So Many Words Never Said

Chapters

So Many Roads Still to Know
Extra 1 - So Many Hearts Overthrown
Extra 2 - I Wish I Could Turn the Hands of Time, and All That I Lost Could Be Mine
Extra 3 | Once Again We're on Fire

So Many Roads Still to Know

“I don’t get how you do it.”

Twilight Sparkle stopped in her tracks, pen in one hand and head resting on the other, to look back at her friend sitting opposite of her. Sunset's words were stifled by having her face buried in her textbook, surely still on the first page of the chapter assigned to read.

“Do what, exactly?” Twilight asked, frowning in confusion.

“Understand this guy!” exclaimed her friend, raising her head to put her reddish hair with golden locks in a bun. Which would most likely last less than a second in the absence of an elastic band to hold it. “Between the time jumps and the anecdotal comments, I think my head is going to explode.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Sunset arched an eyebrow, and her hair untied on its own with almost perfect timing.

“Ok. Yes, it’s unbearable and it also exasperates me. But after the second reading you get used to it.”

“How many times did you read it?” The redhead arched both eyebrows this time.

“Only two. This one is to synthesize the most important parts and from there make a coherent timeline. I’m not that nerdy.” A nerd would probably read it three more times until it was completely memorized on the same day. She was only diligent.

Sunset rolled her eyes in response, taking a sip of her coffee. Students weren’t supposed to bring food or drinks to the library, according to the small cardboard posters on each of the tables. But as long as you were friendly with the librarian on duty, the tables were kept clean, and no type of chaos was unleashed, that rule was technically nonexistent. Besides that a dose of caffeine at three thirty in the afternoon was always useful, as well as extra necessary.

“I noticed. Never thought you would fall asleep after Rainbow Dash in the literature screening,” Sunset commented with a smirk.

“In my defense, I made a report of that movie last year at my other school,” Twilight said, moving the pen from one imaginary tip to the other. “And I slept about four hours... I think.”

Remembering how little she had managed to sleep the night before, Twilight felt the need to take a sip of her own coffee. Both to suppress a tired yawn and to soothe, with the heat of the drink, the uncomfortable tingle that ran up her spine when remembering why, exactly.

“New documentary came out?”

“Two, actually,” Twilight answered, cleaning the lenses of her glasses with the edge of her sweater. This morning, to top it all off, she had gotten up so late that the idea of wearing contact lenses didn’t cross her mind until an hour later. It wasn’t that the glasses were uncomfortable, but they held so poorly on the bridge of the nose that sometimes she would catch herself pushing them back on by force of habit.

“You know, one of these days we have to do a movie marathon.” Spoke Sunset, already distracted on her phone. They definitely wouldn’t achieve much today. “I haven’t seen a quarter of the so-called classics yet.”

“Sounds good. I know a few that I’m sure you’ll like.” A pause. “But you know what sounds better?”

“...Going to the movies?” Sunset offered, already knowing where her bespectacled friend was going.

“No. Finishing this thing.”

Again, her classmate buried her face in the book with a whine. And after accepting defeat, she gathered the will to start reading.

Taking advantage of the fact that the teacher of the last hour had been absent, they decided to come to the library to do some of the assigned homework in a subject they both shared. Not that Twilight wanted to be a party pooper or that she liked to answer thirty questions based on a tedious test. But if she managed to advance with at least the first part now, maybe when she got home, then she could get some rest.

A couple more minutes of silence passed, with only the occasional sound of some students here and there, since they were in the quieter part of the library. Not to mention there wouldn’t be that many students on a Tuesday afternoon two months away from the exams.

Until a short vibration that spread across the table alerted Sunset Shimmer of a new notification on her phone.

“Did something happen?” Twilight asked upon seeing her friend typing with a frown.

“It’s Twilight. Uh, the other Twilight.” Sunset looked at her for a second and then back at the screen. “Is it okay if she comes now? She told me she wants to talk to you about something.”

Oh, the other Twilight Sparkle, the one who came from a parallel world of... sapient equines? She had been so stunned the moment she saw her coming out from the base of the school statue she had to listen to the explanation three times to actually process it.

At first, Twilight started laughing and considered calling an ambulance for the psychiatric hospital. The second time, she felt that the boundary between reality and the fictitious had become so increasingly absurd that she asked for a third explanation, after which she bombarded her doppelganger with questions. Not that she seemed to have any trouble answering them.

“Sure, I guess.” Twilight shrugged. “Though I don’t know what she would want to talk about.”

Sunset returned the gesture.

“No idea.” Another message notification, more intense tapping. And Twilight realized an inconsistency.

“Wait, I thought there was no advanced technology in Eque...stria?” It always happened that in spite of her good memory, simple names or everyday facts sometimes escaped her. But a nod from Sunset confirmed that she was pronouncing it right.

“Nope, there isn’t. She’s been here doing I-don’t-know-what since this morning. But I had to get her a phone when I told her she couldn’t investigate mine. You know how Twilight is when she wants to research something.” Sunset smirked. That comment referred to both her and her doppelganger. Both were quite different, yet the curiosity and desire to learn were shared characteristics.

Twilight replied with a simple ’aha’ and an eye roll, her own lip corners lifting up in a small smile. With Sunset, she always felt comfortable enough to loosen up a little more than usual. Maybe it was the fact that their first conversation was during a dual task in Advanced Calculus, and not every day did Twilight meet someone who could follow her train of thought.

They spent a few more minutes chatting about nothing in particular. Until Sunset waved to get the attention of the other Twilight Sparkle, who returned it with her typical enthusiasm.

She slipped between the tables, taking care not to disturb the rest of the students, and taking the seat next to Sunset.

“Hey! How are you doing?” the supposed Princess greeted, taking off the hood of her hoodie to fix her hair. It was a little precautionary measure to avoid any possible confusions. At first glance, both might look the same, but when they stood side by side, it was easy enough to notice they weren’t exactly two drops of water. One of the most notable differences was the variation in height, Twilight being three centimeters shorter than her Equestrian doppelganger, who also somehow looked a little more mature, as though she had struck her last growth spurt. Even so, the white lie that they were slightly different twins worked when necessary.

Another way they found to avoid misunderstandings, was changing their names when both were together. Her clone took the first name of both, while she became Sparkle by her own choice. She always preferred her second name before the first, even if most people still called her that way.

“Suffering.” Sunset grimaced in disgust, looking at the book.

“Suffer—? Do you have an exam soon? You should have told me. I can come at another time, really. I don’t want you to lose study time because of me. I know how important it is to appro—”

“Sunset said you wanted to talk to me about something?” Sparkle interrupted. And Twilight, her doppelganger, looked at her for a second, as if she had forgotten what she had come to do in the first place.

“Oh, right! I just... realized something that we never analyzed when we considered the parallel spectrum between our worlds.” When Twilight noticed the curious look of both Sunset and Sparkle, she knew she had their full attention. “You’ll see, the other day I went to visit my mother and looking at the family albums it made me wonder...”

The ex-unicorn breathed in through her nose slowly. Well, here we go.

“You live with your biological family, right?”

Sparkle blinked, quite confused, but nodded anyway.

“Uh huh. I live with my parents. My brother moved out when he got married. But I think we’ve talked about this before, why?”

Indeed, they had already discussed that last topic. Sparkle’s brother and sister-in-law seemed to be quite similar to their counterparts in Equestria, and even followed a line of events of similar temporality. However, that wasn’t what Twilight focused on, but rather the chances that this conversation would become much less pleasant than it already was.

“Wait, you said parents.” Now it was Twilight’s turn to frown in apparent confusion. “You mean that Night Light is still alive here, right?” It was more an affirmation than a question, one that she hoped sounded as casual as she meant it.

“Yes,” Sparkle said, imitating the expression, “...did your father die in your world?” she asked with genuine caution, so as to neither offend nor let her morbid curiosity escape her eyes.

“When I was about ten.” Twilight lowered her voice a little, only to reaffirm her seriousness about the subject. She felt Sunset take her hoo— hand under the table in an attempt to comfort her, and she responded with a little squeeze, but said nothing else, focusing instead on Sparkle’s reaction.

Her human counterpart seemed to forget to blink for a moment, and in spite of her inert expression, as if she had realized something, her eyes twinkled with a strange brightness. One of hate, or maybe one of envy. Sparkle’s shoulders tensed. For some reason, she didn’t look comfortable at all with that idea.

However, it was likely that good manners dictated that she had to give some kind of condolence for being the one who encouraged the response. So when Twilight realized that her counterpart was going to do just that, she interrupted her. She didn’t need to hear something that would be a lie, especially because she couldn’t care any less.

“You don’t need to say anything.” I’m not sorry, either. “It was a long time ago, really.”

Twilight gave her a small smile of comfort, and Sparkle seemed to accept it, still trying to decipher the intentions of her counterpart.

Ten seconds of uncomfortable silence passed, where none of the three said a word. And surely it would get worse, judging by the horrible feeling that was forming in her stomach. It wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

“I still don’t understand,” began Sparkle, slowly, with real curiosity in her voice “Why are you asking me all of this?”

According to the little information Twilight had been able to collect from her friends, she didn’t talk much about her family, and always had an excuse to avoid any type of get-together in her house. Of course Sparkle would find strange that she was trying to address those topics. Not to mention that Twilight avoided going directly to the point the first time. Now that she asked again, it was better to give her an answer, or Twilight was sure she wouldn't be asked a third time.

“Like I said, it made me wonder about something.”

The former unicorn inhaled slowly, feeling an uncomfortable tingling in the middle of her back. Her free hand tightened the paper in the pocket of her hoodie almost unconsciously. She wished she was wrong. Wished this was all a damn misunderstanding on her part, and that within an hour Sunset would be giving her a lecture about why it was wrong to ask what she was going to ask.

“Does Night Light keep going to your room, at night?”

The question was as soft and subtle as a sudden blow to the face could be. Still, Twilight was sure that it had a load of fair and necessary meanings to be understood perfectly. Said in some other way, she would fall victim to previously planned excuses or would end up with a throbbing cheek. This girl was smart enough to know when to protect herself, even if it meant taking shelter in her own injustice and justifying it. For that reason, the best thing was to act directly. Without losing sensitivity to not generate a defensive attitude, but also without deviating from the point in question.

“What are you trying to say, Twi?” Sunset muttered under her breath. Twilight only raised a hand under the table to let her handle the situation, as she had asked before.

If she based this on her own experience, she would still hear excuses and justifications. But body language never failed, and that’s where she got authentic expressions. Sparkle lost any sign of good humor, with surprise lasting longer than expected, judging from the quick transition of a slightly wrinkled forehead to a frown of indignation. And Twilight’s human counterpart held her gaze, trying to find how such information was obtained, to then realize that it was her self from a parallel dimension.

“Where did you get such an idea?” Sparkle finally responded, with an indignation that wasn’t as well executed as the tone of offense. The latter, Twilight supposed, should be real for more reasons than she could get to speculate. “I’m fine.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Sunset relaxed her tensed shoulders. Only a little, though, as if she wasn’t entirely convinced by the obvious response. One could say that both agreed that it was an answer they expected to hear. The difference was that, while the redhead hoped that her friend really was okay, Twilight understood it was just an automatic defense mechanism.

"Are you sure about that?" asked the Equestrian under her breath, with genuine concern. If Sparkle really was in a healthy family environment, then the surprise would be as real as the disgust, and answering that nothing happened would have been a natural response.

However, when seeking for her gaze Twilight found a defiant one. One who warned her that if she continued to play with fire both would end up in ashes, and at the same time contradicted itself by begging her to do so.

“No one is going to judge you if you say no, Sparks,” Sunset spoke softly, the ghost of a smile adorning her lips. Twilight wasn’t sure exactly what she meant; she supposed it would have to have been something personal between the two. They were friends, after all.

Be that as it may, Sparkle turned her still fiery gaze towards the redhead, possibly offended by the fact that she had decided to take sides. Sunset had no problem sustaining her, calm but intense, to show her that she was serious.

She took off her glasses, and in spite of her blurred vision, she could see how the figures in front of her looked a little more relaxed. She filled her lungs with air and let it out in a heavy sigh. Sparkle had no idea how the hell she didn’t see this conversation coming. Though she expected something more subtle from her clone. Who would say that the one who articulated with a straight back and carried her dignity like the Queen of England, could be as direct as... as Sparkle would have been were the situation reversed. Of course, the latter would happen the day she could sleep in peace, and it was probable that she had to be dead first to achieve it.

Whatever. Time to change tactics.

“It has nothing to do with that, Sunset. I... Look, I appreciate the intention, really. But you don’t have to worry about anything, ok?” she chose to speak calmly while massaging the bridge of her nose to ease her headache. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the whole situation or the damn lenses. Probably the second.

“Nothing… happens at home, seriously.”

Pff! Sparkle was always very good at lying. She even dared to say that more than fifty percent of her daily activities involved lying at some point. But for some disappointing reason, she found herself very unconvincing. Even so, the primary objective wasn’t to tell lies with a certain degree of accuracy, but to convince.

“I’m sorry if I reacted badly.” That was true, though not her fault. She set out to find the tissues to clean the lenses, another bad habit. “It’s just... yesterday I started a new project that took me most of the night and I couldn’t sleep much so—”

“Sparks…” Sunset interrupted her in a tone she couldn’t recognize at all.

“...What?” Sparkle stopped blinking at the red figure, tissue in hand, glasses in the other.

“You said you stayed awake watching documentaries.”

You had to be stupid. Sparkle was good at lying, especially when it came to spontaneous falsehoods.

A bit of fogging in the glasses, a couple of horizontal movements with the tissues — never circular, that scratched the anti-reflex — and they were neat and polished.

“Documentaries are part of my research projects. I don’t see the inconsistency.” What she could see, with her sight again clear, was the little conviction that her words created. She tried to look casual and take a sip of the coffee that was getting cold. Too bitter.

Several moments passed as the silence became palpable and uncomfortable. And somehow, the looks towards her person made her feel smaller than usual. She looked at her phone to check the time.

About twenty minutes before the end of the school day. Maybe it would be best to pick up her things and leave, to end the conversation where it should before she ended up doing something stupid.

“Sparkle, please look at me.” When she looked back at Twilight, she again found her trying to engage her in staring games. “Look at me and tell me nothing happens and I promise that you’ll never hear me say another word on the matter. Even if you want, don’t ever speak to me again. But please be honest.”

Sparkle had to dig her nails into her palms until her forearms shook. Didn’t she know when to surrender? Or did she like to see her lose?

Sparkle crossed her arms, leaning on the back of the chair with the dignity that she always liked to pretend to possess — if her clone looked like that with so little effort, it was likely that she would too, right? — when she realized Twilight’s intention to stretch an arm towards her.

Sparkle wasn’t so stupid, nor transparent and much less fragile.

But deep down she was sure that Twilight was right, and she couldn’t say anything to her face without sounding like she was trying to fool her. Who would have the courage to lie to their mature and beautiful mirror? What could she do?

For a moment, a mere moment, Sparkle set out to challenge her with a look that invited her to make an introspection to her own life as a pompous Princess. But she ended giving up when realizing that this time, there was a different shine in her eyes.

An exaggerated shimmer that moved swiftly between white corneas and violet irises. A twinkle of impotence. A spark of despair. A reflection of anguish. A shine of empathy.

