Childbirth is a chancy thing, especially when it comes in the middle of the night, too fast for the midwife or the doctor. Chip was always her sister's echo, her mirror-image, her reflection. But now Sheet Cookie is gone. What can the reflection of a pony do, when there's nopony to reflect anymore?

No time to think. And Chip's sister may be dead, but the foal isn't. And her sister's mother just called her by the dead mare's name.