The Confession of an Ardent Heart

Chapters

Chapter 1: Bent on a Promise
Chapter 2: For Awhile in the Open Air
Chapter 3: Over a Stiff Drink
Chapter 4: Critical Obscurity
Chapter 5: Confessions

Chapter 1: Bent on a Promise

It was a warm, bright day at the end of the month. Nova Tale had received a letter that late evening, requesting his presence, for a second time, sooner rather than later—signed by Sunlight Ivory.

But Nova, in going to see Sunlight, to whom she had "ordered" her feverish need of his presence sent and whom she bade to not forget their promise, was at that moment running in terrible disarray. He had quite forgotten this promise, which explained the need for a second letter.

"What vague and grandiloquent letters are common in Canterlot!" muttered Nova in a quick breath, as it were, to himself. "Oh, full of nothing but sentimentality. I can't forget, not again, not now."

This Sunlight Ivory of ours just so happened to be Nova's fiancé, a beautiful mare in her own right. To speak of history in its proper place, she had begun to date a former lieutenant of the Royal Guard, Nova Tale. This decision was done to the horror of her family, or at least to the horror of her stiff-lipped parents. She was a strong-hearted mare, readily bent on making herself known, and many guessed she began dating Nova out of a decided spite, to dance around the structures of society. But that is mere semantics.

Her parents were currently in Manehattan, and she was now staying with her two aunts. One of them was the aunt of her sister Pearl Light; this was the sort of meek pony in her father's house who had looked after her together with her sister when she had been home. But now she, too, was away.

Luckily the sun was still up, albeit waning, when Nova entered the front hall and asked the chambermaid to announce him. His arrival was already expected. Did they see me from the window? went through Nova's head. In any case, Nova heard some hoof-steps, the rustle of curtains, and some voices: perhaps somepony or other ran out. It seemed strange to Nova that his visit would cause such a stir.

He was shown into the drawing room: it was large, filled with elegant and abundant furniture. There were many sofas, seats, tables large and small; paintings on the walls; vases and flowers, and so on.

In that very moment the portière was raised and Sunlight came in with quick, hurrying steps, and with a joyful smile wandered over to Nova, embracing him momentarily.

"Glad you're here, Nova. You were supposed to come yesterday. Here, sit down."

"Ah, forgive me. I was stuck with my brother at his house; we were, er, accounting for certain promissory notes. But all that ought to be finished. Ha, ha!"

A maid brought in a tray with two cups and a tea kettle and set it on the table.

"So, Sunlight, what is it you need me for? I'll do anything, or course; my last tear is for you, that was the promise."

"You don't need to strike me with your typical imperiousness, Nova," said Sunlight, a sarcastic little smirk appearing on her lips. "But, if you have to exaggerate all that pride, at least bow first."

"Ah, Sunlight, you slit my soul like a razor sometimes," said Nova, with feeling. "There's so much to get through, although I'm not entirely sure where to start. Well, we can start with your request. For you, dear, I'll get it done, down to the last stroke of it, and if I can't get it done, I'll drown myself today, that's it!"

Nova broke off with "that's it," absurdly enough, and jumping from his seat he awaited an answer.

"Not so loud," said Sunlight in titters, although tones of reproach rung in her voice. She went over to a cupboard, opened the topmost drawer with her magic, and pulled out a rectangular package, small and wrapped over several times, with an enclosed paper note taped on top. She placed it in Nova's hooves.

"Hmm, this is very light. Do you need me to make a delivery? Yes, of course, a delivery, this must have been what your letter alluded to."

"That's right. My sister, you know her, she's in Baltimare at the moment. You've been to Baltimare before. Can you take a gander at how much is in that tiny box?"

"You mean it's money?" Nova shook the package, but nothing sounded back to him.

"It's one hundred thousand bits."

"One hundred thousand bits? A tenth of a million?" he babbled over. "Well—ha, ha—whatever you say, Sunlight."

"I'm quite serious, Nova. I'm sure you're well aware of the newly released platinum coins just last year, worth one thousand bits each. Thank Celestia for economic booms, or that package would've been much heavier. I've put a whole hundred of those in there, secured in a lot of bubble wrap. You got to keep things like these safe."

"That is indeed amazing, Sunlight," Nova uttered, sitting down clumsily. "Yes, I recall the platinum coins, although I've never set eyes on them before. Well then, so that's how it is; this is what you meant in that letter of request. Where to?"

"I've always admired your promptness," said Sunlight in a breathy, even sugary, voice. She drew closer to Nova. "Look, darling," she said again, giving him a fixed look, "there's been some trouble that sprang up in Baltimare. I mean, my sister, she's not doing well."

"How horrid!" exclaimed Nova. "I have always said that realism inflicts the greatest tragedies on our lives."

"What? No, look, she—"

"My sweet Sunlight, say no more. The rose has met the fire, things are unwell. I will go there as hastfully" (he truly said 'hastfully,' not 'hastily') "as my legs dare to carry me."

"Nova," interposed Sunlight, "my sister's caught some kind of brain fever, or so the doctors claim. She's in the hospital. I received a letter from my mother this morning informing me of the situation, along with the package. A portion of the money is to handle the medical expenses, the rest is to pay off some of the things she's ordered for the shop. She's a fashion designer, in case you forgot. But..."

"But what?"

"That's not the promise I'm holding you on. My parents—they're unable to lend the money from where they're set, so they're counting on me, I mean, they only trust me with the money. But again, that's not the promise. There's something else."

"I can only imagine that you must be in a most desperate position, that if I do not help you, everything will fall through. Forgive the triviality of the expression, but I feel the passion renewed between us. Thank you, Sunlight, for adding to the ever-expanding pool of purpose in my life!"

"You always go on like that," sighed Sunlight, a weak, half-hearted smile spreading across her face. However, it seemed that a grey shadow passed over her. Nova hardly noticed this when he walked in, but her countenance in particular resembled a sort of sullen disposition.

"Oh, you know me too well!" said Nova, in order to say something.

"You've always got these little poetic flourishes on your mind, that's what I mean. Look, Nova, you don't need to aim so high above the clouds that you can't see your target. I want things between us to get better. I want this to get better."

"I..." Nova paused and blinked, as if coming to his senses. "I understand, Sunlight dearest. Your father has not stood on any magnanimous grounds with me."

"I... what does that word even mean?" Sunlight tilted her head.

"The fair unfairness of life, that's what. I promise to cast away any and all regrets, to atone for any and all sins. Here"— taking the package, he stuffed it inside his saddle bag —"it's as good as delivered, right there with your sister. Oh, I know, I know; you could hardly be in any other state of spirit, and whatever you may say, I know everything beforehoof." He started reaching down to kiss her hoof. But she pulled back.

"I understand, too," she said amiably, but not without an evident sense of trepidation, but one she did not try to conceal, one sprung from goodwill. "Take the money to my sister in Baltimare, I myself am going to be very busy here; I've got my own clients I need to attend to. The family business won't hold on its own in Canterlot. But I need you to promise me something." She leaned forth and planted a kiss square on his lips. "Be careful."

"Oh, that's all? Well then, of course I will 'be careful,' that is, why wouldn't I take care of myself? Like I said, Sunlight, this money is as good as in your sister's pocket. For you, my dear, worriment is the last thing that will be invading your heart."

"Yes, I know. I mean be careful with the money." Saying this, she placed her hooves on his shoulders and lowered Nova to her eye-level. There was a strange light that gleamed in her eyes, too. "Promise me that you'll be careful with the money, and—"

"Why, I would never lose the money. Not for you, my dear."

"Be careful with the money, and by extension with yourself," she finished with reserve; she kissed him once more. "I love you, Nova. I'll be waiting. Oh, and one more thing: I've already prepaid for your own cart; it's waiting at the train station. Just look for the cart covered with a rug, and the coachpony: his name is Cloudbuster. Now go."