A resplendence of one’s own experience.

For some reason, giving her the benefit of the doubt didn’t seem like a bad idea. So, in the absence of a white flag to admit defeat and openness to negotiations as a war commander in the middle of the Han Dynasty, Sparkle decided to turn the page in her notebook, leaving up with a sharp blow all the blank pages waiting to be used.

“What are you trying to get at?” Sparkle inquired softly looking back at Twilight, who seemed to understand the message — Sunset still gave them curious glances — and finally relaxed her upright posture when speaking again.

“We want to help.”

Sparkle stopped short, processing the sentence she had just heard. It was something so incredulous and stupid that it made her want to laugh, no matter how forced it was. Help? What? Twilight had previously said that her father died as a child. What could she do, then? Magic? Go back in time? Every idea that occurred to her was more absurd.

There was nothing to do.

“There’s nothing you can help with,” Sparkle tried to control her voice, to avoid sounding too sharp or too displeased, tried a normal tone. But all she achieved was a low and mediocre one.

There was nothing more to talk about either. Because deciding to lose didn’t necessarily mean admitting, much less accepting.

Again, another disturbing and perceptible silence and, in a certain way, the contemplations towards her person made her feel smaller than usual.

She looked in her jacket pocket again to check the time. About twelve minutes to end the school day. Maybe it would be best to pick up her things and leave. To end the conversation before her tongue loosened up and ended up doing more stupid things. Yes, it was definitely the best thing to do.

“I’ve been investigating all day,” started her doppelganger, but now with a new plan underway, it was easy to pretend she wasn’t listening. “And if at any time you change your opinion..."

Sparkle didn’t understand those people who used too many things and therefore took decades to put away their school supplies. She liked to be practical. A small pencil case with the bare minimum, a notebook or folder according to the subjects of the day along with the books following the same utility, and perhaps a book or magazine in case she had some leisure time to spend. Practical, concise, structured, simple, fast.

A hand, with her same skin tone, slid a multi-folded paper across the surface of the table. It was small and easy to put in the pocket. As if it was valuable, secret information.

“I made a list of trustworthy help centers and websites from which you can access useful information. Everything has twenty-four hour assistance.”

The white rectangle of paper was on the table, on its own, contrasting with the dark and polished wood.

Sparkle looked up at Twilight, and for a moment, she proposed herself to challenge her with a look that invited her to make introspections of her own life.

However, she gave up when she realized that in Twilight’s eyes was that different shine.

That shine of empathy, of one’s own experience.

“You don’t deserve this; you don’t owe him anything.” There, in her voice, was something else. Fear, or maybe despair.
Be that as it may, Sparkle still stood up to leave, her backpack on her shoulder and jacket in hand.

She took the paper anyway and put it in her pocket. Only for courtesy.

“That’s something neither of us has the power to decide, Twilight.”

Her figure disappeared hastily behind the shelves. There were seven minutes left until four thirty in the afternoon, until the end of the school day.

Sunset Shimmer stood up, ready to follow her when a hand on her forearm stopped her. It was a weak grip, not even firm.

“She’s not going to listen, Sunset.”

She looked back at Twilight, surprised. The determination she had five minutes ago seemed far off in comparison to her drooping shoulders and her look of remorse, fixed on the corner in which Sparkle turned and left.

“If I speak to her like you did, probably not.”

The redhead advanced anyway, with a firm and hurried pace. She had no idea what she was going to say since Twilight asked to let her handle the matter, but she wasn’t going to leave it at that. If something was really happening, whatever it was, Sunset wanted to help. No, she had to help. Sparkle was her friend. She couldn’t leave her just like that.

Sparkle was where Sunset supposed she would find her: her locker. Therefore, she approached slowly so it didn’t seem like she wanted to generate any pressure.

“I didn’t throw the paper away if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sunset blinked, confused.

“I... didn’t come for that, actually.”

“Uh-huh. Then?" Sparkle finished putting on her coat and closed the locker with more force than usual. She wasn’t looking back at her.

“Sparks…” Sunset didn’t even have time to put together a coherent sentence, seeing that the girl with the purple hair, already with the backpack on her shoulder, was starting to march towards the front door.

“What happens in my private life isn’t your problem.” The redhead hurried to keep up with her. They weren’t too far from the entrance, and though she didn’t understand the sudden change of mood and similar defensiveness, she at least had to try to insist one more time.

She managed to reach her once outside the institution, at the foot of the stairs at the entrance — Sparkle, when forced, could be much faster than she appeared to in P. E. — and for a moment considered putting a hand on her shoulder. But given her sudden moodiness and the fact that she never seemed too comfortable with physical contact, she decided otherwise.

“Sparks, if you’re going through some kind of uncomfortable situation, whatever it is, we can help, okay?” Insisting sometimes proved to be the best tactic with Sparkle, who almost always ended up saying yes, though this sounded more like a plea than anything else. “You’re our friend. We care what happens to you.”

This wasn’t the case.

“Don’t you understand? There’s nothing to do, Sunset!” Sparkle exclaimed with desperate distress. Sunset could see it in the breaking of her voice. In the slight tremor of her arms that didn’t go unnoticed when she dropped them to her sides with heaviness. “Stop getting involved in what doesn’t concern you.”

Then Sunset watched her turn around and head towards a vehicle that seconds ago wasn’t there. She didn’t have the slightest knowledge about cars, but managed to recognize some models, and that was enough to know that it was brand new and sophisticated. Night Light used to drive it. She had seen it a couple of times when he picked her friend up from group meetings and such.

Sunset clenched her fists. Sparkle was right to be angry if all that surrounded her were dead ends. If she lived constantly in despair.

There was nothing to do. Because they couldn’t do anything.

It was seventeen minutes past ten o'clock at night. A night young even for a Tuesday, with the traffic on the avenue still frequent.

Sunset would probably be asleep; Twilight couldn't say so with certainty because both of them had turned their backs on the shared bed.

What she could say was that, on the other hand, she wouldn't sleep tonight. Or at least, wouldn't do so in peace.

It hadn't happened for a long time. It was a long time ago that certain uncertainties and feelings didn't come out from where she had buried them. It was a long time ago that closing her eyes and giving in to exhaustion didn't scare her. That she wasn't involved in the uncomfortable tingling that provided little electric touches all over her body and made her hair stand on end.

It was weird, or cynical, maybe. Even as a filly, temporalities were always confusing to her. She had to find some event to remember how old she was in a certain year, and still, remembered in detail sensations and fears that were over —relatively— at least six years ago.

Would her human counterpart feel the same? Would she also be involved in paranoia and adrenaline? Maybe she didn't care anymore, maybe she didn't feel it anymore. Twilight recalled that at some point, as a child, all these things ceased to be significant and became day-to-day. It was like always making a wound in the same place. Why bother to cure it if it would eventually open up again? If the efforts were independent of the facts, then again, why bother?

Her stomach churned just thinking about it. The nausea was present just thinking about it.

And she felt so stupid about today. Sunset wasn't happy with her way of handling things and Twilight couldn't say she felt any pride, either. In fact, it was the opposite.

"Twi..."

That conversation was reproduced before its execution more than ten times inside her head, all with possible different reactions and scenarios. None was easy. Reality showed her as clumsy and sentimental in the face of the situation, unable to convince her other self to at least stay and listen to her for five more minutes. It was true that Twilight was the Princess of Friendship and not of Psychology for obvious reasons, but still...

"You awake?"

Twilight looked over her shoulder, at Sunset’s attentive and curious cyan gaze, somehow highlighted with the reflection of the city lights that slipped through the thin curtains of the window. The purple-haired girl sighed and turned her gaze from the French balcony to the ceiling, shifting to lie on her back.

"I don't think I can sleep.”

"That makes two of us, then.”

She wasn't happy with her way of facing things.

"I'm sorry," Twilight mused, both for Sunset and for the whiteness of the ceiling. "I did everything wrong. I'm a disaster."

She felt a hand upon her left, unclenching the fist in which it was tensed to intertwine their fingers, and Twilight returned the gesture with a little squeeze. Suddenly, it was comforting, a small hint of heat in a body, that despite being wrapped in sheets, felt its temperature getting lower every time.

"...I'm not angry, Twi." The aforementioned looked at the redhead, who had spoken as low as her. As if there was something in the air that kept them from raising their voices. "Only that I would have liked some kind of... I don't know, warning?”

Twilight blinked, confused.

"How? I mean, we talked about it beforehand and I told you by phone.”

This time it was Sunset's turn to sigh with heaviness.

"I know. And I agreed when you said there was something strange going on there. It's just that I thought it was something... More lightweight, I guess? That it could be solved by talking to her parents.” Another sigh, followed by a pause. "I just realized that you were referring to... Well, that."

"A situation of abuse?" Twilight suggested, taking the liberty to add a degree of self-cynicism.

Sunset nodded on the sly. Knowing her, she didn't want to mention it with the fear of triggering her. But when it came to a childhood like hers, from a past that had already happened, it was difficult to feel restrained by a simple term. Twilight gave Sunset's hand another squeeze, just to reassure her.

Things stayed that way, silent, for a good couple of minutes. She wasn't sure exactly how many, and didn't want to go back to the bad childhood habit of counting them, as well as the steps and its rhythms. Sometimes Twilight got sick at herself for trying to have some kind of control over the stupidest things possible.

"What do we do now, then?" Sunset's concern brought her out (again) of the inevitable self-absorption of the last few days. "Call the police? Or are there any special places to make this type of reports?"

Twilight only looked at the ceiling. Knowing the redhead, her reaction to what she was going to say would probably not be pleasant.

"We wait,” she stated without further ado.

Three, two, one…

"How do 'we wait'? We wait until what, Twilight?" Sunset leaned on her elbows, staying over the ex-unicorn's field of vision knowing it was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

"Until she decides to ask for help." She returned the glare and before Sunset could retort, Twilight spoke again. "Do you think she's not going to defend him if someone makes sudden accusations?"

She recalled a similar situation in het first years at Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, when classes still were as diverse as what was called here elementary school. A teacher had tried to talk to her in an effort to know what was happening at home, and Twilight was so scared that the number of excuses she used to justify herself was ridiculous.

"Why defend someone who hurts you?" Sunset frowned. As if Twilight was saying things that brushed the border between reality and ridicule, but at the same time somehow had a coherence of meaning. She might not be the Princess of Psychology, but the years of therapy helped her understand many things.

"Because it's not easy, Sunset.” Maybe she had used more emphasis than necessary and maybe she also chose to stop lying inert and rearrange herself until seated. "It's not easy to admit that some things happen. There's much more at stake than you think and probably more than I know since I come from a parallel world. And I dare say that she must believe that she's alone, that she has nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Or why do you think she left today?"

She couldn't blame Sparkle for her reaction, it was logical. Who would accept right away that they had no control over their lives, over their body? That there were things beyond self-control, either by imposed feelings of guilt, or shame, or the betrayal of trust, or helplessness, or anger. And the list could go on and on in an endless way, because mentioning three or four lines wasn't enough to describe a whirlwind that changed according to each individual.

And maybe Twilight had also sounded harder than intended when she raised her voice, because Sunset seemed to deflate, trying to read between the lines of something that was clear as water.

"But she's not. She has us. All of us," the tone of discouragement was as visible as the usual gesture of running a hand through her hair when a situation somehow overwhelmed her.

"That's something you can see, and that I understand after much more time in therapy than I like to admit." Twilight tried to be softer this time, and speak with less force. She knew that the redhead had the mere intention of helping her friend, not to complicate things. "If we intervene directly without permission, the only thing we'll achieve is her to move away. Through her own will or not."

In her personal case it was enough with another citation after school, but this time with her parents. They didn't take long to feel offended and change her from school shift. Well, actually Night Light was the one who decided, Twilight Velvet always chose to follow him.

She never crossed paths with that teacher again. And if she did, it was many years later, because she couldn't even remember her face.

At that time she was too innocent, too little to understand that telling someone could have made a substantial change, that there were other options. And Twilight wanted to give Sparkle the opportunity she had never had, the opportunity to decide.

Her particular case wasn't exactly a close, it was just a strange luck that —somehow— she unconsciously wanted. One where she had to adapt to the normal, to a supposed and shocking daily life that she didn't know. A new reality where there was no place for counting steps, for insomnia or for showers in the late morning. A reality where giving in to exhaustion shouldn't scare her, where being wrapped in an uncomfortable tingling that provided little electric touches all over her body and made her hair stand on end was absurd, as Velvet used to tell her sometimes.

It was absurd because the closet monsters were a figment of the imagination, she said. And yes, it was irrational to fear monsters, they didn't exist, they were products of the collective imaginary of children. The only thing that existed with certainty were beings that made decisions, positive or negative, moral or vicious.

Sunset sat reluctantly by her side, saying nothing, not being entirely convinced. Or maybe it had to do with a certain anger towards something in particular, judging by her snort. Twilight wasn't a hundred percent sure.

"In my experience, it wasn't about the violence, to put it in some way. I... I don't remember violent situations in particular." Among the many insights, she found her tongue betraying the rhythm of thought. "It was more than anything about this... this huge manipulation. All my merits, all my virtues, all that I had, were thanks to Night Light. And if she came to enter the picture, thanks to my mother too."

It could be the fact that once she started talking about certain things she was always subject to the impertinent need to say certain others. Or that she had never told the whole story to the redhead, and it was a good opportunity to take away some of the guilt for having told her half-truths. Or maybe she simply wanted to convince her of her point of view. Or all of the above. Twilight didn't have the slightest idea, more than the fact that she needed to make some kind of venting.

"To be able to go to the best school, to have a house to return to, food, a family... Everything, everything was thanks to... thanks to him." She was gesturing too much with her hands, like every time she got nervous. This entire situation made the nervousness bloom on the skin to the point that if she didn't make some kind of catharsis, she was going to have an attack. And she wasn't even sure of what, exactly. "And I... and I had to show my gratitude in some other way besides getting the best GPA in all my classes be-because that wasn't enough and though s-sometimes I couldn't distinguish some things from o-others in some way I kn-knew it was wrong but you know that you ca-can't do a-anything and the boundaries become c-confusing and-and--"

And Twilight Sparkle broke. Broke into little pieces that fell through the eyes like the sand flying in the desert. In tremors that lashed against its corporeal structure threatening to take her energies. In a whirlwind of emotions that by mentioning three or four lines weren't enough to describe it. And Sunset was there to hold her, to keep her from collapsing. She hugged her firmly, stroked her hair the way she liked best, whispered comforting words in her ear as often as they were necessary until she could breathe with some regularity again. Until the sand stopped moving in the desert and in the distance it gave shape to what appeared to be a small oasis.

"Did you ever... tell anyone? At that time?" She asked slowly, whispering. As if there was something in the air that prevented them from raising their voices.

"Once." She took a breath, or maybe four, she couldn't count them at that moment. "Once they called my attention, at school, but I couldn't say anything. I was scared, you know? I thought my family would leave me on the street. That I would lose everything... That no one would want a little girl like that."

Through the corner of her eye, she noticed Sunset turning her head in her direction. Twilight was still with hers resting on the redhead's shoulder, staring at a small mole she had at the beginning of the neck.

