers voice, amplified by a megaphone, called out to them.

“There’s nowhere to go. Step out of the vehicle, and lay face down on the ground!”

Sunset looked at Roseluck. “What are we going to do?”

Roseluck did her best to smile, and placed her hand on the submachine gun that lay on the bench seat between them. “We fight out way through.”

“Are you sure?”

Roseluck nodded. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Okay then,” said Sunset. She gripped the revolver, wishing once again that she’d been shot in the nondominant side, and held it at the ready. “Let’s do this.”

“Last chance!”

“We’re coming out!” shouted Roseluck, and with one last look at Sunset she opened her door. In the relative darkness, none of the officers saw the weapon braced against Roseluck’s hip, but they definitely heard it fire.

All hell broke loose.

Sunset threw herself down as the windshield exploded before her, covering her in shards of glass. Pain jolted from the wound in her shoulder, but Sunset ignored it as she crawled for the door, swigging it open and taking cover behind it. Bullets whizzed overhead, one catching the passenger’s side mirror which broke off and landed on the ground by Sunset’s feet. To her left, Roseluck continued to rain lead down upon the officers, the deafening roar of her weapon a signal that she was still fighting.

Sunset peaked out from behind the door, spotting an officer who was taking aim at Roseluck. She raised the revolver and fired three times: the first two missing wildly, but the third finding its mark. Sunset swore. There was no way she’d be able to reload the weapon one handed, meaning she only had three bullets left.

She had to make them count.

Her new position revealed, Sunset ducked back into cover just in time for a bullet to rip through the air where her head had been a split second earlier. She waited for a moment, then popped out to the side of the door, firing two shots at another officer. He dropped, and Sunset slipped back behind the door. One bullet left.

Adrenaline rushed through Sunset’s veins. She’d taken down two of the officers, and Roseluck must have killed twice that many by now. With a little luck, they might actually–

Click click click.

The drum barrel had run dry. Suddenly everything was silent. Sunset blinked, and was turning her head to check on Roseluck when she heard a gunshot, followed by a whimper and the sound of something heavy hitting the pavement.

“No!”

Sunset howled, and another bullet zipped by over her head.

“Rose!” she shouted, “Rose, can you hear me?”

There was no response. Sunset Shimmer was beyond panic, and the pain in her shoulder was a distant memory, replaced by a singular thought: she had to get to Roseluck. She was about to throw caution to the wind and make a mad dash, when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye.

The mirror, laying on the ground and sporting a long crack, showed the image of a lone officer creeping forward from the line of cars, his gun trained on Sunset’s position. She grit her teeth, knowing that she quite literally had one shot at this.

She took a deep breath, and with all the strength she could muster, kicked the mirror, sending it skittering across the pavement and into the darkness. She stood up, aimed her gun at the officer who was, for one crucial second, distracted by the scraping sound of the mirror, and fired.

The officer fell to the ground, dead.

There were no more gunshots. Sunset tossed the now worthless revolved to the ground and ran to Roseluck. She managed to make it to the front of the car before her legs gave out beneath her, sending her crashing to the ground, landing on her wounded arm. She screamed, but no amount of pain or weakness of body could stop her from reaching Roseluck. She wouldn’t allow it. Since she couldn’t stand she elected to crawl, and though it seemed to take an eternity, Sunset dragged herself inch by agonizing inch to her lover’s side.

Roseluck lay on her back, her weapon abandoned as she clutched her stomach with both hands. Blood bloomed out from beneath them creating a perfect red circle in the middle of her green dress. Sunset lay her aching body next to hers and took one of Roseluck’s hands in her own. It was cold, very cold. Tentatively, Sunset squeezed her hand, and for several heartbreaking seconds, there was no response.

Then, thankfully, she felt a squeeze.

“Sunset…”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. She turned her head and Sunset inched herself closer, until their faces were almost touching. Her eyes were distant and out of focus and, to her horror, Sunset noticed a stream of blood coming out of the side of her mouth.

“Yeah, Rose?” Sunset couldn’t stop her voice from trembling.

“Did we make it?”

Sunset felt something cold land on her face. It was a snowflake.

“Yes,” she said, a hot tear rolling down her cheek and erasing it from existence. “We made it.”

Roseluck coughed, and Sunset could see blood mixed with her spittle.

“I can’t see it,” she said, weakly, though Sunset could hear the beginnings of panic. “Sunset, I can’t see anything!”

“Shh, it’s okay,” said Sunset. “Just close your eyes, Rose, and I’ll describe it to you.” Roseluck closed her eyes, and Sunset continued. “There are flowers, rose, fields of them, as far as the eye can see. There’s a stream running through – can you hear it, Rose? – and a waterfall coming down from a mountain. That’s where the castle is, Rose, with its cobblestone streets and ivory towers.”

Sunset’s voice caught in her throat, and she had to take a second to composer herself.

“There’s someone there I want you to meet. I used to think she’d be mad at me, but now… I think everything’s going to be okay. Isn’t that right, Rose?”

Sunset squeezed her hand again and waited. The snow was falling faster now, and Sunset watched, shivering, as it built up on Roseluck’s eyelashes. When she could bear to watch no longer, she turned her gaze upwards and watched the snowflakes twinkle in the night sky like falling stars. Sunset closed her eyes.

They’d had each other, and that was enough.