For a dungeon, it was awfully comfortable. There's something about cobblestone walls and old sconces that screams "cozy." I suppose there are other screams usually associated with a dungeon, but those aren't exactly what I would describe as "cozy."

Two guards were escorting me to a cell that had recently acquired a new tenant. No, the tenant wasn't me! I'd never done anything deserving of time in a dungeon cell. Spending time there was just part of my career, like a doctor at a hospital, or a groundskeeper at a cemetery. But less morbid than that. More like a gardener in a greenhouse, full of thorny, poisonous, and funny-smelling plants.

After all, tending to ponies is a lot like tending to flowers. They come in all shapes and sizes, with different needs and weaknesses. Some benefit from lots of attention, some like to grow in the dark. Some are proper and orderly, and others invade on the property of others. It's my job to make sure they can all grow sweet and full, in harmony.

My benevolent employers, the Department of Equal Forgiveness and Equestrian Rehabilitation, or D.E.F.E.R, had provided me with a file detailing my client. I flipped through the pages absentmindedly, barely skimming the contents. Personally, I find it far more pleasant- and effective- to learn about someone by speaking with them directly, nose-to-nose. Preferably, not that close.

I kept the file held against my side using a free wing. Although my flying abilities were admittedly poor for a pegasus my age, wings are so versatile, I don’t know what I’d do without them. It's like having another set of legs, or arms... arm-legs?

There was a commotion of voices as we passed by some cells, as the guests in the dungeon always have so much to say. They're horribly rude to the guards, but some of them are pleasant enough for light conversation. Specifically, the ones I've had the pleasure of working with in the past. One waved at me from behind some iron bars.

"Hey, is that one Lily I see out there? How's your garden doin'?" shouted a cheddar-colored stallion.

Try as I might, I couldn't help but brag. "The flowers are blooming gorgeously, Cheesy Curdle. I just got in a new exotic today!"

"Great to hear, doll," he shouted back, "have a fun-tastic day!"

"Thank you, I will!" It's hard to believe that a pony who would mix poison joke petals into fifteen tons of cheddar cheese could be so considerate, but there he was. It's too bad the department had me moved off of his case so soon, but he seemed ready for reintegration anyway. His files just needed another stage of processing and he would be free as a phoenix.

Most crimes in Equestria could be considered "mostly harmless." Cake thievery, unlicensed potion brewing, and grand theft carriage to name a few. Ponies tend to make mischief now and then, but they hardly ever cause irreparable harm. Even so, there needs to be some kind of threat of punishment for there to be a semblance of civilization. And we've all heard of that group of ponies who have managed to protect Equestria from all kinds of spectacular, world-ending catastrophes on a monthly basis. Whenever possible, they would even befriend said catastrophe, adding them to the entourage of world-savers and friendship pollinators. That mindset is what inspires the basis of the Equestrian justice system; the system's primary function is not to punish, but to rebuild and restore the inner goodness that is inherent within everyone.

For some ponies, the system takes a while to work.

Eventually, we reached the end of the long hallway. A singular metal door sat at the end of the hall, lined with freshly replaced wall-candles. It smelled like sour chamomile. At eye level was a small window a couple inches tall and a few inches wide. It was closed, from the outside. A complex-looking mechanism was positioned where a door knob would usually be, which told me that this client was particularly special. Only the most interesting guests get the magic-lock doors. One of the guards poked his horn into the mechanism, which glowed as the sounds of gears creaked within the walls. Soon, the reinforced locks unfastened, allowing the door to slide open with a light rush of air.

With martial discipline, the guards took their places flanking the open door. "Rehabilitator Spathiphyllum, you may now enter. We are here if you require any assistance," they spoke in unison, grimaces plastered on their faces.

Clutching the file tighter, I nodded. "Thank you. You can call me 'Lily' by the way," I said. The guards didn't seem to acknowledge it. "I-if you feel like it, that is," I added quickly, before continuing on.

"Make sure the prisoner keeps the muzzle on at all times, rehabilitator filly," one of the guards said, as I passed through the doorway. "You don't want to hear anything this one has to say."

I glanced back over my shoulder.

"Thanks."

Walking in the cell, I was promptly met by the soothing glow of a sunset and a sweeping sky overhead. A cool breeze blew through my wispy mane, making my eyelids start to droop. I tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a great big yawn. Being that we were underground, it wasn't actual sunlight, sky, or breeze. Instead, the ceilings in the cells had enchantments to simulate being outdoors, making the room feel generously spacious. Some ponies think that this is "too good" of a treatment for the kinds of ponies that stay in the dungeon cells, but I don't see why that's a bad thing. After all, anypony locked up in a box of cold concrete all day would go insane at some point. I thought of those solemn guards, stuck in gray tunnels and passages all day long. Their scowls might as well be carved into statues of stone.

Spread around the cell was a sleeping cot that looked far too inviting, some bathroom essentials, and a muzzled peach-colored earth pony mare in a chair. She sat in silence, watching the rolling hills and puffy clouds in the facade of dusk.