Nova got up at once, gave her a deep bow, and took off, remarking: "There's blood in my heart, Sunlight: I love you very much, too. I ought to be returning in a day, at the most two—strike me down if three! Farewell."

A certain silence hung in the air when he closed the door. Sunlight sat there, arraying her own thoughts; she was conscious of boundless resolution, making her aware of her own dubiety. For a second a little joy sprang up in her heart, surprisingly enough.

The maid walked in, who had been involuntarily listening to the conversation; she cast a glance at the tray she set down moments prior.

"You weren't in the mood for tea, mistress?" asked the maid.

"I'm in the mood for something else," said Sunlight, with the same good-naturedness that had just characterized her conversation with Nova. "Leave the tray there. I'll get to the tea soon enough. In fact, could you fetch me a paper and quill? I need to write a letter."

Chapter 2: For Awhile in the Open Air

Nova galloped to the train station. In the morning business in this area was rather occupied, although that was possibly a product of it being so close to the market square, where at least three clerks were active at all times, and they sold just about anything, including coffee, sugar, spices, beans, and fruits. Trade seemed to be slacking, something Nova took note of when he strode past the stalls.

Ponies would invariably go to and from Canterlot, for all sorts of reason, most often tourists coming to see the magnificent capital city of Equestria. The crowds of ponies were innumerable; there was no system to them, no predictability; ponies all over poured in and out the streets adjacent to the locomotive tracks. My bad, I'm describing morning routines.

Now, however, as the sun lowered beneath the horizon with a sob, and the white stars sprinkled in, it was as if time delved into slow motion.

When Nova arrived at the station he immediately found a cart ready at once, waiting by the numbered pillars, covered with a sort of split, mahogany rug, harnessed to an imposingly large pegasus pony with bells and whistles.

That must be the coachpony, Cloudbuster, thought Nova as he approached. "My good stallion, Cloudbuster!" he called out.

"Nova Tale, sir?" asked the coachpony in a pedantic voice.

"This carriage will be en route to Baltimare, correct?"

"Correct, sir. May I see the note to confirm the authenticity of your arrival, sir?"

"Huh? What note—? Oh, right, yes, this one here you mean?" Nova snatched the taped note on top of the package, unfolded it, and read over the print. "This is her signature. Here we are."

The coachpony took five seconds to scan over the note; then, handing it back to Nova, he nodded assuringly, saying:

"You are indeed the pony I've been assigned to, sir."

"Fantastic! Hmm, I do wonder how Sunlight managed this."

"Ms. Ivory, sir? She told me to drive straight here to the station."

"Well, well, why waste time? Let us weave to it!" Having said this, Nova climbed up the cart, making himself comfortable. "How long is the drive, my good stallion?" he said again. "Will we be very late?"

"Two hours, sir, two hours at most. One hour and forty-five minutes if we go quickly," responded the coachpony.

"Ah, splendid. If we make it in less than two hours remind me to tip you."

"I guarantee at most two hours, most likely less, sir."

"Let us take off then!"

* * *

Nova Tale flew over the roads. Baltimare, at this point, was some eleven or twelve kilometers away, but Cloudbuster's carried the cart so fast that they could make it in an hour and a half by the end of it. The swift ride seemed to suddenly refresh Nova. The air was fresh and rather cool; the stars shone like painted waves of glass in the daunting night sky.

But Nova's soul was troubled, troubled for reasons he could not quite articulate, and at this moment he wanted nothing more than to please his queen, to whom he was flying in order for her to look at him wholly and jovially once more. I will say just one thing: his heart did not argue against anything, against breaking certain other promises to fulfill this one, even for a moment. Chances are Nova was jealous—not jealous of anypony in particular, but more like an internal jealousy of himself, of his potential to be with Sunlight, as though he was jealous of some kind of alternate future; and he prodded these feelings almost too readily.

During the trip he decidedly ventured into some chatter, just to pass the time.

"You know," Nova began, "life is so beautiful and so terrible. It can be very easy to manifest your resentment in life, to forget all the good things in the face of suffering, but here, now, right now, a little piece of me goes up in rapture. I look at the sky, and the clouds, and the fields of flowers below, and I think about the love of my life. The sky is dear to me, the clouds are dear to me, the flowers are dear to me, dearest of all is the pony who paid you for this cart. Who in their right mind can hate life when gazing at the sky?"

"Very well struck, sir," said the coachpony with a strained smile. "Do you read poetry often?"

"Aha, I have learned much with the great poets, I like to consider them the true 'Greats' of history. The verses which describe the nature of reality—oh, and music, the music," Nova suddenly said reverently. "Music is so very meaningful. It models the balance between chaos and order; an orchestral piece, for instance, so many moving parts, yet they all flow together so harmoniously."

"True. Music is very beautiful, sir."

"You know, my friend," said Nova suddenly and ardently, "concerning the chaos in life, I have never liked all this disorder. Say, the blackness of the night, that is disorder, right? You never know who will surprise you, or what. Say, now that I think on it..." Nova pondered. "What time is it exactly?"

"Judging by the position of Princess Luna's moon..." the coachpony reasoned, after a pause. "I say close to nine o'clock, sir."

"Nine? Drive, drive faster, my good stallion! What if the hospital is closed? What if everypony there is asleep already?"

"Maybe they haven't gone to bed yet, sir. I hear there's a lot of them there. And no need to stress, sir, the hospital in Baltimare is open twenty-four hours a day."

"Ah, that's right, how could I have forgotten? But do you suppose the hospital ponies are willing to be receiving guests?" Nova heaved himself forward.

"I can't say, sir. In your case, hopefully."

"And what about the payment process? Do you know why I race to Baltimare? I am meant to make a delivery to a certifiably important pony. This journey of mine—it's the journey of honour and wounded vanity—it's of capital importance."

"Ms. Ivory debriefed me on the details, sir. You have been instructed to make a delivery of a generous sum, correct?"

"I promised to be back in two days, my good stallion. Hmm, how will this work? I should pay today, rent a room and lend the remainder to my fiancé's sister's store manager next morning. Well, that is in total less than a day. I have time, all of it and more, if that is possible."

For at least a whole minute silence hung in the air.

"Can I ask you something, sir?" the coachpony began again after the silence. "Only I'm afraid it'll make you angry, sir."

"What is it?"

"Just now you spoke of 'disorder' and the night sky, and you seem to be awfully enthusiastic to be making this trip, all the while you proclaim your love to Ms. Ivory. So, sir, well, I'm driving you there... forgive me, sir, maybe I've said something foolish, because of my conscience."

Nova suddenly seized the edge of the cart right behind Cloudbuster.

"Are you a coachpony? A coachpony?" he began frenziedly.

"A coachpony, sir."

"Then you know you have to make way. If you're a coachpony, what do you do, not make way for other ponies? Just run them down? Look out, I'm coming, I will definitely fulfill my promise in regards to these one hundred thousand bits. Look, my good stallion, you must never 'run' anypony down, if you get my meaning; you must not spoil other ponies' lives; and if you have spoiled somepony's life—punish yourself... if you have ever spoiled—that is precisely what I would do to myself—to receive just punishment."

All this burst from Nova, unexpectedly and without premeditation, as if in complete hysterics. Cloudbuster, although he was surprised by Nova, kept up the conversation.

"That's true, sir, you're right on the money, one mustn't run a pony down, or torment them, or any other creature either, because some ponies barrel on regardless, some of us coachponies, let's say. And there's no holding them back, they just keep pushing on, right on."

"What in Equestria?" interrupted Nova, and he burst into his abrupt, unexpected laugh. "Cloudbuster, you simple soul," he exclaimed with an amicable smile, "you seem like a very dear pony. Say, do you have a family?"

"I do, sir. A wife and a daughter, sir."

"The elements for a happy life—splendid. Say, that 'disorder' I brought up, it's life in its most natural state. But I don't mean just that. I mean a higher order is what is important. There is no order in me, no higher order. But... that's all over, nothing to grieve about. My whole life has been in disorder, and I must put it in order. 'Glory to the highest in me!' I wrote that myself once. It's verse!"