"I think... if I had known that things wouldn't be as bad as I thought, then maybe I would have said something sooner. Though I don't know if it serves much to speculate now," she mumbled. And paused, trying to think about how she had gotten here and what was the main point of the conversation. "What I was trying to get at, I think, is that we have to let Sparkle do her own process and be there when she needs us. We already meddled a lot, I don't know if keep insisting is a good idea."

She heard Sunset sigh heavily over her heart rate. It was calm and sedative at the same time, it inspired a strange feeling of confidence and security.

"To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced. But I trust your word, so okay." Twilight knew she would get an answer like that. Neither of them liked the idea too much, but at the moment it was their best option. "But if there's no change, then we take some kind of measure. Whatever it has to be, I don't plan to keep my arms crossed."

Twilight made a noise of affirmation. For now, they waited, and if nothing happened, then they would take action on the matter as subtly or directly as possible.

A few more minutes passed until she dared to undo the hug. Until her breathing took an acceptable pace and until, between fleeting kisses and soothing caresses, her emotions managed to settle in a more appropriate, more controllable place. It took another pair for them to back to bed, Twilight with a clean face void of any sign of having been crying for more than ten minutes and Sunset with a different sweatshirt, since the previous one ended with a side soaked in tears.

As a result of this, the redhead had to dismiss the wave of apologies from the purple haired girl when she noticed the change of clothing, interrupting her with a brief kiss on the lips since small distractions always worked. Twilight found herself smiling at the action, and returning the gesture.

It was thirty-two minutes past twelve o'clock at night when both decided to give up on the small talk and try to sleep. The streets were silent, with barely any traffic left.

Twilight, feeling safe in the arms of one of the people she loved the most, was certain that tonight she would rest just a little bit better.

And she wished with all her heart, her counterpart could also sleep in peace.

In this way, we can argue that the theories of conception both of the world and the human being are based, according to the philosophers of the V century before--

The incessant typing of her fingers on the computer keyboard was interrupted by the din of the little creak of the wood, which seemed to rumble in her ears from the beginning of the corridor, from the beginning of the stairs.

The heart rate increased its frequency in warning. It only remained to count.

...Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eig--

There wasn't an eighth step.

The world stopped.

The third hinge on the door produced a squeak. Its null maintenance was intentional. A kind of subtle alarm that she had been allowed to keep even though she could recognize the sound variations in the pace of the steps according to who produced them.

"I thought you were in bed already," her father commented, probably raising an eyebrow judging by the circumstantial tone.

Twilight already knew that she was stretching her luck by staying two hours and thirty-five minutes —and counting— past her curfew, at ten o'clock at night. But she didn’t want to sleep, she needed to finish a series of questions within three days. If she didn’t finish it now, then it would stack with the endless pile of assignments to do both this and next week, and she needed to use those margins of time, for more reasons than she liked to admit.

Inhale, exhale, casual tone.

“I'm a question away from finishing a report; it took more time than I thought. It’s due tomorrow morning.” She tried to keep the tension of the shoulders hidden in the incessant typing, ignoring the acceleration of the heart rate that began to ride faster and faster on the edge of the eardrums. Luckily she was used to it, so doing the latter was as simple as breathing.

“All the more reason then, Twi. Go to bed now and finish it tomorrow morning, ok?”

Twilight swallowed hard, tensing her forearms to control the sudden trembling of her hands.

She wasn't going to get out of this one, at least, not the way intended.

Inhale. Exhale. Casual.

“Yes, Dad,” she said with a slight and part fake annoyance. “Goodnight.”

Sometimes she liked to pretend that her life was as normal as everyone else's; that sometimes it didn't turn into an insufferable ordeal.

Twilight finished writing the sentence, saved the file, closed it with all the browser windows and set about restoring her desk back to the immaculate order it was intended to, while the laptop was turning off.

At no time did the little creak of the wood recede in its footsteps, after the door to the end of the corridor or the stairs. In no second in which the digital clock located in her desk destined for the immaculate order, changed the last digit, did the third hinge of the door, whose null maintenance was intentional, squeaked again.

Inhale, exhale, casual.

When she turned her father was still there, impassive.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, without any pressure, with affection. Was it Sparkle's shoulder? No, no, it was Twilight's.

Bile rose quickly through the esophagus up to the throat.

Sometimes she liked to think that her life routine was normal. But Twilight liked to think about too many things.

Whatever, I'm used to it.

So many, that she didn't understand why she put effort into doing so.

Part of Twilight's everyday life included going to the pharmacy. Or rather, the chain of pharmacies that sold from perfumery to even sweets and protein supplements, and had a shop every ten blocks. Her mother had asked her to buy a few things and, taking advantage that she had left about twelve minutes before the end of the school day, she resolved to go to one of the said pharmacy shops, less than two blocks away.

She decided to go first to the drug section, where luckily only two people were waiting to be assisted before her. It was likely that no one else appeared until after five in the afternoon, but she didn't want to leave her father waiting on the school front for too long.

Her mother always seemed to have an excuse when it came to driving her somewhere, but not to ask her to run errands. Not that it bothered Twilight. Normally, she would buy something useful for her too. Although sometimes, the idea of not being criticised for a day as remuneration didn't seem so bad. However, that always remained the same way: an idea.

Once attended and with the security bag with the medicines ordered in hand, she went to the perfumery section. According to the second text, she had to buy toilet soap, tissues, and a toothpaste. Would it be enough money for some peppermints? Perhaps for some of those diet chewing gums that were always on clearance, they served equally well when it came to appeasing anxieties. Though she was almost certain that she still had a couple of those left, then as a last resort she could wait unt--

“Ow!”

Definitely, colliding with someone wasn't on the list.

Since she was looking at the cell phone to corroborate the specific brands, she let go of the latter and everything else in her hand. That included the wallet and the security bag, so she bent down to pick her things up as quickly as possible before someone else did while apologizing to whoever it was that crossed her.

"I'm sorry," Twilight began, already with the peace of mind of having her wallet and cell phone in hand. The other person took her safety bag and, when she looked at their face, she understood why the sleeves of the leather jacket looked familiar. "I didn't notic-- Are you following me?"

Sunset Shimmer frowned, confused, her gaze directed at the medications in the bag.

"I guess this is yours?"

Twilight huffed softly and took it from her hands. She didn't need more lectures than usual, less with the counted minutes.

"It's for my mother," she said without further ado, finally turning the corner where she intended.

Once again, she confirmed the brand, took the corresponding product and went on to the subsequent one in the minimum list.

"Your mother sends you to buy contraceptives?" The use of the pretended casualty made her blood boil sometimes, however hypocritical that feeling was. Sparkle wasn't stupid, she understood where the redhead was trying to get at and she wasn't going to let her.

"It's none of your business, Sunset."

Check brand, take the product, next.

"…I was just asking." Ok, maybe she had made a mistake with the intention of the tone. It could happen, she was human, too, wasn't she? She could be wrong. But that didn't mean that she had to accept an outsider meddling to give her an opinion about her life, or to tell her what they thought was wrong and what was not. By what right? They had not the slightest idea of anything.

"And I'm just telling you to no stick your nose into other people's business." She hoped that the hostile tone was enough to account for it. Twilight didn't even turn around to see her, much less with the counted minutes. "I told you before. And if you can't leave that aside, then don't bother speaking to me."

Brand. Product. Nex-- Checkout.

Under what right did they come to speak to her? She detested those little staring games, the visual wordiness, those made-up phrases with which the other Twilight approached her last week. As if everything was so easy and could be resolved with a snap of fingers. What could she do? Magic? Go back in time? Even now, every idea that came to mind was still more absurd than the previous one.

At the end of the day, she ended up taking those damned mint diet chewing gums, which served to appease the anxieties and cheat the stomach. They were disgusting, with more of a toothpaste flavor than eucalyptus and for that same reason, they were on clearance all the time. She still ended up putting three together to the mouth while walking back to the school's entrance. Anything was welcome to calm the sudden moodiness, calm the nerves that bloomed on the skin, soothe the bile that rose quickly through the esophagus up to the throat. Anything was welcome at the time of appearing calm in front of her father before she was pestered with questions of why the long face.

Luckily he was on the phone when she slowly knocked on the car window to get him to open the door. She had time to settle both physically and mentally before giving explanations as to why she had taken too long.

What could they do? What could she do, even? To be honest, sometimes she wished she had been abandoned at the door of an orphanage, but neither the family nor the destiny could be chosen. Things had always been this way. Or maybe not always, but a little more than a third of her life. Enough to get used to the dynamics and understand that they would continue to develop that way beyond her will. And if you can't beat them, join them.

At this point, there wasn't much else to do.

Days later, hours later, at who knows how early in the morning, Sparkle lay inert on her bed of thorns.

It wasn't as if it possessed some kind of distinction to the normal bed because the latter wasn't uncomfortable, but the normal bed wasn't either, so they were technically the same. Besides, when had it not hurt her? Figuratively, of course, the bed didn't really have thorns. Thank heavens no.

Or maybe yes, and from there the origin to the bruises with which she sometimes got up to turn off the alarm of her digital clock located on her desk destined for immaculate order.

She had already showered. Had already scratched the areas around the bruises under the burning water until relieving herself of the pain caused by those small open and bleeding wounds. Had already threw up everything ingested at dinner until the only thing that remained was a stomach devoid of even gastric juices. Had already taken a bath to pretend to eradicate the impurities rooted in the skin. She had already showered.

Her hair was way too damp and way too thin, it soaked her back, the old shirt she wore at the lack of real pajamas, the pillow of her bed of thorns.

She thought, for a moment, to search for some way to induce terminal pneumonia and die. Just to get out of the hellish routine of life.

No, no, bad plan. Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) never got sick. Sickness was synonymous with staying prostrated on the bed of thorns, with a pressure that caused the latter to puncture the body and pass through the organs and--

And she remembered that it hurt. Though it was a bed made of fictitious, figurative and by logic, unreal thorns. It still hurt.

She turned once, twice. In a rotation of one hundred and eighty degrees (figurative, too). And once her head was buried in the pillow and held even more in the suffocation of polyester fibers (with twenty percent of cotton) thanks to her hands, Sparkle screamed.

And screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Again and again, until her lungs started to burn and she was forced to stop. Stop, to continue unleashing her fury in a torrent of tears that soaked her as if it were the boiling water of the shower, the hair way too damp and way too thin.

It had been long ago since the last time she shed tears, to the point that she believed that her lacrimal glands had become obsolete within her system. It had been a long time since Sparkle had cried because Sparkle wasn't fragile, transparent, or much less stupid.

But now, Sparkle was sick of the hellish routine of life.

As much as Twilight was. But Twilight was the fragile, the clumsy, the socially secluded, the one who had to accept whatever came to her because that's the way things were. Her father always looked for Twilight, and very occasionally Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) when he got too angry. However, he never looked for Sparkle.

But Sparkle felt Twilight’s pain. Because they were the same person, because they merged in body and soul but not in essence. She felt her pain, felt her anguish, felt her disgust, her disappointment, her low self-esteem, her bile rise from the esophagus up to her throat, her urge to vomit, her--

She shouted again on the pillow, fury to the surface.

Damn Princess of pompous life that lived alone in a castle of pure crystal that had risen from the earth like a schizophrenic fairy tale. Be damned her perfect posture and her way of carrying her dignity as if she were the Queen of England. Be damned her charisma that charmed everyone. Be damned her mental stability and be damned her happiness. Be damned her stupid little staring games. Be damned her speeches of a promising and bright future.

Be damned her deranged fortune where her father had died when she was a child.

Sparkle was tired. Exhausted. Destroyed.

It was who knows what early morning hour. Her corneas needed to rest, they had dehydrated so much that now they felt dry.

Tissues, tissues, she needed tissues to dry her face, to blow her nose. She came out slowly from the sheets that wrapped her bed of thorns in polyester fibers with twenty percent cotton, wet with way-too-damp and way-too-fine hair, to the coolness of her room. There were no tissues inside the drawer of the nightstand, neither in the desk meant for immaculate order nor in the multiple pockets of her backpack. Her pulse quickened with annoyance.

Twilight always had tissues with her, how could Sparkle not find them?

Still, without giving up, she decided to check all her coats hanging neatly inside her closet, sorted by level of cold protection. It was the season of half-season coats, so she started there with the certainty that Twilight in her stupidity had forgotten them in a pocket.

First one? Empty.

Second? Empty.

Third? A paper.

What paper? A paper of many folds, that when opening it tripled in size until it took the shape of a sheet that was torn from a notebook. In blue ink, vague handwriting and trembling pulse but equal to her own, appeared a series of letters that in its wholeness formed words, constituted addresses, created websites, established telephone numbers.

In the fourth pocket, she found the damn tissues. Sparkle sat on the edge of the bed of thorns, the light of the nightstand on confirming the origin of the writing in her trembling hands.

It was the list of places her clone had made.

‘I made a list of trustworthy Help Centers and websites with useful information to which you can access if at any time you change your mind.’ She said, sliding the multi-folded paper over the surface of the table. As if it were secret, valuable information. ‘You don't deserve any of this, Twilight.’

She thought, for a moment, that she could search for some way to induce terminal pneumonia and die.

Just to get out of the hellish routine of life.

Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) was sick of the hellish routine of life.

“Which one do you like more?”

Twilight blinked, coming out of the sudden self-absorption. It began to be daily from the time she had left the library furious, or angry, maybe. No, no, those were synonymous, technically. Restless or demoralized perhaps would fit more.

Be that as it may, she took her sight off of some colored tiger plushies. They had eyes so anatomically impossible that they seemed ready to eat her soul (useless and destroyed, but a soul after all) and directed it towards her mother who was holding in each hand a stuffed animal. Both were equal and cat shaped, without exaggerated or creepy details. Made in a patchwork of soft and baby-friendly fabrics and with a cord lined as a tail that, when pulled back, played crib music.

In the left hand, she had one in different hues of pink and in the right one, a replica in lilacs and violets.

"Why do you ask me if you're going to choose the one you like the most?"

Twilight's responses were limited in all aspects of her life because her parents directly opted to ignore her. Her father, when he wanted to ask her opinion, normally took the minimum work of respecting it —again, when he felt like it, but at least he did. Velvet, on the other hand, when she asked for contribution on Twilight's part, it was to perform the opposite action. What flavor of ice cream do you like the most? Then I'll take the other one and I still'll force you to eat it in front of the guests because I know that you'll throw it up later. Sometimes Sparkle thought she was doing it on purpose because it gave her some kind of joy or something.

Therefore, her oh-so-collaborative answer. It was always the same, and maybe Twilight was tired of repeating certain things.

"If you answer me like that, then of course I'm going to do so," refuted her mother offended. Twilight bit the inside of her cheek so as not to roll her eyes in annoyance and decided to play along.

"The pink one. It was the first that caught your attention and is more feminine." If a newborn baby couldn't see more than thirty centimeters away, much less could distinguish the alleged color assignments by gender. It was a stupid plushie. "But most the important thing should be that it plays music for a prolonged time."

Her mother stared at both animals, looking for which had the fifth leg to take the opposite, surely just not to agree with her.

"If you're not convinced we can go to some other baby store, or come back another day..." Twilight offered. The faster they finished buying, the longer she could lock herself in her room and not have interactions until dinner.

Velvet this time looked at her as if she had said a great stupidity or great nonsense, either of the terms fitted.

"Twilight, the Baby Shower is this Saturday.”