At that moment, my sense of self-preservation screamed at me to read the client's profile in more detail, but I kept the urge locked up in a soundproof broom closet in my brain, along with all the other skeletons of reasonable ideas.

Certain ponies have a tendency of being... "aggressive" toward rehabilitators. I've always insisted on allowing my clients to be free to do as they please, but dungeon policy is dungeon policy. Even from the opposite side of the room, I could see the disabling bands wrapped around her barrel, nearly twice as many as normal. She was even tied up to the chair itself with enchanted cloth straps. A lot of the ponies I've worked with have required some level of restraint, but this amount was among the most severe I'd dealt with. Someone could waltz right in and tickle her into a tizzy, and she wouldn't even be able to lift a hoof to do anything about it.

Technology can be frightening. Especially when it works as intended.

Walking closer, I started to appreciate her unusually large size. She must have been a whole head taller than me, at least, and I'm not a little pony. Gingerly, I took a seat right in front of her on the illusory grass and kept my shoulders low. Somehow, I sensed that this client preferred to look down on others, literally and figuratively. I take some pride in being able to read my ideal role in a first impression.

Peering at me with hot fuchsia eyes, my client's breathing was low and steady. Eventually, a muffled noise came from behind the muzzle. I imagined it was something like, "hello, so nice to meet you." It could have also been anything else entirely, but I prefer to assume the best.

I decided to return her courtesy. "Hello! So nice to meet you. I'm Spathiphyllum Apology, but you can call me Lily for short. All my friends do. Or did, anyways." I let out a little cough as my client raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Ponies call me all sorts of things, but you can call me whatever makes you happy."

The client kept staring at me with an uncertain expression as the artificial breeze touched against her mane. It was quite a mane, which wreathed her head like a loose scarf. Vivid sheets of vermilion and orange cascaded down the sides, ending right below her chin.

"Wow, your mane is blooming gorgeously! I sure am thankful that they don't shave ponies heads until their first infraction here, aren't you? It must take quite the stylist to get that hairdo, huh? Looks like something from Canterlot. That's where I live most of the time. I have a little place on Orion Avenue that's the same color as some of the lighter streaks in your hair." I said, desperate to break the ice.

She studied my face a bit before her attention returned to the horizon, where the sun passed behind the distant mountains, leaving the sky a dark blue-violet.

"I guess since you don't have much to say, I'll go on about myself," I said, flashing an awkward grin. That particular maneuver has a good record of putting strangers at ease. This pony seemed she would be easier to work with if she thought she was in control of the situation. It's remarkable how that works, considering her being locked up and all.

"There isn't much about me that you'd be interested to hear, but my talent is somewhat peculiar. It's the reason why I'm here with you right now, and will be for as long as it takes." I turned to the side, revealing my cutie mark: a dove with roses for eyes. In its claws, it clutched a single peace lily.

"It's a little hard to explain exactly my talent is, but know this: whoever you are, no matter what you believe in, whatever you say, or even what you do, I will always accept you for who you are. In my eyes, all ponies are equal and deserving of friendship and forgiveness."

I reached out for a hoofshake, only to realize my client was too tied up to reciprocate. Synthetic crickets began chirping all around us. I wasn't sure if the cells were designed to become colder during the night, but it sure started feeling brisk.

"I didn't think that cell immersion enchantments were programmed with a sense of comedic timing," I said. Not very funny. At least, my client didn't seem to think so. Her stare was threatening to burn a hole straight through me.

"Let me help you out of that chair so we can talk like civilized ponies," I said. "You deserve that, at least."

Disabling bands, or "dis-bands," are enchanted rings the size of hula-hoops designed to be removed by someone with the counterspell. When worn, the band restricts most physical motion to a slow, harmless crawl. Totally painless, as I was told. I didn't have the "keys" to remove those, but I could at least loosen up the cloth keeping her on the chair. A light tug from the outside is enough to remove those. My client's eyes began to narrow with each binding removed, up until the very last. Once freed, she fell to the grass on all four hooves, twisting her neck around in half-circles.

While standing, her size and strength started to sink in. While she moved like an exhausted snail due to the dis-bands, I still felt that she could bend someone's limb like a stick of soft taffy. Earth ponies are just strong that way. Now partially freed, my client loomed over me, like I was her annoying little shadow. Looking closer, her body was also marked by a multitude of recent injuries; shallow cuts and bruises were healing all over. Her silhouette glowed, backed by the budding moonlight, and I got the feeling that I was facing a dangerous pony.

She growled unintelligibly again. I interpreted it as "thanks."

"Here, I know I'm not supposed to do this, but I don't think I can help you much if I'm the only one speaking. The road to rehabilitation is a two-way street after all." I said, gesturing at her muzzle.

That surprised her. Gradually, she lowered her head so that I could loosen the straps with my wingtips. The way she moved, you'd think her head weighed as much as a tractor trailer. It had a metal front, with tubes and little lights that flickered on and off. It came off easy as pecan pie.