"Interesting. Why mention verse all of a sudden, sir?"

"Why all of a sudden? Nonsense! Everything ends, everything comes out even; a line—a sum total. Say, will you forgive me, Cloudbuster?"

"Why would I forgive you, sir? You never did anything to me."

"No, for everypony, I've done everypony alive some wrong, somehow. Will you alone, right now, this moment, up here in the sky, forgive me for everypony? Speak, my simple soul!"

"Ah, sir! I'm somewhat afraid to be driving you, you talk so strangely somehow..."

But Nova did not hear. He was whispering wildly to himself.

"My sweet cherub, Sunlight, things will certainly sort themselves out between us. The blue sky and red flowers are dear to me, and you're dearest to me of all. Oh, that's right!—forgive me, brother, I know I promised to come visit today for those promissory notes, to finish them with you. I will come to terms with you in two days, at most two days from this very minute, this very second. Ah..."

"Baltimare!" cried the coachpony, pointing ahead with his fore-hoof.

The cart began to drop down rapidly. Through the pale darkness of night many buildings came into view, spread over a vast space. Only a few lights gleamed here and there in the darkness, one of them being the city hospital.

"Here I come with the one hundred thousand," echoed Nova happily. "Make it rattle, my good stallion, ring the bells, drive down with a clatter. Here I come!"

Chapter 3: Over a Stiff Drink

Cloudbuster drew in the cart up to the city's bay docks, along the waiting platforms of one of the smaller train stations, indeed landing with a clatter. Nova jumped from the cart, making sure to drop a coin of five bits (of his own money) where he was seated, as the tip.

Nova walked down the wooden path, finding himself in the quieter parts of the city. The taller buildings were a way's off, here there were many houses stretching out in rows. He reached a sign post, which held up an arrow pointing straight ahead, reading: "Downtown, one-point-five kilometers."

"Come now, Nova Tale, where's that blasted hospital?" said Nova in an undertone. He paused, deep in thought. "Last time I came here, I think, it was by the east side of Baltimare, situated on one of the main streets. Hmm..." He looked around him momentarily. "That coachpony landed me in the south district. Very well, on we go."

He took a turn and wandered down the sidewalk in the direction of the sign. He was pondering now, setting his thoughts in order: Alright, here I am amid these houses, but they are all dark. Makes sense most ponies would be asleep by now. Oh, what is that down there? It's glowing. Windows? Oh, an inn, and it happens to be open. Eh, forget that, Nova. You were supposed to have completed this task yesterday, unfortunately you let slip that initial letter.

While walking in the dark, among the few lit lantern posts, he suddenly felt that he had bumped into something with his full weight. He heard the squeaking cry of a mare whom he had almost knocked over.

"Hey! Careful there, buddy! What're you stomping around here for?"

"Ah! My sincere apologies, madame," said Nova instantly, peeking into the mare's face to make her out through the shadows. He extended his hoof for her to grab.

"Pfft! I'm not 'madame,' thank you very much. O-oh... oh, thank you—" she started off scoffing, but when offered a hoof to get up she spoke in quite a different voice.

"Are you alright?" asked Nova.

"Yeah. I'm... fine," she said, dusting herself off. There was a pause, in which she used to look him up and down. "Are you from around here? I can't make you out in the dark. You don't seem too familiar."

"Eh, no, not quite, you see. I have set my course downtown, to the city hospital, you see."

"Hmm, I do see. And what's a stallion like you want in a hospital?"

"Why, somepony awaits me there. Now, if you will excuse me, Ms., I absolutely must make haste," Nova ended by giving a quick bow and continuing his gait.

Now then, where was I? Hospital is to the east, all the better for me. That happens to be closer by, and not a soul wandered these parts. Ah, praise the night in its indirect benefits!

"Hold up a bit," the mare called back, and, catching up to Nova, she flashed him a smile. "It's awfully late. Don't you wanna rest your hooves, kick back to a nice fire, get yourself a drink even? There's an inn down this block, right over there at the end of the sidewalk."

"Apologies for the inconvenience, Ms., but time is marching."

"Call me Bouquet Light, or just Bouquet, that's what everypony calls me," her voice changed even more this time; she spoke in a charming, subtly singsong tone.

"Bouquet Light? Lovely name, but—"

"Are you really on a hurried schedule? Oof, that's a drag."

"Yes, I am bound to the chains of a moving stone, and the chorus is going off, too, along with the stone! Eh, my schedule, that is, my life depends on it."

"Really? Your life?" said Bouquet in faint surprise. "What'll happen if you can't make it tonight? You're going to, like, die?"

"Die? No, no, I don't deserve that, at least not yet. Forgive me, I threw a little hyperbole in there, a little something to make it picturesque. The 'stone' is verse from the Star Swirl era. A perfectly ordinary schedule, is what I meant externally, Ms. Light."

"Please, call me Bouquet. Hmm..." she hummed in thought, and prodded a hoof under her chin. "In fact, I can be all sorts of things, although 'externally' I'm Bouquet."

"Eh, right, yes. Ech—" Nova stifled a cough. "If you wish to know, I am to be retuning to Canterlot in two days, ideally before then."

"Two days? That's all?"

"Two days."

"Oh, come on then," drawled Bouquet in a pleading voice. She put a hoof on his shoulder. "A friend of my dad's owns the inn, for your information. I'm bored out of my skull, too. A little drink couldn't hurt, could it?"

"Yes, but..." Nova paused, going into a state of two minds.

"You said two days, didn't you, hun?" she went on in that same singsong voice, which was more apparent now. "Come on, you should have the time, right? Unless your schedule takes up two days to complete?"

"I need to make a deposit—two deposits, I mean. Wait, wait," he suddenly raised his voice, "first things first: when does your inn close?"

"Twelve, on the dot. The hospital isn't going anywhere."

"Well... eh..." Nova frowned, more to himself than anything. "Look, Ms. Light, I have a fiancé, I am on strict business concerning a relative of hers. If this is an attempt to yank any money out of me—"

"Oho, no, no!" Bouquet practically squealed, laughing all the same. "I've got a boyfriend of my own, though he's away right now. I met him in Las Pegasus, believe it or not, he's a theatre producer. Well, that's enough of that. No funny business, obviously. But we can be friends, right? I've been looking for ponies to quell the boredom around here. The stallions in Baltimare are irritatingly dull, they're all so predictable."

"Eh, this should be nothing but small fry," muttered Nova. "Look, Ms. Light—"

"Be less formal, sheesh! Call me Bouquet, or Booqie if you wanna be extra informal. Oh! I never got your name."

"Nova Tale."

"Mhm, even your name is revealing."

Both ponies stopped walking, as if something was agreed upon without words. She was still smiling at him, although something else, a sort of enthusiasm, flashed into her brain and blazed out, impatiently, in her eyes. Bouquet even started rubbing up against Nova's chest.

Nova, however, whether or not for comical reasons, did not realize this sudden action of hers. He stepped forward, casting a searching gaze at the inn.

"Well," he began, the hesitation exponentially faltering away from his voice, "a drink is a drink, and parched is parched. Everypony is parched, you know! Parched for life, parched for a stiff drink—aha!" he suddenly exclaimed and, turning to Bouquet, grinned and showed his teeth. "You have given me an epiphany!"

"Oh? Do tell," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Why hurry my haunch under such dreadful conditions? Running blind at night, confused on directions (I could have sworn I went to this hospital before!) and my mouth cries out for a drink, now that I stop to realize it. It can be held on for tomorrow, I have two days after all!"

"And you need to refuel yourself, right?" she said in encouragement, wandering closer to Nova once more.

"Ah, very well, I will deign to drink from your establishment. But I say to you, Bouquet, a drink or two at most. I made a solitary promise a time long past, to compose myself in that manner, or whatnot. One drink, two drinks—but no swindling."