Definitely the first one. She chose not to comment and bite the inside of her cheek with more force than before. She was sure there were two weeks left, were they not two weeks away? How was it that suddenly they were days away? How many exactly, she wasn't sure either. If they were two, or three, or five, but they were days away and she had no idea how many because she was locked in this sudden self-absorption.

"Ah." Was the only thing she could say, if she spoke out loud her doubts she would gain a lecture. "Then we should buy this one and in any case Cadance can change it--"

“Twilight…”

"I mean, it's not like she or Shiny would want to change it because it's ugly, maybe someone gifts them the same thing, a portable stuffed toy that plays crib music is a good idea but also very used, I think, though it's not as simple as it could it be a teething ring or a baby rattle--"

“What day is today, Twilight?”

The store aisles were high enough to cover the hand with which her mother encircled her forearm when she made the motion of trying to walk away to escape. It was a firm grip. It didn't hurt her but it did cause pain thanks to the bruises and the scratches in the areas surrounding them under the layers of clothes. It was invasive, sudden, annoying. But if she tried to get free like every time, things wouldn't end well and the truth was that she didn't need more fights to add to the daily routine.

"Thursday." If this Saturday was the Baby Shower, then today should be... "Thursday, May twenty-fifth."

It was Thursday, right? Today she had advanced calculus classes, and those were on Wednesday and Thursday morning. The problem was that she wasn't sure if that pattern had been repeated yesterday. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure if she had done certain tasks, such as starting the first summaries for the upcoming history test.

Her mother released her. Her forearm silently thanking it because if Twilight tried to rub it then it would seem that she was exaggerating on purpose.

“Tomorrow is the twenty-fifth, Twilight, today is Wednesday.” As predicted, Velvet left the pink doll on the nearest ledge and decided on the lilac one, but not before sighing heavily. “How late are you staying awake?”

How do you answer a question that you don't know? Because really, Twilight didn't have the slightest idea. Surely it was at dawn, she no longer checked the time on the clock every time she left the shower and entered her room. Showering at the wee hours of the morning was a bad habit, but a habit after all.

"Twilight, I love that you work hard in school, go out with your friends and also decide to follow our steps and do your own research." Oh no. No, no, no. A lecture. "But there’s a world around you."

That was just the beginning of a monologue so long that that lasted even until they left the shop. About why she should stop being so self-absorbed and expect people to follow her rhythm (at this she only chose to look at her mother out of the corner of her eye, just like the cashier at the store did) and why resting hours were important with all the supporting biological arguments.

For a moment, an instant, the rebellious idea of answering her was born. Answer why, how, when and where. She imagined throwing something to the floor as in the movies. She imagined that she was making a catharsis where she shouted so many things that she was left aphonic and some State organism like the police ended up interrupting, and everything ended well as, again, in the movies. But that was nothing more than the product of her imagination, a stupidity, a lie. Reality couldn't become idealized fiction.

And maybe, sometimes, she liked to think that her life routine was normal. However, Twilight liked to think about many things, many lies.

So many, that she didn't even understand what the hell she kept trying if they were going to come down anyway.

Many days later (or weeks, the temporalities only served to receive lectures), at who knows what time of the wee hours of the morning, Sparkle was sitting on her bed of thorns.

Or maybe it was Twilight, to be honest at this point she wasn't sure anymore.

As she wasn't sure if the thorns on her bed were ever as figurative as she pretended to think. Maybe they actually were hands, hands with sharp ends that punctured her body and pierced her organs and--

And she remembered that it hurt. Because the thorns really weren't as fictitious or figurative or, by logic, unreal as she wanted to believe. It really hurt.

Her back was bent but not enough to form a hump, with only a slight curvature of the spine. A... discouraged posture? It sure had a complex technical name that Twilight had surely read in a book, but Sparkle couldn't remember right now.

Twilight was the researcher who lived through scientific paradigms and theories, following the footsteps of her parents. Sparkle liked the arts, philosophy, social sciences. All those things that were opposed to the exact Sciences par excellence and that for her parents, especially her father, were considered banal and stupid. Why make existential proposals when you can always be one step away from a Nobel Prize for research? Well, maybe Sparkle had the right to want to be stupid and banal from time to time, just to annoy. She had the right to be annoying, too.

He was there to her left, at who knows what time of the wee hours of the morning. She wasn't going to raise her head to check the digital clock because then she would see him. And all that Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) wanted, was to see him burn.

Her imagination was enough to calm down a bit. Even if her hearing betrayed her with the catastrophic reality of the sound of the rubbing of garments (made of mostly cotton fibers and probably mixed with an unknown percentage of polyester, nylon, or elastin) when being rearranged.

With her arms glued to her sides to affirm that the sheets hid her bare chest from the cold, Sparkle played to tear the split ends of her hair way-too-horrible and way-too-thin, which would soon become way-too-wet. And that in a matter of minutes it was also going to soak her back, the old t-shirt that she would find in the drawer of the closet, the pillow of her bed of fictional thorns.

Meanwhile, it fell down her back and shoulders in a mediocre attempt to protect her from the cold air of the room, from the unbearable tingling of the spine.

"Are you going to take a shower?"

Why the hell did he always ask her that?!

Inhale. Exhale. Casual. Twilight nodded, still playing to crush the strands of her hair.

She felt a kiss on the top of her head, followed by an affective caress along the shoulders that lasted five seconds of Hell on Earth.

"Alright. It'll help you sleep better, honey."

Twilight Sparkle would dare to give an opinion on that matter the day one of them ended up with a knife buried in their chest.

Inhale.

Exhale

Casual.

"Good night, dad."

The squeak of the third hinge on the door, whose null maintenance was intentional, seemed to make a roar in the palpable silence of the room.

One, two, three, four, five, six... Seven.

Undoubtedly, the little creak of wood on the floor returned to the end of the corridor.

Twilight Sparkle dropped to the thorns, looked at the white ceiling for a few seconds, gave a kind of semicircular turn of one hundred and eighty degrees and then buried her head in the pillow and without further ado shouted.

And she screamed and screamed. Over and over again until her lungs started to burn and she was forced to stop. Stop, to continue unleashing her fury in a torrent of tears that soaked her as if it were the boiling water of the shower, as if it were the hair way too wet and way too thin.

After the screams of catharsis that gave balance to the soul because philosophy did have utility. After wiping the tears and blowing her nose with tissues, Sparkle got close to the edge of the bed. She probed with one arm under it, towards one of the internal sides of the legs. Attached with packing tape there was a paper of many folds, whose real size revealed to be a sheet of a torn notebook. In blue ink and calligraphy similar to her own only clumsier and trembling, appeared a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers.

Once again, as she was sure it had happened many days ago, many nights ago; she sat on the edge of the bed to observe with greater clarity under the light of the night table the writing between her trembling hands.

It was the list that her clone had put together.

It was her way out of the hellish routine of life.

Today was Saturday, June tenth. At some hour in the afternoon, maybe four or five, judging from the sunlight and the singing of the birds on the neighbor's tree.

She knew it from the calendar hanging on top of her bed, against the wall to her right, the past days marked with a cross. The first had been on Thursday, May twenty-fifth. They went with Velvet to the mall in search of clothes for the Baby shower and then, since it was in the same place, to buy a couple of groceries in the supermarket. Twilight stayed in the book section while her mother looked a few things in the linens section when she suddenly surprised her with the blessed calendar. After the lecture the day before, she thought she was going to ask her every morning at breakfast what day it was or something like that.

She even sat down with her to write down important dates or exams. Twilight, in general, had them written on a small separate agenda, which she lately revised with the same frequency with which she went running —never. Therefore it wasn't a bad idea to get up and have a reminder in front of your nose every day. Sometimes her mother worried about playing her role.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure if she had finished the summaries for the History exam, but according to the calendar, it was July eighteen so she had thirty-eight days to study.

Or rather, thirty-seven. Today she wasn't thinking of doing much more than reading a novel or watching documentaries. Or continue looking at the list as she had done the last ten or twenty minutes.

She didn't have the slightest idea why she was doing it; reading the contents of the paper of many folds, over and over again, and again, and again. To the point that Twilight was almost certain she could recite it whole from memory.

Her parents had gone to buy several things at the supermarket since she couldn't accompany her mother. Feeling a bit feverish, if she went outside now, she would likely end up with the flu that would take days to cure. She had to start drying her hair at the wee hours of the morning or at least try to make it as dry as possible. Ending with terminal pneumonia sounded good only in theory.

Therefore, she was alone in her house. No need to worry about noises that could trigger sudden alarms in her system, with a headache that was beginning to subside thanks to the medication that had been given to her an hour and a half ago, and an empty cup of tea on the nightstand. On a Saturday afternoon, with pleasant weather, the singing of birds seeping through the window curtains and a pair of real pajamas made with one hundred percent soft and comfortable cotton like the sheets on the bed.

Sometimes the excuse of being sick wasn't so bad. Only sometimes when there were no thorns to hurt her in the way, when she was alone in her house with a slight fever.

Though technically it was a lie, considering thirty-six degrees didn't qualify in the "sick" category. But would perhaps memorizing a list with a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers count?

At first, it seemed absurd. Things were done a certain way and had to be respected, and it she was already used to the dynamics. And when she reached the legal age, she would do everything possible to move to another place. And many other reasons that at the time didn't finish forming in concrete ideas but roamed the unconscious. However, at first, she didn't know that these places existed; she didn't know there were options, that maybe she didn't have to endure it until eighteen.

She didn't know she could do something.

Even though the idea crossed her mind a thousand times, she had to admit that the consequences scared her. In those ‘what if...?’ In those illusive speculations everything always ended badly for her, not the other way around.

The list gave her too much curiosity. If everything always went wrong, then why would all of this exist? Why did her doppelganger appear with it?

The other Twilight had a fairy tale life (she was going to believe those things the day she could see them, really). Had perfect posture. Had a charisma that everyone loved. Had mental stability and happiness.
Why bother, then? The streets had real names and phone numbers and the websites seemed too elaborate to be fake. It couldn't be a joke.

Maybe, perhaps, at best, she could do something.

Routines were practical, synthetic, structured, simple to follow. As well as they were exhausting. And maybe Twilight was tired, destroyed, sick of always having to repeat the same actions.

Maybe Twilight had the right to want something different.

She had the right to be annoying, too.

A significant number of days later (or weeks, the temporalities were confusing and insignificant at this point), early in the morning, Twilight was sitting at the kitchen table.

One hundred and fifty cubic centimeters of coffee, without any additions of more than fifteen grams of sugar, were contained in a ceramic cup to her left. It was white and simple, devoid of generic drawings or children's caricatures, too boring even to apply a disqualifying adjective.

To her right was the latest issue of a science and technology magazine that had arrived this morning, along with another pair that was specific to her parents' field of work. It always had curious facts or news that were interesting to read to pass the time or encourage research.

Behind Twilight was her mother, concentrating on cooking things with strong smells in the pan to the letter of the recipe or otherwise ‘it would spoil them’. It wasn't as if Twilight was bothered by the silence, it was easier to pretend to be nonexistent if nobody tried to have a conversation with you.

The small, sudden sound of cracking wood seemed to rumble in her ears. The world stopped, just for a second.

However, the percentage of probability that the intentions were transformed into effective results was very low. Most of the things that happened in her life proved it.

Three paragraphs and fifty characters inside the first article of the magazine, she felt a kiss on the top of the head that unleashed the gallop of the heart rate on the eardrums. She still remained undaunted, pretending to be absolutely concentrated on the rest of the sentence but without really understanding its meaning. Her system had transferred the focus around the conversation that was taking place around her, looking for a sign of some anomaly.

"I didn't think you were really going to get up and cook, Vel. Much less scrambled eggs.”

"Before any complaint, don't forget that your friend the toaster isn't going to have a problem listening to you, dear.”

The constant gallop in the ears came down at a slight trot when she noticed that her parents were in their typical good mood where light jokes prevailed. Fortunately Twilight was the only one with a deplorable state of mind, like most of the time.

Usually, the arrival of the new fascicle lifted the spirit, now it only served as a means to isolate herself from social interactions with whom she most detested. She couldn't wait to get to school and exercise her (conditional) freedom as much as possible.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Night Light sit to her left, at the head of the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a medium plate with toast in the other. Her mother took the place in front of her, finishing placing sliced fruits and orange juice on the table in an attempt to imitate the so-called American breakfast.

Velvet said it was a good way to vary, to Twilight it seemed like too much food for two people.

"Aren't you going to eat anything, Twilight?" inquired her father more casually than accusatory. It wasn't the first time that coffee was her only meal. It wouldn't be the last either.

"I don't feel well," she answered, in a way that even to her it seemed too mechanical to be credible.

The back of one hand, invasive, sudden, rested on her forehead for three seconds of insufferable fire. Twilight refrained from making any gestures of discomfort or combing her —now ruined— bangs with her fingers while working to lower the bile at the base of her throat with a sip of coffee. Too bitter.

"You don't have a fever," Night Light commented both skeptically and decisively. She didn't understand why giving the benefit of the doubt if he still would leave her in evidence, she wasn't going to stop hating him for that. "And you already used that excuse last night."

Velvet, with her expressions as subtle as her daughter's animosity could be, sighed in exasperation.

"Twilight, we've had this conversation a thousand times,” she spoke in a tired voice, like someone who doesn't feel like repeating for the umpteenth time the damn speech about why skipping meals was useless and stupid.

Twilight didn't want to hear it either, so before her mother could utter another word, after an annoying and intentional sigh she took a slice of toast and gave it a violent bite. And ignoring the exchange of glances from her parents, she set out to resume reading about the detection of lymphatic vessels in the brain.

If resigning to eat meant that they ignored her for five more minutes, without sudden touchings or useless lectures, then Sparkle would eat the entire table if necessary.

By the time she managed to get to the third article in the magazine, she was already on her way to school, in her father's car. Velvet had the perfect excuse for a meeting on the other side of town. Twilight would have preferred more than a thousand times to take the bus forty-five minutes earlier to arrive almost on the minute the bell rang, but her parents insisted it was an unnecessary expense when possessing two vehicles.

Probably it was, as well as her (conditional) freedom and that's why she wasn't allowed to take public transport to one of the best public schools in the area.

Luckily it wasn't yet seven thirty, so the traffic traveled with the necessary fluidity to reach its destination in approximately twenty-two to twenty-five minutes or even smaller numbers.

All this was made less tedious thanks to the commentators on the radio and their discussions on political, social, or economic topics of the moment. The galloping heartbeat was still there, in its apparent and uncomfortable naturalness, as she tried to process the words written in front of her. Concentrating became increasingly difficult when her entire system was on automatic alert.

"You've been very quiet lately." An ambulance rushed by in the opposite lane, a roar of lights and sharp, repetitive noises in its path. Or maybe it was her unconsciousness. To be honest, she wasn't sure anymore. "I'm not saying that you talk too much..."

...But?

Was it strange? Something bad? What? Since when?

Night Light left the phrase in the air as if that would make Twilight stop pretending to be too concentrated on the same five lines since three minutes ago and deign to give an answer. Even though it was probably a futile and childish fight.

She turned to the next page only to pretend.

The vehicle took a turn to the right, reducing the speed to be in neutral at the traffic light which coincidentally had three different times and seventy seconds.