"The way they treat ponies here is awful, and they're so understaffed. The D.E.F.E.R. hub institution in Canterlot is so much more advanced and helpful. They even allow walk-ins! If our time together goes well, I could write you up for a transfer within a few weeks." I said.

Immediately, my client looked as though she was going to speak, but hesitated. I didn't take her for a shy one, but ponies tend to be apprehensive after I introduce myself with the D.E.F.E.R. spiel.

Sensing her discomfort, I extended a hoof. "Let's start this over. I think we can be great friends, miss, um-" I took a quick glance at her file "-miss Rafflesia."

Rafflesia took about five seconds to blink a single time, rubbing at her arms where the straps had been. They looked just as bruised and battered as her body, as if she had been tugging hard while bound. With great effort, she managed to meet my hoof, and shared a heartwarming- if a bit slow- hoofshake.

Then she opened her mouth, and the smell of a hundred rotting corpses instantly shot into my nose, flooding into my being like a swarm of locusts covered in wine and sleeping pills. Time became a blur as my vision became a wall of tears, and the floor came rushing to meet my face.

As the world dropped away, there echoed a voice, as though from far, far underwater.

"Thanks."

"You messed up bad."

It's funny how well you can recognize someone you haven't seen in years. Her caution-yellow face and billowing white mane stuck out like blinding strobe lights in the realm of polished brass clockwork we seemed to be floating around in. She was even wearing her usual outfit, a silly blue robe and wizard hat that looked like a cheap Nightmare Night costume.

It was Leap Year, and she was smiling like a snake. "You really must have messed up bad, if you're thinking about me." It had been at least a few months since I had this same dream, and she was just as eager to taunt me then as she seemed to be now.

"I don't need to hear that right now." I said, as politely as possible when talking to her, which is not at all. "What are you doing here?"

"What, you mean in your dreams?" Her smile expanded. "Maybe it's because you miss me so much. It has been more than a few years, after all. As for why we're in a clock, I'd say it's because you've gone completely cuckoo," she teased.

I rolled my eyes as the world rotated around us. It was like drifting inside the machinery of a far-too complex grandfather clock, glistening and whirring in endless progression. Gears the size of merry-go-rounds turned and spun in every direction imaginable.

She frowned insincerely. "What, you're still angry? I thought you were all about 'forgiveness' and 'acceptance.'" At the mention of the world "acceptance," a flock of doves flew around us, then dispersed into the twisting gears in the background. I tried to imagine they wouldn't get crushed by all the machinery, even if they weren't real.

"I do forgive you, and I accept what's happened, but, i-it's just... I don't have to be happy about it!" I said, crossing my arms.

A pendulum the size of a tatzlwurm swung in between us, giving me a jolt of surprise, my limbs flailing erratically. Leap Year didn't seem fazed at all, leering at me as if someone had drawn something rude on my face, trying not to laugh. She failed, miserably.

"Yeah, right. We can talk about that later. Why don't we take a walk through your 'steps,' first?" She said, using her horn to telekinetically toss a dusty notebook over to me. My notebook, that is. From under my bed back at home.

I took a look at the title, scribbled in black marker in my own hoofwriting. Steps to Forgiveness, it read.

"Let's see if I know what page to turn to... ah, this one!" She said, horn glowing.

The book flipped open in my hooves, pages shuffling over until it reached one with the header: "Mistakes."

"Hey, you named this one after yourself!" She said.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Leap Year." I said. It was strange saying her name after so long, even if it was in a dream. "I'm nopony special."

I tried to read what was written down, but Leap Year shut the book and threw it away with her magic. "But you are special! Nobody I ever knew was as subservient, demure, and meek as you." She leaned in close, speaking directly into my ear as I tried not to look. "You're so desperate to get along with everyone that you end up becoming... nothing."

"It's more complicated than that." I said.

"Sure it is. After all, I'm not actually Leap Year. I'm more complicated than this." She said, gesturing toward herself rather immodestly. "You wouldn't understand even if I explained it though."

"How do you manage to be so blunt and so cryptic at the same time?"

"I only know as well as you do. Anyways, looks like our time together is up," she said, pointing up at the source of the giant swinging pendulum. There, a moon-sized clock face loomed, about to strike twelve o'clock.

"You might want to cover your ears, Lily. The bell is a little loud when the hour strikes. You can thank me later."

"I want to cover my ears whenever you open your big mouth, Leap Ye-"

She was right. It was a little loud.

Author's Note

Hello! So nice to meet you. I'm Absolute Apology, but you can call me "A" for short. People call me all sorts of things, but you can call me whatever you please.

I've never written any other fiction for a public site, so I hope it isn't awful. I'm good at taking criticism, so fire away. Fimfiction.net is one of my favorite sources of fiction, and I hope to contribute to the community in a positive way.

In terms of chronology, the start of this chapter takes place eight years after the events of Friendship is Magic.

Thanks for reading!