"Really? You're that paranoid?" she said impassively. "It's just an inn. Besides, the drinks we've got might strike your fancy, if you know what I mean..."

"Ha, ha, I would hope so. Well, so be it. How much for a room? I should definitely have enough for that."

"Hmm, depends. If you can impress everypony there I can get you one for free."

"Impress? How do you mean?"

She gave him a deadpanned face. "Do signals always fly over your head? I mean have a good time. Come on, let's go!"

"Right, right, onwards to the brandy," put in Nova, as stylishly as he could. Both ponies set out for the inn.

* * *

The innkeeper, who was in fact on his way to bed, peered out from the porch, curious who Bouquet could have brought with her.

"Just a friend," she said reassuringly, smirking.

"Another guest, eh?" said the innkeeper. He bent forward, peered, ran headlong down the steps, and gestured with a sort of servile rapture. "Welcome, welcome; drink's good and the beds are cheap!"

"I've got it from here, Puff," she addressed the innkeeper rather nonchalantly, and with dignity. She and Nova went up the steps, opened the door to step on in, and the innkeeper Puff made sure to close it behind them.

"Phew! Quite the place you've got peddling," remarked Nova, his eyes darting about.

It was indeed a remarkably cozy and spacious inn. The gloomy shadows were either scattered about or scared off by many candles in their warm, amber glow. The furniture was extremely simple and made of wood: half a dozen tables with four chairs for each one, two sets of benches pressed against the walls, and a counter for the bartender. There were two other doors, one leading off into the basement, and the other upstairs to the second floor, to the bedrooms.

About thirty or so strangers were present, most of whom engaged in chatter with one another, except for one particular earth pony who was passed out on a bench, presumably drunk off his wits.

"Not so apprehensive now, huh," said Bouquet, wandering past Nova to the counter.

Before when they were outside Nova could not make out any of Bouquet's most significant features, but when put in the light he was struck by her sight. She was the type of pony—a pegasus pony, to be sure—who made no noise whatsoever when moving around. Her sways were elegant and slow. She was, for all intents and purposes, extremely beautiful, a true pearl among the rest of this black sea. She had a full figure, with those soft, noiseless movements softened to a peculiar sweetness just like her singing voice. Her coat was white, her mane long and rosy, though tied up in a very loose bun. What struck Nova most of all was when she spoke, which seemed to change now that they were indoors: her upper lip was thin, but her less prominent lower lip was over twice as full, and seemed to be pouting. Her burning coals for eyes, with her long lashes, would have made the indifferent pony—likely a stallion—meeting her casually on the streets, stop at the sight of her face and remember her for a long time.

"Yes, naturally," said Nova, more seriously now. He joined her at the counter. "Say, do you plan on drinking yourself?"

"Well, why not? We could celebrate our new friendship. Hey, Stepan!"

As soon as she called a robust-looking earth pony came out from a postern door in the back, looking as though ready to memorize something important that was about to be said.

"Drink? Drink?" he enunciated rapidly, pointing to both of them.

"Give Nova here a freebee," said Bouquet. "It's on Puff, like always."

"Ah, excellent!" the bartender Stepan practically beamed. "You, lady Bouquet? Usual?"

"Always the usual." She turned to Nova, staring him down as if analyzing him. "Let me guess, you want a cold brandy?"

"Ha, ha, definitely. I, eh, should not have let out that spoiler."

She chuckled at the reply. While Stepan went out back again, supposedly to get their drinks, Bouquet decided to start the conversation anew.

"So, where are you from?"

"Canterlot."

"Wait"— her eyes lit up —"you're from Canterlot? Oh my gosh, I had no idea. Isn't that where all the rich ponies live?"

"Rich? Ah, not for a million years. Although, well, I suppose our position in wealth is markedly greater than the majority of Equestria. But you must not forget, that is, status and reputation is the arbiter of relativism! I may be well off, but says who?"

"Says your residence in Canterlot," she said, smirking sarcastically. "Baltimare ain't so bad either, although we ponies live in slightly more rural conditions, compared to Canterlot."

"As I said—relativism!"

"Drink. Drink," said the bartender Stepan, who had returned at a lightning pace, sliding over two glasses of brandy along the counter.

"Look at that!" laughed Nova. "You too favour brandy. The coincidence is worthy of an investigation on its own!"

"Great minds think alike," chuckled Bouquet, beginning to sip on some brandy, but not without reserve, as though she had no other option. However, she nearly gave a start when Nova drained his mug in a single chug.

"Ah! Life is worth living again!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Oi, sure is!" one of the other ponies with a rough voice heartedly agreed.

"Hey, Stepan, another for the taking," said Bouquet more enthusiastically.

"Another! Another!" Nova went on laughing, not condescendingly, but amiably, and with evident goodwill.

Nova, to the surprise of Bouquet, was drawing significantly more attention to himself than she had anticipated. Several eyes were on him now, some laughing with him, some at him.

"FInally, some energy being pumped back in the inn," remarked the pony on the bench who had been passed out, but had unexpectedly awoken just for the occasion.

"Give it a rest, Silver Clad," retorted another pony, most likely an acquaintance, from a nearby table. "You take down one more mug and that'll be the last bitter drop in a chalice full of sorrow for you."

"How is it he's still standing?" asked a second pony, wreathed in curiosity.

"With all that alcohol in him? Dunno. Can he even pay for all those?"

"Turns out hooch is cut-rate in these parts! Ha, ha!" sputtered the drunk pony. He was now half-erect on the bench, his sickly face completely contorted with an unseemly grin.

"Unsavory as it seems, there is a silver lining—for us, at least," remarked the first pony at the table, and immediately a few others sniggered uncontrollably.

"What do you mean?" the drunk pony drawled out, quite beside himself with anger.

"It means you die, more jokes for us."

There was more laughter.

"Oi!" cried the other pony with the rough voice. "That be my brother, you spoon!"

"Is it? Well, I can see the resemblance."

The mocking laughter built up, so did the reproaching cries of indignation from some others, and Nova was on his fourth drink.

"Aha, what boundless fun!" he declared, pumping out his chest triumphantly.

"So you like to have fun, hmm?" laughed Bouquet, who was not even halfway through her own brandy. "You know, a lot of stallions here are shameless, they're just looking for a good time, one way or the other."

"Me? A good time?" repeated Nova in a patter. "Ha, what time is ever good but the now? The past is riddled with errors, the future is all anxiety and fearing the worst to come—but the present is everything, everything!"

"Well, maybe not you," she drawled with the same warmth. "I'll give you that. I never understood why ponies love to drink so much. Except maybe I do. It's not the drink that's so riveting, it's the effect of the drink. Hey, you want a fifth one?"

"Bouquet, please, you torment me with your generosity," Nova objected, speaking passionately now (he was very drunk), as though he were a soul appealing to some higher divinity. He had completely forgotten about his standard for only two drinks, feeling his senses too great to be left untouched. "You offer so much to me, the excellency of your service, the merry company, at hardly a notice, and without anything in return."

"That does it!" yelled the drunk pony with extreme indignation. He was bubbling over. "They're all tyrants, all of them! They want to take me, take my house away! Bah, get off me, you swine!" Some other earth pony attempted to hold him down, but to no avail; the drunk pony charged at the first pony, causing the nearby table to tip over, and all the mares in the room squeaked with fright.

"Oh dear," huffed Bouquet, rolling her eyes contemptuously at the scene, "so much going to waste."

"So you say..." Nova observed the struggle manifesting before him. At last, after some pondering, he left his stool.

"My good sir, a moment, if you will," interposed Nova, approaching the brawlers. But his tone was far too respectful to be considered sincere.

"Come at it!" the drunk pony was going wild in his stupor. He kept on repeating: "Come at it! Come at it!"

"And I saw him stealing a deck of cards!" accused a pegasus from a second table. "There, you see, you see? To tartarus with you!"

In spite of so much commotion, at least five or six other ponies could not conceal their laughter. The noises rebounded back and forth, both of spiteful shouting and mocking hysterics.