A sudden, invasive hand landed on her left leg at the start of it, almost over the beginning of the quadriceps; as an unbearable fire that went up through bones and nerve receptors to the spine, to dissipate to the rest of the body in an uncomfortable tingling.

Bile went up through the esophagus to the throat, or maybe it was more than that.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

Twilight put aside the magazine for a moment, to turn her head in his direction and blink as if he had said something very strange but very obvious at the same time. She quickly nodded.

She knew that his intentions were real, she knew that he was really willing to listen to everything she could have to say, that he wasn't going to ignore her. That he would act like a father that came out of a film, unnecessary examples to express clear ideas and cliché phrases included.

However, she was also aware that everything involved a price, one that until today was still paid thanks to the number of times she thought 'what does it matter?’ In which she decided to give the benefit of the doubt and trust.

This wouldn't be one of them.

Twilight looked back at the traffic light, there were still forty-three seconds left.

Forty-two, forty-one, forty, thirty-nine...

"What's wrong, Twi?" Night Light inquired in a tone that reflected genuine concern. "Is someone bothering you at school? Did you fight with one of your friends?"

However, when her father wanted a response from her, he always found a way to get it either by discarding, insisting, or playing the fortune-teller.

Sparkle shook her head again in confusion, somehow surprised at such suggestions. She was about to say some kind of excuse —with a certain percentage of truth— in an attempt to end the conversation, but it wasn't her who was leading it.

"Does it have something to do with something we did, like at breakfast?"

Twilight sealed her lips, looking anywhere but at the origin of the analytical sight on her person; who was also responsible for the uncomfortable tingling in the spine, the seconds of hell on Earth of the moment.

It was a reaction both intended and real because maybe it was one of the (three hundred or two hundred, a long time ago she had stopped counting) reasons why her mood in this last time was more deplorable than usual. She was sick of the talks about why eating was important to human biology. It was always the same lecture with different words about how she was ruining what was already destroyed, and why she should feel guilty about it. At the beginning that had been effective, now she couldn't care less.

Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen...

"I know that your mother can be a bit crude to say things," he started. Twilight kept her eyes wandering between the traffic light and the dashboard of the car. "But her intention is to take care of you; she's worried about seeing you like that. We're both worried about seeing you like that because we love you, Twi."

Seeing her like that how?

A little paler? More ‘scrawny’ as Velvet said, when in fact she only lost a couple of kilos that barely could be seen in the clavicles? Or with hair way too awful and way too thin? Or with scratches in the areas surrounding the bruises? Or with impurities rooted in the skin? Throwing up until she had a stomach devoid of even gastric juices?

Like that? Or how the hell they saw her?

It was the most magnanimous and stupidest lie she had ever heard towards her person. Also the most ridiculously reiterated. It caused a kind of nausea that wasn't easy to put up with.

Six, five, four, three...

Her legs were again her property, as well as the feeling of relief that with each time became increasingly strange. The car returned to the march of the control of changes in first. If she was fortunate —an unusual thing— in less than ten minutes they would arrive at school and the uncomfortable conversations would end for a couple of hours.

Meanwhile, Sparkle offered no response. What did he expect her to tell him? That she loved them too? That now all her problems had disappeared like magic, before illusory words? She had already lost her temper even to try to pretend that she felt some kind of guilt for what she had said. Or to lower her head in embarrassment. Or to do more than look out the window at the sunny day and the enviable unconcern of others.

Surprisingly, Night Light seemed to understand the message and didn't utter a word other than to greet her when they reached their destination as did Twilight. Or maybe he just continued in his role of the person of good mood just to antagonize her. Surely she would find out at night.

About twenty minutes left for the bell to ring, the school was with the doors already open but almost devoid of students. Many chose to wait outside, sitting on the grass of one of the green areas of the school, as if every extra second they spent inside the building would take an hour of their lives.

Twilight somehow felt protected within such an imposing and ancient building, especially in the library. However, her first stop was the bathrooms on the second floor, empty as most of the level, where no one would notice her presence in any of the cubicles to question why she was throwing up the entire breakfast.

With the bile again in its place, with nausea difficult to endure eradicated and that strange feeling of relief of an empty stomach, she went to the sink to soak her face with cold water in order to collect herself a bit of all the tension of the last hour.

She proceeded to look for the toiletry bag with items of personal hygiene inside her backpack, standing out among the books and notebooks for its bright violet color with a golden zip--

She stopped in her tracks. When had she put the city guide in her backpack? A small mental recount of what she had done this morning reminded her that she had decided to bring it with her at the last moment. And if she opened it backward, on the inside of the back cover should be... Aha.

The paper of fourteen folds ("many" was already becoming redundant) was stuck there. With what little remained of the adhesive of the packing tape. Suddenly the reason for carrying both things together in her backpack made such perfect sense that she resisted hitting her head against the porcelain of the sink for forgetting.

With renewed energy, she reached for the toiletry bag, and after brushing her teeth, using a mouthwash, and two peppermints just in case, she headed for the stairs to the third floor. Her first class of the day was advanced calculus: methodical, easy to understand if adequate attention was paid, and no need to wander within a range of answers.

Of course, since there were still fifteen minutes to go before the bell rang, the classroom was totally empty. Added to the fact that the teacher always arrived around three to five minutes late, that gave her a total of eighteen to twenty extra minutes of leisure.

After settling into the third desk located in the first row next to the wall, she quickly accommodated the things she would need for the class. Usually, she would use the time to finish reading some of the articles in the magazine, both to distract herself and not have to start any kind of uncomfortable conversation. Now, with a guide in hand, priorities were different.

Opening the fourteenfold paper (fourteen divided into two was seven, and seven was a lucky number in many cultures) she found a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers in a calligraphy similar to her own but more clumsy and amateurish.

The first address that caught her attention was one whose street was the same one where the bus used to turn the few time she used took it to her old school, only that she had not the slightest idea at what exact number. But it was a good starting point. Her doppelganger had said that they were trustworthy places, right?

With that idea in mind, she set out to look in the city guide. In addition to being more comfortable thanks to the numbering system, the alphabetical orders and the grids, Twilight's phone wasn't the most technological of the time. Her friends always laughed saying it looked more like a brick than a phone because it didn't even have color on the screen. However, it was small for any pocket, comfortable; the battery lasted a whole week, was one hundred percent anti-theft, and fulfilled its function of sending messages and receiving calls almost perfectly. Not to mention that until a few months ago she didn't use it more than to speak with a very limited number of people.

The classroom door creaked and closed in what seemed like a rumble thanks to the echo generated by the silence on the whole floor, it was likely that more people were gathering outside at the entrance. Twilight decided not to pay attention, it was surely another student who arrived early.

And she was forced to do the opposite when, out of the corner of the eye, she noticed Sunset Shimmer take the other seat available on the table.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Good Morning," Twilight answered mechanically while continuing to search for the street address in the alphabetical list of the corresponding county.

Don Trovador... Are the articles taken into account for the alphabetical orders? I never understood that.

A heavy sigh. Tired? Exasperated?

"Sparks, I understand that it bothered you the fact that we had meddled in-- is that the list Twilight gave you? The other one, I mean."

Twilight stopped short, blinking a couple of times.

"...Maybe?" Somehow that sounded more inquisitive than intentional.

Silence. The air seemed a little stiller and heavy.

"...Do you need a hand in knowing how to get to any of the places?" she spoke softly and slowly as if it were an uncomfortable topic. Or it was that in fact most of the students in the class liked to arrive five minutes earlier.

"That's what I'm figuring out." In an attempt of emphasis, Twilight continued looking for the street on the list to find the map number with it.

More silence a couple of other students began to enter the classroom. It wasn't exactly the kind of subject that was going to recruit thirty-five teenagers, though the university carriers created enough interest to reach a solid fifteen.

"You want me to accompany you? It’s no problem." Again, the tone was low enough that no one but Twilight would hear her.

The aforementioned turned her head to observe the redhead completely when she heard that. Sunset held her gaze, showing that she was being honest and that a simple ‘yes’ was enough to make her leave her school activities to accompany her on private life matters. It was strange, that someone would care to help her without having out any personal benefit.

Although if she thought about it, Sunset always did that without any further motive, just like the rest of her friends. They didn't have any obligation to invite her anywhere, and yet they were looking for ways to make her participate in their little get-togethers at which she was allowed to go.

Still, she had the imperious and strange need to do it on her own. Without the help or dependence of anyone else.

"Thanks, Sunset, really. But I think I prefer to go alone." Twilight tried a smile, one that she was sure seemed more like a crooked grin, or at least one that was very uncomfortable. It had been a long time since she smiled, it felt weird.

"Ok. But if you change your mind just tell me, okay?" Sunset nodded without any kind of resentment, which reassured Twilight a little, who knows why.

A couple more minutes passed, and almost fifty percent of the students were already in their respective places. Both of them resumed their activities, Twilight analyzing the bus route to locate exactly at what stop she should get off.

At a quarter to eight o'clock, the bell rang.

When she was already writing down the address in a small pocket notebook, Twilight felt something touch her shoulder.

She looked to her left, Sunset held a small piece of paper between her fingers, folded in half and with irregular edges since it came from her notebook. Twilight looked at it for a moment and then turned her gaze towards the redhead, curious.

"If for some reason you need to stay for a while somewhere, or you just want to talk at five thirty in the morning, there's my address," she explained with her usual lopsided grin. "And I'm sure the girls would offer you the same."

Twilight took it in her hands as if it were secret, valuable information. Indeed, in blue ink and large calligraphy, Sunset’s characteristic neat and rounded, was the address of a department. She watched it closely for a few seconds, with a bit of difficulty as her eyes were blurring. A strange sensation built up in her chest.

This time Twilight felt that the muscles of her jaw naturally moved to form a smile, one she was sure she had not been able to do for a long time, even when she wanted to.

"Thank you.”

It was a natural and genuine smile.

Inhale, exhale, casual.

No, no, not casual. Firm. Serious.

Night Light had gone to a meeting with friends and wouldn't be back until night time. So only her mother and she were alone, for the rest of the afternoon.

This was her chance. The only one at the moment.

In another instance of her life, she probably would have used the time to rest a couple of hours and recover lost sleep. However, lately, she was sleeping worse than usual, if she got around closing her eyes for more than sixty seconds in a row. Besides that there were other priorities in her head.

She had managed to visit a couple of the places that were on the list and investigate a little on her own. One of the tips she was given when asked what she could do, in addition to a complaint with a juvenile lawyer —which she wasn't sure she wanted to do, to be honest, was to tell someone she could trust. To start from there to decide what would be the steps to follow.

Even so, they gave her forms to fill out and pamphlets with protocols and/or useful information in an attempt to convince her, which she ended up keeping and after a selection filter based on the content and discarding the rest. If she got caught, she would get into serious trouble, and the hiding places in her room couldn't hold as many things as it seemed.

Besides, Twilight didn't want to make those scandals that made it on television where journalists piled up outside the courts, she simply wanted to get away. It could be a few thousand kilometers or her brother's house, but far away after all.

This was her chance. And she wasn't sure at all. However, she didn't have the time to prepare mentally, and if she thought about it, Twilight never had the option to do it in many situations. Even when she could, it ended up proving to be in vain. She lost nothing in trying because there was nothing to lose. In the broadest sense of the phrase.

She took a breath, let it go slowly one more time and finally knocked on the open door of the study. Before it was at the back of the living room, but since her brother left they decided to use the space and move it upstairs. The initial plan was actually to move to a more comfortable house, for the third time in four years, until their parents realized how unnecessary it was at the last minute and chose to stay.

Sometimes they had good ideas.

When Velvet answered from the desk, a minute or two had already passed. She had to inherit that total concentration from someone, right?

"What happened, honey?" She didn't even turn around to see her, and Twilight couldn't thank her enough for that. Her mother would probably scold her for biting her nails, claiming that it wasn't behavior for a girl her age. However there was a fairly long list of things that a girl her age shouldn't do and here she was, leaning against the door frame as if she were going to recharge her with energy to talk.

Inhale. Exhale. Come on, firm. What's the worst that could happen?

Twilight inhaled and exhaled for the umpteenth time. There was nothing to lose, in the broadest sense of the phrase.

"...Mom, can I talk to you for a moment?" Her mother had told not to bother her unless it was something urgent since she was preparing to give a conference within the next few days. This went into the emergency classification, right? If there was a hierarchical order it would probably fit into the lowest category, but still qualified. "It's important."

"Do I need to call an ambulance?"

Should she? No, according to the pamphlets it was best to go to the hospital.

"…I don't think so."

"Did you hurt yourself with something, then?"

Twilight blinked, confused.

"No.”

"Do you need a bone marrow transplant?"

What the hell?

"No, but--"

"Then it can wait, Twilight."

She frowned, as if with that she could keep her eyes from clouding against her will.

"B-but--"

"I'm busy, honey. Later."

Twilight had to dig her nails into her palms until her arms shook, had to bite her lip so hard not to say anything stupid. Surely it would leave a mark for the rest of the week, but at this point it would be one of many, not to mention that she had other priorities at the moment. Did her life have to be at risk to get her mother to pay attention to her? Just because Twilight thought it was important didn't count as such?

Her father for his part kept repeating that same speech in a thousand different ways, from the ‘conversation’ that other time in the car. Because he knew that Twilight knew she would end up giving in on telling him what was bothering her. That was what usually happened, past tense. Now she opted for not to answer at all. Nor is it that, in case she wanted to, Twilight could do it. It was like telling the fire to go out and stop burning everything. Stupid, foolish, illogical, incongruous.

As a result, the payments to her debts ended up being a little more annoying, yes, but barely a little. The insufferable ordeal of life remained as usual, the routine remained the same and all those etceteras that made the consequences not matter in the least.

She never understood why her parents always told her that they loved her, that they cared what the hell was going through her head, that they didn't want her to isolate herself in her room all day if then they were going to do things like this. She didn't understand why so much interest in reciting magnanimous lies. Keeping appearances? It was nothing new that they wanted Twilight to introduce herself to the world in a certain way. wasn't it better to tell her, instead of trying a thousand ways to give a lecture?

Twilight wrapped herself with the sheets of her bed. After locking herself in her room with a slam of the door, screaming in the suffocation of the pillow until her lungs burned, and unleashing a torrent of annoyed, frustrated tears. The little positivism was now buried underground, as her spirits and desired to interact with the world. Was it wrong to ask for things to come out as she had expected? Was it wrong to consider something important, even though it might not be?

Was it wrong to want to trust her mother for once?

Maybe if she talked to her brother...

No. She dismissed the idea when she got to his name on the contact list, thumb on the green call button. Shining was working twice to be able to take a few extra days when the baby was born. Cadance was about eight months pregnant and had a date for some number in July. She couldn't disturb him during working hours for trivialities.

With no other option available, suddenly, as if by magic, Social Services didn't seem as scary as before. If she was sent to an orphanage, Twilight could lie saying her parents left her there, period. They didn't have to exist. Surely all her projects and investigations would go to hell, as her friends because she would have to adapt to another school again and who knows if she could meet her future niece. Maybe they would send her somewhere too far and--

And maybe the consequences still gave her a bit of panic. However, it was a matter of investigating her possible options, right? There were several sites and places on the list. If she organized herself well enough to put together a precise plan, she could get to visit them all and elaborate as many hypotheses as necessary to get the best conclusions.