"Gentlecolts, I implore you all to show some finesse," Nova went on, still with a tipsy, half-hearted smile. "Come, let me sing to you all—

Find the Highest good in me,
The Highest in Equestria,
Blight and light and all that trite,
To ever and ever and some other~!

You see, life truly is worth living. But enough of that, I think I'm sobering a tad. Quick, another brandy!"

"Oi. I like this fellow. He seems like decent company."

"Right, ha, ha!"

Nova's little scene was apparently distracting enough to diffuse the situation, or at least to a degree.

"Let's all give it up for Nova Tale, everypony!" Bouquet announced over the room, in a display to add to the ever-growing pool of excitement.

Some ponies cheered, to the point of excessive exaggeration; many still laughed on or complained to their neighbours.

"Can we at least finish our last round of cards?" grumbled the pegasus pony, clearly reaching the limits of his annoyance.

"Hold it!" the drunk pony put in venomously, in order to sour the mood. "The whole world is against me! You—you—and especially you! Ah, me to tartarus? You all to tartarus, that's what!"

"Why so disagreeable?" asked some other pony near him, smiling caustically.

"No, no, I refuse to submit my rights!" the drunk pony would not stop. "They plan to stuff magic in our foods, in our what-have-yous. These Mr. Know-Alls, in their fancy booze-less sch-ool-s, know nothing! I say to refuse, to revolt!"

"Calm down, hun, or we'll have to take your precious moonshine away," said Bouquet sardonically.

"Shut up, you loose mare!" the drunk pony retaliated in patterns of incomprehensible reproach; he sprayed saliva whenever he spoke.

But he barely had any time to exclaim some other insult when Nova flew at him, at the end of his fifth drink. He seized him with both hooves, lifted him up in the air and onto his back, and in an instant carried him out the inn into the outdoor porch.

"I left him there on the ground!" he announced, returning at once, breathless with excitement. "He struggled, the scum, but there's no chance he will get back in. I think he's knocked out again, too!" Nova closed the front door, and wandered staggeringly back to the counter.

In response almost everypony in the room laughed even louder than before.

"My hero!" said Bouquet, rubbing up against Nova and flashing him her burning dark eyes.

"Bravo, Tale Nova, or whatever else! Well done!" several of the ponies rang out, mercilessly yet jovially.

"Bah, to tartarus and back!" spat the supposed brother of that drunken earth pony. And pompously, puffing with indignation, he went through the front door and out the inn. Nova slammed the door behind him.

"Bravo!" Bouquet cried again, hotly and maliciously. "Bravo. And good riddance!"

* * *

What began then was almost a sensual explosion, a party, that is, a feast—a feast of feasts. Nova, in his delirium, was the first to call for food and drink: "For everypony, you hear? Everypony! I have bits, lots and lots of bits, all the bits you'd like and more. Go to the basement, Stepan. Innkeeper, you too!—and whoever else! Get the cheese, and the bread, all the varieties of drinks, and the chocolates, the fruits, the everything! Empty your storage for our most reverent desires!"

And indeed a whole feast was set up, produced from all the assets of the inn's storage supplies. Nova ripped open his package from Sunlight and poured the platinum, one-thousand-bit coins all over the counter. The innkeeper was going wild in excitement to see so much money.

"Of course, master, right away, sir!" he babbled, and immediately began to set up the food and drinks. Every other pony applauded at Nova's immense generosity.

"Oh my gosh!" squeaked Bouquet, terribly excited herself. "You never told me you were worth this much? One hundred thousand?"

"I am worth all that," Nova prattled blissfully, laughing all the same. "And more. I am worth infinitely more. Everypony is worth a million Celestias—infinitely so. Everypony here deserves consolation. Not for anything will I take this back. I don't want any of it. Keep it all, keep it as consolation."

Songs and dancing broke out as well, in which the feast lasted well past midnight, almost into morning even. Nova would spend most of the time with Bouquet, by her side, telling her everything there was to know, his history with the Royal Guard, his demission, his family ties, and so on; he spoke incoherently, disconnectedly, feverishly, yet he spoke strangely, often frowning and breaking off, in spite of his severe drunken state.

"Why are you frowning?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just... I left everything behind," he spluttered at each syllable. "I give my entire life for such a feast, for an hour of the food, and dancing, the merriment. Perhaps I'm a sick pony, but sick in the heart! I must express that which remains silent, I must look past the veil, integrate into my own shadow, look into your own eyes..."

"So you're ready for it?" she prattled to him with a somewhat heavy tongue, and as a consequence her eyes glittered. "Oh! You've been so good..." she started nipping at his neck, kissing and leaving traces of saliva over his jawline. "Here, touch me. That's right. I can be as sweet as you want, oh so sweet..."

Nova appeared to be only semi-conscious, however. He had drank a lot, more than any other pony in the room. He obliged, of course, accepting his happiness anytime soon, whatever that meant. The music continued to play on, and the food was still being served.

"To share in the moonlight?" he said strangely, as though he confused himself.

"Sorta. Come, follow me, let's go upstairs, to the beds."

Within the chaos all the supplies had eventually run out, and the inn mostly ransacked that, by morning, only a few individuals remained, passed out dead on the floor from drinking.

Chapter 4: Critical Obscurity

Nova wasn't sure whether or not he could return to Canterlot—slowly and with deliberation, "at a gallop," or not at all—how could he decide?

He had no money, not a bit, for another private cart, nor a train ride—that is, he still had a particular coin left, but that was all, all that remained from last night's "generosity."

In the morning he had developed a strong headache, nothing too insufferable, much to his surprise, but it still thumped with a dull pain every few seconds. He had gotten up to find Bouquet by his side, but the sight of her, laid out on the bed next to him, left him stunned and giddy. Everything came back to him. He wanted to believe it was all a bad dream.

Grabbing his saddlebag he ran out of the inn, without a word, without meaning to wake anypony; he ran at first, then jogged, directionless and without much purpose.

At last he stopped by a mirror store, with mirrors of various shapes and sizes displayed at the front window. Nova glumly stepped back, observing his own reflection, and suddenly it was as though "something hit him on the head," as he himself put it later. In an instant a sort of illumination came to him, "a solemn glimmer shone and I perceived everything." He stood dumb, gazing at himself, dumbfounded, wondering how he, an intelligent pony after all, could have given in to such foolishness, to such baseness and debauchery; how could he have been sucked into such an adventure, and kept on with it all night long, only ever thinking of feeding into his desires at the moment, never once considering the future consequences.

"Well, I was drunk," he told himself, "drunk out of my mind—but what was there to wait for, to spend on? And what if... if... oh dear, oh, Celestia, what have I done!"

If anypony—especially a pony from the inn—said something to mock his position in that very moment, he might have killed them in a rage. But not now, now was different. He felt himself weak, as weak as a child. He quietly walked over to a bench close by, sat there, deep in thought for a whole minute, then got up and left the scene. He was still not in the downtown area, but that was the last place he intended to go. Now he walked at random, not even remembering which turns he took, left or right. There was no vengeance in his soul for anypony, only for himself.

For whatever reason he tried to find his way back to the inn, but he could not remember the way; instead, he strode along a narrow tunnel path, senselessly, not caring where he was going, and to his luck he stumbled upon a train station, which was active at this time. There were already a decent amount of Baltimare residents about the station, and several locomotives were available. Incidentally, the train carts at the front line was set for Canterlot.

But I have nothing left, except for this coin, but nothing else, thought Nova. He checked the times. This specific train came in and out every six hours, and this one was going to depart in about twenty-five minutes.

The cost for a ticket to Canterlot was about five hundred bits—four-fifty in the afternoon.

But wait—his saddlebag! It was made in Canterlot, he had bought it as a gift to himself a few years back. It was a tad worn down, but no flaws worth noting; other than a few ruffled threads and some of the disfigured linen, it was as good as new: a high-quality saddlebag, expensive, it had cost him six thousand bits.

On that thought, Nova took it to a saddlebag shop in the marketplace, which wasn't too far off from the train station. The owner there, after some inspection, gave him one thousand bits for it.

"I didn't expect that much!" cried the delighted Nova (he still went on terribly depressed, of course), grabbed the money in a pouch readied for him, and ran to the train station. There was only a few minutes left for takeoff before he got there. In a state of extreme hurry he demanded to buy a ticket to Canterlot at the counter, dumping all one thousand bits there; the pony working at the counter was taken aback, saying: "But this is too much, sir!" But Nova simply yanked the ticket from his hooves and ran off.

However, right when he arrived, with the conductor announcing that there was one minute left, and the last few ponies hastily making their way onboard, Nova froze and stayed put, seemingly fixed to the ground. A spiteful, unquenchable sensation gripped his heart, and his whole body shuddered. He wanted to laugh loudly and furiously, but for some miraculous reason he managed to control himself and contain his laughter. It seemed like his wits had left him.

I better go in the afternoon, wait for the next one, flashed though his mind sullenly. He found a bench to sit on—a much nicer bench, might I add—and sat there indefinitely, restlessly, for at least the next five hours. The long wait annoyed him, but he let it pass.

"Oh, baseness! Oh, triteness!" he repeated to himself, spitefully and without remorse. By after only a few hours he already looked very dishevelled and depressed, as though his emotions were manifesting themselves into his countenance. "How can I possibly justify these actions? Am I a scoundrel? Yes, a scoundrel of the basest of nature, straight into the point of no return. Oh, what is there left? What am I even saying to myself now? I reproach myself for such weaknesses, I reproach that very essence of my soul, it throbs incessantly in my mind like a monster of great treachery. That monster, it's in my shadow, waiting to emerge. Oh, I understand it, only all too well! Yes, ponies are imperfect, they suffer from the greatest suffering of all, one from which animals are privileged to be relieved: conscience. We must shoulder the burden of the awareness of our vulnerabilities. But why now? Why now? Why must my monster, my 'shadow,' dig itself out of hiding now? A blunder is the inevitable consequence of life, fine. But why this blunder today, of all days? Could it not have come to pass that my blunder occurred tomorrow, or next week, while I was in my house and was able to endure such self-consciousness? Do I lack the fortitude? The boldness? Dear Celestia, has the sum of history conspired against my Being just for this occasion? Can it be that life itself, the primary factor which explains our existence, merely came into existence for this moment, to shake my soul like there's no end to the torments of pity? Is it so that, if I never existed or, better yet, if I never came to Baltimare on this particular time, the fabrics of history would have irrevocably refused to form the world as we know it? Yes, yes! Life has done this to me! The definition of life: that which ruined Nova Tale.

"What else is there for me to confess? If I should pounce upon my Being, my thoughts and my emotions, unexpectedly and without reserve, can it be that I, in my subconscious, should reveal my reasons for committing to these acts of debauchery in all their simplicity?—in all their improbability and inconsistency? I demand upon my conscience: 'Why do what you did? Why squander the money like that, ruin the life of a poor pony confined to a hospital cot, and break the heart of yet another, for a single night, a single hour even, of sheer hedonistic coarseness?' I will waste away hours, eventually years of my life, only to return with the reply: 'I don't know why I did that. Why did you let me?' I am a spiteful stallion... and a sick stallion. Can it be... to learn... all this time... that is, are all ordinary ponies capable of the basest forms of treachery, and perhaps even enjoying it? Is it that every normal, run-of-the-mill, generic pony stands only a single, solitary temptation away from subsuming into their shadow, and revelling in it? You act what you believe. If you live all your life lavishly and without constraints for spending, you love money, no matter how blue in the face you are from stating that you do not value it. True, you act what you believe—to know what a pony truly believes in, pay attention to how they act. And the manner in which I comported myself was that of a scoundrel's, the scoundrel to end all scoundrels. Now I know why I cannot answer the simple—so simple to the point of absurdity!—question of 'why?'—because I disagree with the premise. It is the axiom, my axiom! I love debauchery, and the pouring of brandy, and that beast, oh, that sensual beast! But... I love the trees, and I love the sky, the pretty blue sky, and I love her, in my heart I truly love Sunlight. Oh dear, what have I done? What pathetic terror has my mind produced on its own accord?

"Do I believe in the things that I say? If I answer yes, and explain my position, would such a story hold even the tiniest, most microscopic modicum of plausibility? The worst of such stories is that the triumphant romancers can always be put to confusion and crushed by the very details in which real life is so beautiful and which these unhappy and involuntary storytellers neglect as insignificant trifles.

"And yet I cannot come to terms with the fact that my actions do not align with my words, no matter how hard I try to reconcile the two? Is it even possible, literally, physically possible to reconcile actions with words? Is not everypony a liar in some fashion or other? The purpose of my life has reached its climax, I was born with this goal in mind, and I have accomplished it. Oh, please, please, listen to me, self, listen well: 'Do what is right.' Ah, such a cliché. If you tell yourself to do what is right, is that not a mere act of consolation, a counter-measure of psychology to ensure you do not devolve into self-deprecating insanity? There is that little voice in my head which speaks the truth. Ah, I must, I must pay attention to that voice. It comforts me to imagine we all share that voice. If you say something that you do not fully believe in, if you express an idea that the deepest aspects of your brain does not agree with, that little voice will tell you: 'You don't really believe that, do you?' I hear it now, right now! If you say something you don't truly believe in it will render you immobile, you will feel weak, physically weak. I feel sick; when I lie I get sick, in my stomach, it burns in protest when I tell a lie. And worst of all, the worst of all lies, is the lie to the self. So then, it brings us back to: 'Why? Why do what you did, when you know it to be wrong?' But do I know it, sincerely know it and accept it as a fact? Here's a fact: I can live one thousand years and still not know peace. Say what you believe. I... I am a scoundrel... but not a thief! A scoundrel, the worst of the lot, but a thief I cannot bear. I still hold one platinum coin, those one thousand bits. So long as I do not squander that, I am not a thief, but only a scoundrel."

"Your change, sir!" the pony at the counter, approaching him hastily, called out.

"Huh? What's this?" Nova gave him a confused look, broken out of his contemplation.

"Your change, sir," the pony repeated, slightly exhausted. He dropped a pouch of bits by Nova's side. "You left a whole thousand, so your change is five hundred."

"You found me—went through high waters—just for that?" Nova was considerably surprised.

The pony from the counter nodded, and replied: "That's correct, sir. We ponies of Balitmare keep to a strict policy. It's only fair."

"I... I mean, of all the things," Nova uttered, slowly and carefully nabbing the pouch to look inside. So many thoughts flashed in his brain in that moment, and so overwhelmingly, given a pause, that, for want of skill, I can't seem to describe it in full detail. Tears weld up in his eyes. He could not contain himself. "You have so readily demonstrated your generosity, my friend. This is indeed amazing," he now spoke in a breaking voice, but softly, and with the utmost genuine virtuosity he could muster.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it, sir," said the pony from the counter, smiling.

"Last night, just imagine..." Nova went on, in an access of self-deprecating and simple-hearted pride. He reared up from his bench. "Can you possibly be so kind?" he cried with extreme feeling. "Oh, dear Celestia, you've saved me, mostly from myself, actually. You are saving a pony from his own tragedy, friend, from an arrow to the head... my eternal gratitude..."

"I'm happy to have made your day, sir, but if you'll excuse me, I ought to get back to my post."

Saying this, the pony waved a small goodbye and took off, just as hastily as he had come to find our Nova.

"I am mistaken," Nova was enunciating to himself, from the deepest part of his soul, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Life is not evil, life is good. I deserve death, worse than death, and yet there are ponies who would not hold me to such contemptuous berating. Life is meaningful once more. Thank you, my dear friend. I must return to Canterlot, this moment—and right away!"