She had to thank her doppelganger someday for looking for so many options knowing that she wouldn't settle for just one. Maybe they did have something in common after all.

With new ideas, disappointments, and mixed feelings in mind, Twilight tried to close her eyes for more than sixty seconds in a row. She could at least make use of the only time her mind was at peace from sudden alerts and try to recover a minimum percentage of lost sleep.

Twilight had too many doubts and ideas in her head, but the only thing she could say that she possessed some kind of certainty of, was that the distance she always had with her family and —in spite of her efforts— her parents, now seemed to become more of a physical demand. She just felt the need to get away, a few thousand kilometers or just around the corner, but to be far away.

Suddenly, Social Services didn't seem as scary as before.

Sparkle had been so lost in temporalities that it didn't matter what date it was. The day did. Her plans had to be carried out on one of the school days. It was almost six in the morning on a Thursday. Or so the clock said on the board of the taxi driver's car and so confirmed the tango radio announcer.

She checked the address once, twice, three times. The numbers and letters captured in all the splendor on the glass portal of the building matched with those written on the paper in large, neat and rounded calligraphy. The street also matched with the post at the corner of the street. Not to mention that the taxi driver should have a minimum sense of location, it was the basis of his work after all. Even so, she still made sure and checked being in the right place two more times with the pocket guide.

She had already arrived here, she couldn't retrace her steps. Sparkle advanced three steps of polished stone (it couldn't be marble, that would be too expensive and too old) she checked the last number with the last letter for one last time and put her finger on the doorbell for five counted seconds.

There was only waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

Sunset had told her she could come at five thirty in the morning, so if it was almost six there would be no problem, wouldn't it? Would she be angry about not telling her beforehand that she was coming? No, no, no. Sparkle had to try, she couldn't retrace her steps. She didn't have enough money to pay for another taxi and even if she did, she was sure that her debt would multiply by two million.

No, correction: it multiplied the minute she stepped out of the house.

It only remained to wait and perhaps pray to some deity with impromptu prayers (since communion and catechism classes had been left behind like exact timing and dates) for Sunset to attend the gate.

So she waited, and waited, and waited.

Until a sleepy voice spoke through the speaker of the doorbell, heavy, confused. "Who is it?"

"Sunset? I'm Twilight, uh, Sparkle." It did sound like Sunset. When she began to mutter nonsensical things the moment someone tried to wake her up from some class too boring.

After a yawn and a ‘coming’, Sparkle stayed again waiting under the gate of a huge building, less than half a block from the main avenue.

One or two people who left the building at that time gave her looks as rare as the taxi driver’s, and once again, Sparkle verified her appearance. She was in real pajamas, covered by a winter jacket because the mid-season ones no longer served against the eight grades at morning, with common sneakers in order to disguise it a little better. And for more comfort or something like that. It had been a while since she remembered what that word meant.

About fifty seconds later Sunset jerked open the front door and it took her two more before she threw herself towards Sparkle.

Any thread of thought was undone when she felt arms that held her with despair. As if she would break, as if she had not seen her in a long time.

It didn't feel like the insufferable fire, it didn't rise through bones, nor through nervous receptors up to the spine, nor dissipated to the rest of the body in an uncomfortable tingling. Sparkle frowned, puzzled. All heat belonging to another living being always translated into her skin as fire. Perhaps it was because she was in that other state. So untidy, so inanimate. Where she had not revived herself with small, burning and bleeding wounds. Where all touch on the skin was nullified by insensibility.

When Sunset released her, she felt a kind of cold that she didn't remember being there, and it was even more unusual. She supposed that doing different things, getting out of a routine, guaranteed to have uneven body sensations.

"Why the tenth?" Sparkle asked when she saw Sunset press the elevator button. She needed to change the subject, whether mental or real. She didn't want Sunset to ask her questions that she wasn't sure how to answer.

The redhead just shrugged, leaning against the mirrored wall.

"It was the last one available. And I love the view, I guess.”

Did you really need so little criteria to rent an apartment? She wanted to get one. One on the other side of the country. Or at least on the other side of the city, that was enough.

Two seconds of almost uncomfortable silence passed until Sunset rubbed her eyes, remembering something.

"Oh! Uh, Twilight's at home." She pointed with her thumb toward the elevator doors. "She's helping me study for the History test on Tuesday."

Ah, the other Twilight Sparkle. The one that came so far that it didn't appear on the maps, the one that lived alone in a castle of made of pure crys...

Wait. Priorities. The Pompous Princess didn't matter now.

"Is there a History test on Tuesday?we a month away?"

Had a month gone by? In which one where they currently in? She remembered to write the dates according to the blackboard in each upper right corner of the page, where it belonged. Not the numbers, the numbers were numbers, they passed again and again combined in the same way.

The elevator doors opened, Sunset stared at her as if she had discovered a malformation on her face but didn't want to tell her. Sparkle went out anyways to wait outside. The corridor looked gloomy without the morning light that had not yet made its presence, but she had gone through worse.

"...I think it's been a little over a month, Sparks." Sunset went ahead and led her to the first door to the right of the left side of the corridor.

Sparkle kept the urge to ask what date it was. Maybe a year had passed and she had not noticed. No, no, in the middle was the summer and the holidays, and it was still cold. They were still in the southern hemisphere, right? Since when did she forget so many stupidly basic things?

Again, the train of thought was interrupted by her friend telling her to feel at home —which she decided to take figuratively— and inviting her to sit wherever she wanted. She was also assaulted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and the other Twilight Sparkle peeked through the doorframe of the kitchen to greet and offer her such a drink.

Sparkle accepted, knowing that she would need as much caffeine as the human organism could resist if she wanted to stay alive for the rest of the day. Though, dying didn't seem like a bad idea.

No, she dismissed it instantly. Priorities.

Five minutes later, both she and Twilight were sitting on the sofa, Sunset on a small bench by the coffee table in front of them. The redhead was stirring her cup with the enthusiasm of a punished child, for having to use powdered milk in the absence of one made of almonds. Twilight looked at her with a small smile, which was well hidden if not for the small shine that Sparkle caught dancing in her eyes.

There were still no signs of the dawn.

"I'm sorry for waking you up,” she murmured, guilt gnawing at a corner of her head from even before she arrived.

In an absurd synchronization, Sunset rolled her eyes in her typical way of saying ‘sometimes you're too much’ and Twilight shook her head, waving her hand as in a sign that it didn't matter.

"Actually, you woke us up from a rather uncomfortable four-hour nap." She rubbed her neck in emphasis. "So don't worry."

Sunset seemed revitalized by such answer.

"Hey! Don’t speak ill of Filomena." The redhead scolded her, waving her spoon in the direction of the victimizer. Who blinked until the caffeine woke her up enough to understand what she was talking about.

"...You named your sofa?" Twilight inquired, her expression blank. Sparkle was sure that both of them must have been doing the same gesture, in those parallel coincidences, because Sunset looked at both of them before shrugging her shoulders as if it were obvious.

"Of course! What kind of person would I be if I didn't name my material objects?"

Two seconds of silence passed.

"A normal one?" Sparkle suggested softly, with the shyness of a girl who suggests some little evil.

Twilight almost choked on the coffee with a laugh, Sparkle hid her own by biting her nails, and Sunset complained about her right to free speech that had nothing to do with anything. Which led to another round of comments without direction, to casual conversations that are held with friends.

It was fun, and Sparkle found herself participating as if nothing had happened, forgetting for a while why it was that she was there. Why she had decided to leave her house in the middle of the night. Why she had been working out a plan for hours. Why debts had been multiplied. Why she felt indecent and impure. Why it would be a good idea to induce terminal pneumonia and die.

Why she was sick of the hellish routine of life.

Maybe the corners of her mouth were a little bit more upwards than normal, maybe she was smiling naturally as it didn't happen long ago. It was fun, forgetting for a second the crappy things of life to chat without measured behaviors and get distracted for a while. In the last time it had been difficult due to the fact that if she wasn't skipping classes, she would sit in automatic mode at lunch with her friends. Or simply her essence wasn't in tune with the real world, with the body, and she had not the slightest idea what she was doing exactly. Like with the temporalities.

Between the cultural conversations, the ping pong of light jokes, the critics to the red head's null home decoration, and endless comings and goings in multiple directions, the day began to sneak through the curtains of the sliding doors of the balcony.

"By the way, Sparks. Why did you decide to come at six in the morning?" Sunset asked, once the casual talking seemed to be over and the coffee that was left in the cups was cold. "It's not that it bothers me, on the contrary, but... uh, something happened?"

Twilight cast a furtive glance at Sunset, who responded with one of the same caliber.

Sparkle used to drink anything in sips as it gave her more satiety than a single drink. But when she went to take one she found that there was nothing left but the bottom.

There was no more coffee, much less time to keep forgetting things.

Pff! Her doppelganger knew perfectly, and therefore Sunset had a pretty clear idea. There wasn't much to hide, much less when she showed up at six in the morning and they still offered her a cup of coffee.

"After we spoke, I’ve been thinking and... I, uh, I decided to investigate," she started, slowly. She didn't feel too secure and it was likely that if she took off the sight of the mug in her hands, she would back out. "I went to several of the centers on the list, read pages, spoke with different people. I even got invited to group talks..."

She had been coordinating the days with the different school subjects so that they didn't influence her attendance. Nor did she lower her grades too much to avoid having any kind of attention call. Somehow it was fun. Getting out of the line, missing classes, arriving home and reading a book, forgetting about essays and tasks even if it was for a moment. Maybe it wasn't the rebelliousness of the movies, but it was she who chose to do it on her own.

"I always... I always do the same. It's always the same damn routine." Sparkle wasn't sure if what was shaking were her hands, or it was the cup because of the force exerted on it. But if it broke she couldn't care less, at this point the wounds were inherent to the skin, the body, the being, everything. "And I hate it. It disgusts me, it makes me nauseous. I didn't choose it. I didn't make it."

She wanted to be able to choose which sciences to study. Wanted to be banal and stupid for as long as possible without worrying about the hour limits or what her tongue would let off. Wanted the bile to stop going up the esophagus to her throat. Wanted the damned rhythm of her heartbeat to stay where it belonged and stop going up to her ears. Wanted to remove the impurities rooted in the skin. Wanted the thorns to stop hurting her again and again- Wanted to stop paying for things that she never asked for and could never afford. Wanted to stop having to scratch the areas surrounding the bruises under the burning water to relieve herself in the pain caused by those small, open, and bleeding wounds. Wanted to sleep without the perceptions and alarms blooming in the skin. She wanted to rest. She wanted to rebuild herself.

She wanted that bright and beautiful future that everyone talked about but had never come to see.

She had the right to want something else, no?

"So I grabbed my things and I took a taxi here. I'm sorry, I know it was bad-timed but I didn't know where else to go and--"

A pair of hands stopped the tremors of hers, equal, in a firm grip but not strong and much less hard.

"Don't apologize for deciding not to continue in a situation you don't feel comfortable in." That strange brightness in Twilight's eyes somehow it comforted her a little. With some truth in them but also like someone who sees in another a lost opportunity. "A part of me wished I had the courage to set foot outside my house without permission."

Was she envying her? For being a coward? For escaping?

"I don't think running away counts as something to value, Twilight."

Sparkle placed the empty cup on the coffee table in front of three of them, then reclined on the sofa. Her body sank between the pillows, and if it weren't for the fact that now her head was riddled with tensions for renewed caffeine, she probably would have fainted on the couch.

"I know that maybe I'm not the best example." Sunset rubbed her neck nervously. "But Twilight's right. I mean, you really have to be convinced to decide that you want something different from what you were taught as correct. And even more convinced to abandon it for what you think is right, or fair. It takes a lot of courage to do that."

In that, perhaps, Sunset was right. It wasn't an easy decision. She hesitated until the very last minute, after investigating who knows how many exact days and taking information from all kinds of sources. Calculating variables, margins of error, possible results...

Everything ended up telling her that the best thing she could do was leave and to hell with everything else.

The conversation ended in some way in that little speech of the redhead. It had encouraged her a little, in some way. It was weird that a couple of words said with emotion in the right place would determine the mood in a positive way, but since it was working she didn't want to question it too much. She supposed that doing different things, getting out of a routine, guaranteed to have uneven sensations.

Or so she thought when her doppelganger spoke again. For some reason, she wasn't as lively as always, looking crestfallen. Or at least with her head tucked into some hidden corner of her own mind.

"What do you plan on doing now?" Twilight inquired softly as if it were a sensitive question. But those were of a totally different kind.

"I read the protocol." So many times that she was sure she could recite it by heart. "...I didn't take a shower."

It took multiple attempts, multiple times until this last time. Where she left the boiling water running until it became the Antarctic thaw. Where she unleashed her fury in a torrent of silent tears. Where she threw up everything eaten at dinner until all she had left was a stomach devoid of even gastric juices since there was no other way to get rid of the nausea.

No, she had not taken a shower. Had not scratched the areas around the bruises until she revived herself with pain caused by those small, bleeding wounds. And the impurities were still there, inherent in the skin as if they were born with the cutaneous tissue of her wounds. Her hair was still way too horrible and way too thin, instead of way too damp. And she was wearing real pajamas, real pajamas covered by a winter jacket because the mid-season ones were no longer useful against the eighth grades in the morning, with common sneakers in order to disguise it a little better.

Sunset and Twilight exchanged a look of alert, of understanding, of implications and meanings that Sparkle wasn't sure what they wanted to convey. But immediately they turned their attention to her, to listen attentively to what she had to say.

She took in as much air her lungs allowed.

Inhale. Exhale. Firm. Serious.

It was already decided.

Definitely, she wasn't going to retrace her steps.

"I want to go to the hospital."

Author's Note

First time posting here. Gosh I'm anxious :rainbowderp:

If you made 'til here, then thank you, it means a lot to me. Don't hesitate on leaving a comment expressing your feelings (If you don't have any then it means I'm missing something here huh :duck: )

Extra 1 - So Many Hearts Overthrown

Twilight had the feeling that leaving home was one of the best decisions she could have made in years. Or maybe in her whole life, it wasn't too long after all.

Now that she thought about it, it could also be the added fact of starting the year in a different school. She always hated Crystal Prep. It was one of those institutions were most students who attended there believed themselves to be superior to others just because they wore a uniform and paid a monthly fee not even too expensive.

It supposedly had something to do with reputation, prestige, and the hypothetical fact that people who had done great things studied there. Along with other excuses to justify the belief of being of high birth, that Twilight cared for about as much as knowing the composition of the bricks with which the building was built (nothing).

The decision to change schools had been made by her parents, who knows why. It surely had to do with cutting down costs, or the pair of school citations they had the previous year, or something like that. The reason wasn't important, but the fact that sometimes they had good ideas. Very few times, that is why Twilight gave them credit when necessary.

Be that as it may, the most important thing of all was that she was out of both places.

The day before when the social worker asked her about a family member or trusted adult with whom she could to stay with, the first (or third) person that came to mind was Celestia. Her parents had a good relationship with her for many years, those where they went out for dinner frequently and if she remembered right, both families had spent one or two holidays together. Until it suddenly ended for a few more years without further explanation. Not that it was her business to know why.