For the remainder of the wait time Nova found himself impossibly hungry, and so he decidedly went out for lunch, came back, waited some more on that same bench, and eventually the next train to Canterlot steamed into the station. The trip was only two hours, and yet he must have fallen asleep at least four times.

Chapter 5: Confessions

A scoundrel, but not a thief! Nova kept repeating to himself in his mind, striding down the streets of Canterlot that late evening. "Striding" is putting it loosely. He was practically running, many times did he scrape by another pony, barely managing to avoid any and all potential impacts.

Nova frightened himself. True, he felt empowered still, to the degree that it was worth, but he felt stronger still about the prospect of his subconscious playing little games of deception on him, as if he, without realizing it, followed step by step into his sensuality blindly, without regard for others. Whenever that little voice commanded him to go back, back to that beast, to impulsively squander the last thousand-bit platinum coin, he nearly had a fit; many times he wished to bash his head against something hard. "I don't deserve it; a dog deserves better than me!" All this flew like a whirlwind through his head.

And just where was he going? But of course: "To my brother, Scepter Tale. He's still in Canterlot!" Why Nova wished to see his brother, he could not say, or rather he could not express in words, try as he might.

To note in passing, this Scepter Tale was a particularly interesting unicorn, remarkably learned in his own right, well known in Canterlot's university; he was conscientious and reserved, a pony who knew his place in society, the type to comprehend the psychology of his colleagues and explain to them his true feelings without ever pressing any buttons. On top of that, Scepter never truly took offence to anything himself, and his understanding of subtle politeness was rarely recognized, not that he complained. He was independent and by no means despondent, and in general he tried to maintain as many connections as he could, both for his own sake and for everypony else's. Everypony who got to know him ended up liking him.

Perhaps one or more of these characteristics can explain Nova's decision.

But a different thought took shape in Nova, thinking of his brother: he ran down the lane, making a long detour around his brother's house, ran along the street, then ran across the bridge, and came straight to a solitary back lane, empty and uninhabited, surrounded by a strong wooden fence. He wanted to enter through the backdoor, for the absolute sake of it. Or maybe not. Again: he could not say why, but Nova's whole Being willed into him a new pattern of action, one to deviate from the ordinary and expected action of knocking on the front door; it was as though an almost superstitious dread gripped him. He needed to do things differently, if only to ensure the best outcome possible—whatever "best" meant to him in that moment.

He knocked on the door, as quickly as he dared, waited five seconds, which felt like five hours, and he impatiently knocked again, harder this time. He waited for another thirty seconds, but his heart was pounding terribly, and he felt at moments as if he were suffocating.

"Hold up, hold up!" his brother's voice rang out. Something clinked and unlocked from behind, something in the door shuffled a bit, and it swung open.

"Scepter, how has it been? I am finally here!" Nova, with no attempt to conceal his intense animation, said all but aloud.

"What the—! Nova?" exclaimed Scepter, mildly alarmed. "Why in Equestria are you behind my house? You know there's a front door, right?"

"Yes, yes, but never mind the trifles, let me in—quickly, quickly!" Nova pressed, as though there was no time to waste.

"Whoa—are you raving? Calm down," said Scepter, allowing his brother to enter, but nevertheless watching him with uneasy curiosity. They went to the living room.

"So," said Nova quickly, "I need to write a letter, a good one, and I will need to borrow some money. I will be leaving Canterlot tonight."

Scepter grew more and more surprised. He just finished with his studies for the day, and he had gotten ready to head off to a coffee shop for a game of billiards, when Nova caught him a minute before going out. But he decided to not say anything, namely because he sensed that his brother was in great need, which was far more important, to his judgement, than a cup of modified caffeine and billiards.

"So you need... money?" said Scepter again, stressing each word. "I thought you were busy with something else, or that's what you told me. Look, what about those ledger accounts you promised to help me close?"

"Well, did I not fulfill it?"

"You handled only half of your share. There's still the other half to take care of, which has been bugging the folks over at the bank for the past week; in fact, they're bugging the heck out of me because of it. Look, summary accounts aren't a cakewalk, you know."

"Ah, right, I will weave to all that eventually." Nova was frowning wrathfully now. "I need only to write a letter; have you got some parchment and ink? And the money, of course! You must assist me, Scepter!"

"But where were you? In fact, take a look in the mirror, you're a mess. Something's come up, or what?"

"I got into a row, although now I am not sure even about that. The letter, brother, if you will. And where will I put this?" He placed the platinum coin on the short table.

"Where did you get hold of that?" exclaimed Scepter, staring at Nova and listening worriedly. "Didn't you say you were going to Las Pegasus to make a delivery?—or was it Baltimare? Wait, where's your Sunlight?"

"Eh, forget it. I just need some extra money, not much, one hundred bits is all, or two hundred. Yes, ideally two hundred. I will pay you back, you can rest assured. And for pity's sake, the letter!"

"Look, I can get you some parchment and a quill, just wait here, although I still don't know where you got that," he said, gesturing to the platinum coin.

"Eh, that was part of the delivery, but forget it," said Nova, as if uncertain of his words.

Scepter left for a short while, then came back and handed Nova a fresh sheet of paper to write on, accompanied with a bottle of black ink and a slender, red quill. He immediately got to writing down what he wanted.

"You've got one thousand bits," remarked Scepter. "If this was part of your delivery, and you're back so soon, I can only guess something went awry," he added, looking questioningly at Nova. "Have you been to Sunlight's place yet?"

"Yes."

"You have?"

"Yes."

"When? Today?"

"Yes—what? No. Yesterday."

"Then who's this letter for? And why do you need money if you can still spare a whole grand? Unless, all things considering, you're not allowed to spend this specific coin."

"Ah, finished! Brother, I need an envelope, and the money. Worry not, you will be wholly compensated eventually."

"Slow down. Why are you in such a rush, and why is it you still need money? I can't just give it away, you know."

"The envelope, brother, with the coin... that is, I need to end this."

"But listen to me!" interrupted Scepter, now with impatience. "Look, you're obviously in a hurry, but I'm not a drive-by station. Sunlight lent you that platinum coin, didn't she, otherwise why still have it, if it's part of that delivery to so-and-so you promised? You also said you're leaving Canterlot. Is that right?"

"I... I just need... ah, fine!" cried Nova, as if suddenly coming out of his distraction. He set down the letter and sank all of a heap into the sofa; his face was very melancholy. "First: allow me to finish my business, the letter and coin, I mean, I'm going to attach the two together and have somepony—preferably you, I would hope—convey it to my dear Sunlight. Because I really, really must... and I have no time, no time at all... but if you must know, then so be it. As long as I keep that cursed piece of metal safe, away from the greedy hooves of swindlers, I am not a thief. A scoundrel, but not a thief."

"I'm not sure I follow," said Scepter, reaching the limits of his understanding.

"It seems incomprehensible, doesn't it, Scepter? I wonder at you, or at myself, in spite of life. But—apologies—perhaps it really is incomprehensible. You see, attend to what I say. I appropriate one hundred thousand entrusted to my honour; I spend it on a large feast, say I spend it all, and next morning I go to her and say: ‘Sunlight, I’ve done wrong, I’ve squandered your one hundred thousand, the very same one meant for your hurting sister in that blasted hospital’; well, is that right? No, it’s not right—it’s dishonest and cowardly; I’m a beast, with no more self-control than a beast, that’s so, isn’t it? But still I’m not a thief? Not a downright thief, you’ll admit, or you should admit! I squandered it, but I didn’t steal it. Now a second, rather more favourable alternative: follow me carefully, or I may get confused again—my head’s going 'round—and so, for the second alternative: I spend here only ninety-nine thousand out of the one hundred thousand, that is, not all of it. Next day I go and take that leftover to her: ‘Sunlight, take this one thousand from me, I’m a low beast, and an untrustworthy scoundrel, for I’ve wasted most of the money, and I shall waste this, too, so keep me from temptation!’ Well, what of that alternative? I should be a beast and a scoundrel, and whatever you like; but not a thief, not altogether a thief, or I should not have brought back what was left, but have kept that, too. She would see at once that since I brought back even just a coin, a solitary platinum piece, I should pay back at least that, that I should never give up trying to, that I should work to get it and pay it back. So in that case I should be a scoundrel, but not a thief, you may say what you like, not a thief!"