Fortunately on the last period, when Twilight appeared at the school where Celestia was the head of the management team, the relationship seemed to recover by a small percentage. She had Celestia's phone number and on some occasions, the school principal had asked Twilight how she was doing, at brief conversations inside the school.

Even a couple of times, Twilight had come here to have dinner with her brother and Cadance. It was always fun because everyone seemed to be in an environment of full confidence. Where conversations covered all kinds of topics, where one could act more relaxed. It was fun to be able to forget for a second all of the bad things in life, to chat without (so many) measured behaviors and to distract for a while, even when being surrounded by adult people.

Besides, there always was an elaborate cake or ice cream dessert at which Twilight often found herself looking for a thousand excuses as to why it was a good idea to ingest it, no matter how much guilt it might give her later.

Twilight wasn't sure how many days she would stay exactly, having received so much information and instructions about what to do or what was going to happen in a single day. When she woke up this very next morning she found her head totally blank, without being able to recall half of the words.

In fact, she barely remembered the name of her social assistant just because she had come down to greet her a while ago; when she arrived to talk with Celestia about some things and to ask her how she was doing. Contrary to movies and general beliefs (and therefore, her own), the woman seemed quite competent as far as her work was concerned. Explaining with patience what things would be like from now, keeping a prudent distance and being quite friendly. They could add that to the television show where myths are disproved. It would be quite useful.

Twilight didn't have the slightest idea how many days her stay in Celestia's house would last. What she had certainty on, was that it took fifteen steps from the beginning of the stairs to reach the door of the room where she was in, the last one at the end of the hall.

Of course she had measured and counted them the night before, and she also did the same with calculating the distance between all the bedrooms. She had to, she had done it in all her previous houses and by logic, this one wouldn't fall into any kind of exception to the rule. In the same sense, Twilight was caught in the need to check for a characteristic noise at the door of the room, such as the creak of a hinge, or a metallic noise inside the lock, or a harder-than-normal knob. Fortunately, the latter turned out to be one of those that you have to turn, with a button in the middle to lock the door from inside. So if someone tried to enter by any possible method, she would hear them.

Someone without context would surely classify it as a "bad habit". Twilight preferred to call it for what it was: security measures to know when her system should be on alert. Not that it was too necessary to have the guard up, her parents weren't supposed to have Celestia's address, but better to be safe than have another visit to the hospital.

Be that as it may, her calculations proved correct, when after fifteen steps the shadow of a figure could be seen in front of her door. As always, Twilight had lost concentration in the book in her hands to direct it towards the footsteps, its pace and direction. The floor in the hall was placed with a different technique from that of her (old?) house, so the sound could be heard a little more hollow and lighter, to her fortune.

The figure took a couple of minutes to slowly knock on the door. Twilight had a vague idea of who it might be, judging by the knocking and certain tones of voice on the main floor that had manifested a while ago.

"Twily? I'm Shining, can I come in?"

As supposed, it was her brother on the other side of the door. It took her no more than two seconds to give him an affirmative answer while she was about to sit cross-legged and use the headboard of the bed as a backrest. Twilight rearranged the pillow too so that her back wouldn't suffer so much against the wood. Otherwise, she would end up humping it too much and the current contractures were more than enough.

Shining greeted her with a smile that couldn't completely disguise his search for an anomaly, for something different that might be present in Twilight's structure but completely invisible to the untrained eye. Something that needed higher, more secret, more important knowledge.

"Good... Uh, afternoon? I don't even know what time it is." She greeted back, with the same (pretended, almost) casualty as always. This time didn't have to be an exception, however unmotivating it might be the reason for his visit. Twilight didn't want to encourage any kind of conversation other than banal or light.

"It's almost four thirty, Sleeping Ugly.” She frowned when Shining disheveled her bangs, just to annoy her. "What happened to the watch you had the other time?"

Twilight responded to the gesture by squinting. Whoever touched her hair deserved at least an irritated look as an answer. Before, it would have annoyed her more the fact that she had to comb the hairstyle she was using at that moment again perfectly, which took more work than it seemed. However, now that she had become accustomed to keeping the hair loose, it was enough to brush it a little with her fingers so that it could return to its natural form. Too many years with tied hair thanks to school rules or personal excuses led to the point where a simple ponytail hurt the scalp. Not to mention that some time ago her mother obliged her to retouch it at the hair salon and, without six inches of split ends it looked more beautiful and shiny. Though it was still way too thin and therefore detestable.

"The watch band broke." The watch was back in the house, probably in the small trash can of her (old?) room if her mother had not yet thought of emptying its contents. She ruined it completely, during one of her usual showers at the wee hours of the morning when she forgot to take it off for having her head focused on the right priorities. Still, Twilight used it to check the time as much as she watched the calendar on the wall of her old bedroom (from time to time), so it wasn't too important of an object. But if Twilight could avoid a lecture from her brother about her bad habits, so be it. "I still couldn't change it. Anyways, I forgot it at home, so..."

Twilight chose to shrug rather than finish the sentence. As often, the tongue betrayed the rhythm of thought, cornering her against the figurative corner with the name of 'straight to the point'. Maybe her unconscious wanted to end this thing once and for all, rather than going around in circles. Or maybe she was just too exhausted in every possible way to be able to think coherently enough.

Shining seemed to understand it as a supposed invitation to stop wasting time on unnecessary introductions. He decided not to comment on the damned watch with anything else than a nod, if a little surprised. He immediately fell into that neutral expression of deep thinking of one who is actually locked in an internal debate. Probably about how to face certain things.

Twilight hated that Shining sometimes took so long looking for the best possible words to use. But at the same time, she had to admit that it caused her some tenderness, given that he took the trouble to make her feel as comfortable as possible. The same happened with spaces; always an arm's length away. Or as now, sitting on the far end of the bed while she was at the beginning, twisting the edge of the sheets nervously.

She needed one of those diet chewing gums with more of a toothpaste flavor than eucalyptus with urgency, or perhaps the peppermints were a better option. Twilight surely had some in her backpack where she decided to keep her most important belongings, on the desk chair, but she didn't want to get up to look for them. She also didn't want a possible lecture on why she shouldn’t indulge in that edible garbage. A thing that couldn't be denied in case she was accused of. Since yes, those things had too many additives. At least they gave good breath, which was quite important at the time of introducing oneself to--

A sigh. One that she didn't know exactly how to take.

“...I guess you must know why I'm here, right?”

Twilight looked from one corner of the room to the other, where her brother took up the field of vision. It wasn't too big, but it was small and comfortable. Bright too.

"I assume that my social worker called you to explain why I decided to leave home." The words came out quicker than she meant. Though she tried to keep her upright posture as if she had made a good decision (if the other Twilight looked like that with so little effort, it was likely that she would too, right?).

She had to stand firm, convinced beyond the opinion Shining could possibly have. Twilight wasn't going back anywhere.

She wanted to rest. She wanted to rebuild herself.

One day away from home proved to be enough to understand that there, she wouldn't achieve anything different. Her opinion didn't matter to her parents, nor did it matter how she felt, or what the hell was going through her mind, or if she isolated herself in her room all day. Twilight wasn't sure if they loved her as much as they claimed, if she had been forced into that damn routine she hated with every fiber of her being.

She had, then, the right to want something different, right?

Another sigh, like someone on the sly. Or maybe Twilight knew her brother too well and that allowed her to have a more accurate idea of what he might be thinking.

"Twily, I want you to be honest with what I'm going to ask, okay?" She had never seen Shining so serious and nervous at the same time. Not even at his wedding where he was nothing more than a ball of nerves and anxiety, which translated to adjusting his suit over again and over again in front of the mirror. Now Shining seemed to be forcing himself to say words that he didn't really want to, but that responsibility forced him to. "Was it really... was it really dad who... who took advantage of you?"

Sparkle felt her heart stop for a second. Or maybe it was her breathing. Or her whole system. Or everything altogether. She wasn't sure anymore of anything but that the world stopped for a moment. Just like when the steps turned out to be seven. It was a lucky number in many cultures. In her life, it was synonymous with hell.

Take advantage of...?

…What?

No, no, it was an implicit agreement where--

Where she always lost, for some reason.

Be useful once and think, Twilight. What's the definition of that word?

It's a transitive verb, ok. Sparkle had no idea what that meant and it wasn't relevant to the case either, but the visual memory of when she read the dictionary as a little girl didn't fail. To get the most benefit out of a thing or a situation, right? The greatest personal benefit.

Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) always ended up losing, even if they told her otherwise. She always ended up without sleep. Or receiving a lecture on what she was doing wrong. Or if she failed a subject at school then the scolding went towards her person. Or losing the peak of good manners that was punctuality. Or with some superficial damage on the cutaneous tissue. Or simply ended up tired, destroyed, sick of always repeating the same actions.

And everything for what? To have a roof over her head and a bed to sleep on? To live with a deplorable state of mind for never fulfilling damned expectations?

The ghost of Social Services wasn't as terrifying as always portrayed. "You had to fear the living, not the dead" Velvet used to say.

"You're not giving me an answer, Twily."

Twilight blinked, coming out of the sudden self-absorption. She was twisting the edge of the bed sheets so tightly between her hands that even her arms were trembling.

"...I guess it's one way of describing it..." Twilight murmured slowly. Like she had been put into a conversation suddenly and with a minimal context.

"There is no other way, Twi," Shining spoke under his breath, and Twilight realized that she wasn't the only one with trembling hands and fogged eyes. Her brother had his eyes focused on some imaginary point, like someone who had a certain kind of suspicion. And at the same time, he looked so overwhelmed that he couldn't have a concrete reaction, as if he had too many emotions spinning in his head.

The only memory she had of ever seeing him like that, was when their maternal grandfather died. Twilight was about five years old at the time. If her memory didn't fail, she was the only one in her class who could read and even write several words, and the smock was as green and uncomfortable as the color of the room, the last one before elementary school.

Twilight remembered herself more confused than sad, after being told her grandfather had gone up there, to a place beyond the clouds where everyone would inevitably end up one day. She remembered looking at the fishes swimming in the small lake of the funeral home, her father telling her which was which and what were the differences between them. A distracting attempt from the anguish that vigils meant. Or maybe it was due to the fact that she was asking too many questions.

She remembered dragging Shining to that same small lake, to tell him what she had learned five minutes ago in an effort to cheer him up. Twilight knew that he and his grandfather were pretty close, they always went fishing together, while she stayed with her grandmother playing with the clams on the riverbank.

And in spite of the fact that one or two foreign tears fell, which were quickly wiped off because a good man didn't shed tears in front of anyone but himself (and if he did it in front of his sister, she kept the secret). Even though his eyes were fogged and red, he still took it upon himself to listen to her and smile at her when she talked about the fishes. Or to laugh when she confused the names. Or to dishevel her hair, only to annoy her.

Shining could be devastated, and yet he would take the time to look for the best words, the trouble of giving Twilight her own space so that she felt as comfortable as possible. He would still smile at her, just to not make her feel bad.

However now the only thing that it caused was the opposite. He wouldn't be like this if she had not opened her mouth. If she had not gone to the hospital. If she had not run away from home. If she had not visited the centers. If she had not investigated. If she had not taken the damn paper.

But Twilight had the right to want something different. Though she couldn't help feeling like the source of all evil, like Pandora the imbecile who opened the box only because of her insatiable and morbid curiosity. She would have to live with the guilt, she supposed.

Suddenly, Twilight felt fire.

And it felt strange. The flames didn't seem to have an origin in her insides, nor in her useless and destroyed soul, nor did it melt the organs or turn the bones into fiery embers. The fire was external, from the air around her. It climbed from the base of the spine to the back of her neck, to her hair way-too-thin and way-too-soft but still way too detestable. It scorched her skin, wrapped her torso with such heat that it made her hair stand on end from the chills.

"I'm sorry, Twily. I'm so sorry..."

Shining was hugging her, with all the firmness and care with which one holds a small infant, with whom one carries a box with a 'fragile' sign printed on top. With the desperation and the fear that at any minimally rough or measured movement she would break.

Sunset had done something similar the previous day when she saw her at the door of her building, almost at six in the morning. And, though Twilight at that moment was with a thick layer of insensitivity on top, it was enough (before, and now, in fact) to realize that she hated it. Or that at the very least it gave her certain sense of rejection.

What do you do when you break a glass? Whether glass or crystal, the only action to be done is to collect the pieces to throw them away. The only care you have is not to hurt your own fingers, the object is already broken and therefore it does not matter if it breaks even more in the process. It is useless.

"I should have listened when you asked me if you could come and live with me and Cady."

Hearing that somehow made Sparkle react, or maybe it was Twilight, she didn't know if it was even relevant. The point was that she was still squeezing the sheets between her hands, stuck to the ribs.

Sparkle didn't return hugs, Twilight might consider it if the moon turned blue. Would the other Twilight hug people? She had never seen her do it, either.

However, that was on the second (or fifth) category of her mental list of priorities. Time to go back to the ones in first place.

She had to search the deep corners of her memory until she found the moment when she said such thing.

"Shiny, that was years ago." Twilight was twelve, judging by the fact that her first year of high school, the house was a place of constant tension. Not only because of her brother and the alleged wrong decisions he had made about his life, those were common fights since Twilight was at least eight. But because she had also decided to put in her two cents with frightening grades.

It could be said that it was strange for the fact that Twilight had always been, according to her teachers, a 'star student'. Hoarding all existing mentions in terms of best GPA referred to and ending with burnt ears from the typical subsequent wordiness about her merits in the school system. Sometimes, yes, it helped to inflate the ego a bit. But usually she didn't like to draw so much attention. Twilight had always been very curious and liked to learn about everything that crossed her sight.

However, high school was a bit more different. For some it was more demanding, for others it meant a new world where the real social events occurred. For Twilight it was a place to study according to the orientation her parents chose for her. At that time she couldn't say it bothered her, given that the careers she had as an option were interesting. A part of her still considered them.

But like everything, there are certain things, certain opinions, certain feelings, that change over time. She wasn't sure exactly if that happened before or after as some memories were better buried. Only that within that period, her life became different.

Very different, in fact.

And suddenly it was more fun to recover lost sleep hours in class without caring in the least if she failed a subject before having to, well, approve it with a radiant ten. Sometimes she would also read a book, and/or pay attention to the subjects that awakened her interest, or where she had already rested enough to concentrate, which represented a very low percentage in the totality.

Her parents didn't take long in announcing their discontent, she soon continued without paying attention to them to seclude herself in her room the whole summer to study. And so the story repeated itself until the middle of the following year. After winter break, they decided that maybe attending the land of pompous people that was Crystal Prep would be a good idea. To raise her grades to radiant tens again? Yes. Everything else? Even more detestable.

"Plus, you and I know that it was quite impossible. And nothing would have changed." Twilight found herself muttering that last sentence, in an attempt to keep her brother from listening.

In the midst of the tensions, the changes, the lectures, the school citations, the constant fights, Twilight had asked her brother if there would be any chance of moving in with him. The answer, by logic, was negative. It had to do with how much everything would complicate, rather than lack of will.

What she could clearly remember was the promise Shining had made at that moment, of helping her leave as quickly as possible when she reached the age of majority or was close enough to it. That had been etched in her head as a permanent plan for the future.

"What do you mean, it wouldn't have changed anything?" Twilight apparently had not talked as muffled as she thought, or maybe Shining had better hearing than her sister gave him the credit.