"I admit the distinction," said Scepter, completely taken aback, however. "Well, so you went and wasted the money on a 'feast'—did I get that right? Nova, buddy, you're in it deep."

"That is the essence of my letter, that which must be conveyed to Sunlight this night, at least."

"Right, right..." Scepter sat there, deep in thought, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"And the money, brother?" said Nova again. "I assure you it will come at no expense... the two hundred, I mean."

Before Scepter could respond somepony knocked on the front door.

"Oh! Hold up a moment, I got to get that," he said, rising up and heading down the hall.

"Wait, hold on a bit!" Nova called back, with vague desperation lingering in his voice.

"Huh? What?"

"I just—think it could wait. No, no, answer it, go on ahead. I think I need to rest my eyes for now."

The indeterminate apprehension within Nova grew by the minute; his face, ever so often inclined to exaggerated expressions beyond convention, all done for the absolute sake of "picturesqueness," as he had put it—almost all gone, it had vanished due to the cold feeling in his legs, the disturbance in his stomach, the aghast buzzing in his ears. He felt like he truly was going to catch a fever, sooner rather than later. He felt an infinite firmness in himself: something that could only produce the most unreliable hesitations in his every action, in his every enunciation.

"Hey, Nova!" Nova heard his brother's voice.

"Y-yes?" he stammered in a response, slightly straightening his posture.

"Nova, there's somepony here to see you," Scepter threw in again from down the hall, laying a suspicious amount of stress on "somepony."

"Somepony?" said Nova, but his nerves shot upon realizing he was speaking out loud. "W-wait, wait a bit."

"You stay there," Scepter, who reemerged from around the corner, told him. "Sorry there, Nova, but I can't control everypony. Apparently she saw you coming in down a few blocks."

"She! Who is—"

He chocked on his words. Sunlight Ivory came around and wandered over to the couch opposite to Nova.

"Hello there, dear," she pronounced in modest fashion. She was more casually dressed this time, and only her eyeliner was visible. An air of immense concentration and, moreover, of evident sincerity, highlighted her tranquil face.

Nova was as pale as death. He practically felt his heart skip a beat. He stood facing her, unable to utter a word; but her eyes showed him, all without words, that she could guess his entire position. Nova could not say whether he understood this or not, only that he was trembling all over.

"Sunlight... you... my dear..." Nova could not bring himself to communicate coherently.

"Your eyes are bloodshot, Nova, are you sick?" she said, with notes of sorrowful concern ringing in her voice. With drooping ears she added: "That letter over there, it's been written just for me, hasn't it?"

"How did you—? My angel, you are—just... of all things in life!" Nova guffawed, blood rushing to his already-burning face and, indeed, it honestly felt like his eyes were about to shoot out of their sockets.

"I, uh, think I'll back out now," inserted Scepter awkwardly, mechanically stepping away from the living room, although he was just in the other side of the wall, listening attentively to their conversation.

In a burst of energy Nova snatched the letter, twisted it into a scroll with his fidgeting strength, jammed the singular platinum coin right through the middle, and laid it at Sunlight's hooves. But this letter merely unravelled itself, and the coin rolled out. He cringed, became even more self-conscious, and bowed before her.

"I'm no thief, Sunlight!" he exclaimed, his heart still pounding. "A scoundrel, the worst there is! I admit to it!"

Sunlight heaved a deep sigh, which immediately drew Nova's full attention; everything she did kept him on edge. He could tell she was agitated, and tried with all her will to conceal this fact; but there was a resolute gleam in her dark and gloomy eyes.

"I understand," said Sunlight, softly and clearly. "To tell you the truth, I was firmly convinced you were going to throw away that sum."

Nova's ears perked. He rose up slightly, staring at her with a lost, bitter expression

"You saved me once," she went on, the resolution in her voice rising in proportion to her breaking composure. "When my best friend was stuck in the financial deep end, you did all you could to save her; I came to you, crying, I didn't even care how my mane looked. Six months... six... months," he voice was starting to waver, "and all that time you put up with it, with her mentally deranged aunt, and her aunt's husband who beat her to a pulp every week. My parents wouldn't let me intervene, it was all stupid diplomacy. You did everything to ensure my happiness. And I—I couldn't not invite you. I loved you, Nova, I still do. I only ever wished to repay what you so beautifully offered. Do you remember how long ago this was? Do you recall, Nova?"

"It was... two years..." he, again, barely managed to say.

"I... I wanted... to save you"— Sunlight's voice was shaking, and her eyes glistened. "I need to tell you something."

"Tell something?" Nova, too, could not control the shaking in his voice.

"Yesterday, when I looked at your face, when I stared you dead in the eyes and told you to keep your promise, I was really saying: 'Go on, spend that money on another mare, then come back, I won't be surprised.' I practically screamed that to you. And yet here I am—in surprise. I, in the pretext of sending you to my sister, offered you one hundred thousand for yourself. 'You want money to be false with me, and yet you're too cowardly to ask for it; do with it what you like, it can only prove my point. I give it to you myself.' I wanted to prove what you were, in spite of everything that you've done. And did you know?"

"Did I know?" echoed Nova, feeling all but empty inside. Both ponies were now openly crying.

"Did you know that I knew you were going to squander that money? Crazy coincidence, isn't it? I saw you running down the street to your brother's house. This all but confirmed it, but just to be sure I settled on seeing you. Well, and now here we are. You've got one thousand left—is that okay? Do you want one percent of my repentance? I assure you, Nova, you understood I gave you that money to test you, to see whether or not you'd lose all your sense of honour as to take it from me. You looked into my eyes, I into yours, and you took it—you carried off with my money. In the deepest part of your subconscious you knew all this."

"That's true, Sunlight!" cried Nova quite suddenly. "I looked into your eyes and I knew that you were dishonouring me, and yet I took your money. Despise me as a scoundrel, despise me! I deserved it!"

Sunlight was reckless now of all consequence to herself. With eyeliner smeared down her cheeks from the tears she embraced him, and he could only just accept it and not pull away from shame; he let go of all his emotions and sobbed like a child. Now she had taken the final plunge.

"I'm sorry, Nova!" she said again in a ragged whisper. "For you, I'm sorry. I feel sorry for you. After you saved my best friend and let her live independently, I always wanted to save you—from anything—as long as I saved you from something."

"I am condemned now!" exclaimed Nova frantically

"Goodbye, Nova," Sunlight got in between sobs. She picked herself up, leaving Nova by the couch-side with the letter and her thousand-bit coin. She started heading off, paused reluctantly, and said once more: "My sister's alright, by the way. I personally covered the medical costs. There—now you have one less thing to torment yourself over. I'm sorry, Nova. I'm sorry. Goodbye!"

She walked out in extraordinary haste. It seemed, in fact, that she had all this sentimentality built up, since yesterday, or even before then, and that this little interaction with Nova was merely the final anticipated push, she had simply been waiting for it to occur.

Ever since she handed him those one hundred thousand.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

At least a whole five minutes of ominous silence followed. Scepter, in his confusion, came back to the living room, making sure, however, to delay, so as not to seem like he had been stalling for Sunlight to take off just so he could return.

Nova was sitting on the same couch. The letter was still on the floor.

Scepter strode over to his brother's side, sitting down, staring into the ceiling.

"So what's next to come?" he asked. "Are you still leaving Canterlot?"

"I... am," said Nova, his voice mechanical and ringing with suspense and uncertainty. There was a vague look in his eyes. "Only, do not lend me the two hundred, I have changed my mind. I will go my own way. Thank you for your time, brother. You truly are one in a million. Thank you. And Farewell."