"I mean what I mean, Shining." Again, she looked at the other corner of the room, at the backpack on the desk chair. She needed one of those diet chewing gums with more of a toothpaste flavor than eucalyptus with urgency, or maybe some peppermints were a better option. In any case, Twilight didn't want to get up to look for either of them. She didn't want a lecture on why that edible garbage was bad because of the number of additives it possessed.

Actually, it may not be a bad idea, if it redirected the conversation...

"Twily, how... how long has this happened?" Her brother seemed more uncomfortable than she could ever be. And the blame kept burning her body, scorching her skin, turning the bones into glowing embers from the inside out, from the outside to the inside.

How do you answer a question that you don't know? Because really, Twilight didn't have the slightest idea.

"Does it even matter?"

Or maybe, in some dark, unknown corner of her mind was the answer. Somewhere, hidden, it sure would be the first sin with a luxury of details intoxicated with cynicism. Because there are certain things, certain opinions, certain feelings that can never be buried or forgotten, even if blocked and pretended to be extinct.

"It’s my fault anyway." Twilight heard her own voice break and had to blink a couple of times to clarify the sight of the distorted shapes at the sudden hydration that the lacrimal glands exerted on her corneas. It was strange, somehow she was subjected to the impertinent introspections and the hypersensitivity of the skin while trying to get back in tune with what was going on around her. "God, we shouldn't be having this conversation."

However, Twilight really, really didn't want to know anything. If there was something that she always wanted to remain ignorant about, it was that. But no. There went Twilight, there went Pandora to open the box with her insatiable and morbid curiosity to unleash all the evils on the world, on her family, on her brother, on all those around her, on herself.

"Twi, it's not your fault." Shining's voice sounded soft and careful, steady, close to her ear. She felt the fire subside a little, or perhaps it had already melted with her own body temperature and it now felt more welcoming than burning. In any case, she snuggled closer to the form that wrapped her.

"Yes, it is, Shiny." That didn't mean she would stop feeling guilty. If the current torrent of tears gave any kind of clue.

"No, it's not."

Twilight frowned, annoyed.

"It is." Could they not talk like the adults they were?

"No, Twilight." Before she could deliver some kind of discontentment onomatopoeia and oppose him in a childish way no matter how hypocritical, she felt her brother take her firmly by the shoulders. At this point, Twilight felt the body as firm as jelly and not even the pain in the back could keep her straight. With enough distance to be face to face, to feel a kind of cold that she didn't remember was there before. "You don't have to take charge of things that aren't your responsibility."

"But it feels like it... You're here because of me, aren't you?" Twilight couldn't look at Shining in the face for more than three seconds, as much as she wanted to. So she settled down to look for a box of tissues around the room. It wasn't too big, but it was small and comfortable; it was bright too.

"I'm here because I care what happens to you, Twily. Whether it's good, bad, or doesn't even make sense to you." She didn't know if she was being too obvious, or Shining knew her enough to know what she needed. But he started searching in his pockets until he found a pair of tissues. Probably both. She knew that her brother had a handkerchief, too, and Twilight hated handkerchiefs. "I'm always here for whatever you need me for."

Shining Armor was capable of speaking to her with such great conviction that even sometimes, as children, he had (almost, almost) convinced her of absurd things like an object was blue when it actually looked yellow. But those were typical sibling things. Twilight had never been a saint, either, as far as annoying him was concerned. And now, except for a few exceptions where they once again pretended to be kids, Shining only did so when he spoke seriously when his words were as genuine as his good intentions.

Twilight couldn't look at his face for more than three seconds in a row, so she glanced at him while blowing her nose. Just to verify the authenticity of his words. Only to calm those little bubbles of doubt about his intentions, that exploded when she saw his exhausted appearance from working extra shifts to be able to dedicate himself to his future daughter.

It was impossible to not feel the blame continuing to scorch her skin, to turn the bones into glowing embers from the inside out, from the outside to the inside. Shining was here, now, trying to cheer her up even though he knew that Twilight was too stubborn sometimes. Bothering to make her feel comfortable, without hesitating for a moment of her story. He always believed more in her words than in that of their parents. Twilight never understood the exact reason, but supposed it had to do with the record of tensions and arguments her brother had with them.

Sparkle didn't return hugs, Twilight might consider it when the moon turned blue. She still decided to fight against any chill, discomfort, or fire, comes the case, that any contact with another living being could make and embrace Shining with all the strength that her sore muscles allowed. The lacrimal glands hydrated her corneas way too much again. Yet a strange sensation, more welcoming and a million times more comforting than the blame or the outer burning fire accumulated in her chest.

"You are the best brother I could ever ask for. You know that, right?"

Maybe today the moon would end with a burst of colors.

Author's Note

You can click here for a brief explanation of what is this and my future plans for this story.

Extra 2 - I Wish I Could Turn the Hands of Time, and All That I Lost Could Be Mine

Twilight got off the bus on North Canterlot's main avenue, at twenty-one minutes past three in the afternoon on a Wednesday, January tenth. Not without instantly hating the heat wave with which she was recieved, after traveling with the A/C on.

Her destination was two and a half blocks from where she stood, and with seven extra minutes, Twilight was sure that at a calm pace she would have a couple left to spare. However, the small, imperious need to be extremely punctual required her to walk as quickly as possible. Both to the destination and to any minimal piece of shade existed. Not even with a summer dress and sandals, was it possible to escape from the high temperatures that the sidewalk steamed off, like small snakes willing to wrap everything in fire.

Twilight breathed in at three twenty-six. Two seconds before confirming that it was the right street and the correct address number. As announced by the small plaque on the house, the post at the corner of the street and the note in her little notebook in a calligraphy that, according to her, was becoming neater.

The house was a standard size for those surrounding the area. Not as small and narrow as those tiny duplexes, nor so excessively large to occupy a whole block quarter. With walls in meticulous white, wooden doors in bright varnish, a small front garden with well-maintained and colorful flowers, two floors and a garage. It may not be the standard housing of the average population, on the contrary, but given the context, Twilight couldn't say she was surprised.

The last time she stepped into that house, had been six months ago, leaving it with a mixture of feelings that she really didn't know how to describe. A whirlwind would be, in the most simplistic and cliché of cases, the best way to name them.

Breathing out again, Twilight wiped the sweat from her forehead and the nape of her neck with a tissue. She shook invisible dust particles from the skirt of her dress, made sure that the latter was in correct position on her shoulders; reaffirmed the clasp on that impromptu bun she had tied her hair into because of the unbearable heat, straightened her back and finally rung the doorbell of the entrance gate — also white in coordination with the general aesthetic.

At... Twenty-nine minutes past three. Perfect.

She wasn't counting the seconds, no, no. She had no reason to do so if she focused on having an idea of how many minutes passed in order to arrive on time.

Twilight didn't understand the exact reason for the need to look as presentable as possible. Or maybe, if she was honest with herself, she was so aware that it was her head thinking at two thousand kilometers per hour, forming theories and speculations, that wanting to have a notion of control over the stupidest things possible proved to be an attempt of distraction. The best of all, in fact. To her already worn misfortune by the things of life.

Speaking of punctuality, after one or two minutes of sudden self-absorption, a very familiar someone spied through the curtains of the window on the ground floor. And within the next few seconds, Twilight could hear clearly the keys operating on the front door.

It had been at least three or four months since she last saw Sparkle. They didn't tend to cross paths too much, even though they shared the same group of friends on this side of the mirror. Each had a life to take care of and, apparently, very different schedules. Not to mention that Twilight tried to visit whenever she could, but it wasn't necessarily often.

Sparkle was still as thin as always, however it now seemed more like a product of an accelerated metabolism rather than of her own will (though Twilight sure was at least one extra size for several reasons. Recent holidays included). Blue-jean shorts with a high cut, along with a gray T-shirt with short white lace sleeves were a positive contrast to the kind of clothes she had always seen her wear. Her loose hair that reached her chest also suited her well.

Sparkle received her with a much more calm and sincere smile than the one that she could have dedicated to her six —or ten, for that matter— months ago. Twilight answered with an enthusiastic one, before exchanging more or less formal greetings and starting a conversation about how detestable high temperatures were with its humid climates and the salvation that meant the great invention of the air conditioners.

Once inside, Twilight felt her shoulders relax a little. The girl in front of her looked different, she looked better, more radiant, more alive. With less noticeable dark circles and a naturally straight back. Like someone who had decided to remove a portion of the weight they were carrying.

Like Twilight when she realized that there were things that wouldn't happen again. That, even if the demands remained the same, the boundaries and consequences were different.

Everything was still in the same place she remembered from the first and last time she visited. Same furniture, same tidiness and general order that was always welcome to invade her visual field. Same giant library in the living room that revived the childhood curiosity Twilight forced herself to repress before she ended up diverting in that direction.

"You drink coffee?" Sparkle asked once they were settled in the kitchen. She had a measuring spoon in one hand and a jar of said ground beans in the other, like she knew what her response would be.

"Yes, thank you." Twilight could be engulfed in the endless flames of Tartarus' infernal heat, and even then coffee would be her first choice in the face of any sentence.

A minute or two passed in which neither spoke. Sparkle concentrated taking as accurate measures as possible to place them in the coffee maker, turning her back for a moment to Twilight. Who simply dedicated herself to observe what the other girl was doing and to enjoy a silence that, given by itself, wasn't uncomfortable at all.

Until she noticed the scars on the forearms of her human counterpart and felt her smile fade along with the barrier with which she had been able to stop speculations, anxieties, and fears.

They were small, from the last third of the forearm to the elbow. Thin, with small spaces between them, as if they had formed an entire line before. In a lighter color than her skin tone without shouting their presence, but still visible, still evident. And then Twilight realized her own hands were pulling down the skirt of her dress, trying to cover as much skin as possible with sudden self-consciousness.

"So, uh... How are you doing?" Twilight decided to cut the silence and start a conversation. Before the air got heavy or her head went to places where she definitely didn't want to be. "You decided to stay here, at the end?"

Sparkle nodded, taking two clean cups from the cupboard.

"The judge gave my custody to Celestia, actually. She preferred me to stay with the adult I went to than with another male relative." She rinsed them with a little dish soap and water, then dried them with a dishcloth each. For the contamination and/or reproduction of bacteria that were totally benign, but that still created a certain degree of paranoia that was better to get rid of. "And, in December, I managed to pass six out of the eleven subjects I failed, so I hope to do the same with the remaining five in February —You drink white coffee, right?"

It took three seconds and a blink for Twilight to understand that she had been asked a question.

"Oh! Uh... yeah. And without sugar, thanks."

Sparkle took more exact measurements, before applying almost-perfect portions of milk to each of the coffees and bringing them to the table.

"I babysit my niece whenever I can... I don’t know, the usual, I guess" she summarized, pausing to take a sip of her drink. The other girl tried to process everything she had heard to make some kind of comment. That was how conversations worked, right? "And you? How's your life, Princess?"

Twilight rolled her eyes at the unnecessary title. Sparkle knew perfectly well how much she hated it, judging from the small, well-concealed smile. It was a friendly way to bother her — now, at least — and to keep the conversation going before they got stuck on a subject that, evidently, she didn't really want to address too much.

"Returning to stability for the umpteenth time, I suppose." Something always, always happened that took her out of the place where she began to feel comfortable. So much so, that Twilight no longer knew if she was the problem entirely or just a very good magnet for that kind of thing. "We recently reached a year with Sunset, I was able to have a conversation with Velvet without it ending badly, and for now work isn’t so heavy, thankfully."

"Velvet? You call your mother by her name?" asked Sparkle, blinking with what seemed a genuine curiosity.

Twilight nodded. She was used to the fact that whenever that escaped her mouth around someone who didn't know her much, they ended up doing the typical out of place questions. In general, she argued that it was nothing more than a name. Shrugging to minimize the importance and indicate in a subtle way that it was nothing of their incumbency obviously included. Act that she repeated now, not wanting to inquire too much into the subject.

"She never took care of me as such. I don't know if she didn't know how, or just didn't want to." With her counterpart, it was impossible to lie to one another. They could try it, they could give it to understand that it was a topic to be evaded or a subject to be discussed later, but they always found that something that gave them away, something that only they could identify as mere façade. There was no point in lying to the only person who could understand what she meant by that, anyway. "I guess both."

Instead of frowning at the commentary overloaded with cynicism, Sparkle stared at her own ceramic mug with generic flowers, seemingly immersed in her own reflections. Twilight took a conscious gulp of her coffee for the first time, trying to appease the growing anxiety.

"I should start implementing it..." murmured the girl in front of her about fifteen seconds later, turning her gaze again to another non-existent point on the table.

It took Twilight another two seconds to understand what she was talking about. When she was able to connect the pieces in relation to what she had heard less than five minutes ago but that, nevertheless, she was only now able to understand.

"They... They took your custody away from your mother?" she asked slowly. Maybe it was a little late for that, though it wasn't like Sparkle gave her a chance to ask before.

The aforementioned nodded with some shyness. Did Twilight sound too disbelieving despite her efforts to use the right tone? Though she supposed that it shouldn't be an easy subject. As far as she knew, physical and/or legal custody could be lost or passed on to one of the parents in a divorce or similar cases. It wasn't irreversible as the patria potestad, that one required a much longer and complex trial, but for it to be taken away from her mother, there had to be a very good reason. One that Twilight wasn't sure she wanted to hear.

"She went to pick me up at school once, saying she wanted us to talk. I didn't think it was too stupid, that she wanted to listen to me for the first time in her life." Sparkle told it in a low and decisive tone, like a bad anecdote, a disappointing anecdote. Where expectations proved too high, or useless, or illusory. It was palpable in the air, noticeable in the brightness of her eyes that, once again, set in the varnish of the table; visible in the restrained tension of the shoulders. "The point is, when we got to the house, turns out my… turns out that my dad was also there. I have a restraining order against him."

Naturally, that last sentence was followed by a horrible silence.

Twilight felt a familiar and uncomfortable tingling in her spine. One which she had never lost the habit, one that stole her body heat to the point that she had to wrap her hands around the cup in an attempt to stop their tremor.

Sparkle seemed to notice the reaction she was producing and immediately clarified that nothing had happened to her, that she tried all the time to keep as much distance as possible.

"They just wanted to chat and reach an agreement. To be honest, I don't know and I don't care," she added, with a heavy sigh. "There are more legal ways."

Twilight could only nod, going along. There was something that didn't add up, that told her Sparkle wasn't being completely honest, or that at least she was keeping important details. However, she decided not to dig deeper and drown the bitter taste of bad sensations in caffeine.

After all, she couldn't say she was surprised, no matter how much she hated to admit it. Her mother would have done the same, or worse.

"Wanna eat something? Sorry I didn't offer you before," asked her counterpart suddenly, standing up. To cut the tension and fictional silence, supposed Twilight. "There's apple cake."

"You know I can't refuse." She accepted, with the best casual attitude she could achieve. It wasn't ideal if Twilight took into account all the sweet things she was eating lately. But better kill anxiety with a good dose of sugar than drown in it.

Two minutes later, they found themselves opposite to each other. Each with a medium-sized plate of pale beige ceramic, a fork that was certainly not silver but looked like it, and a slice of homemade apple cake. Twilight couldn't help but notice that Sparkle's slice was barely a third of the standard size, unlike the one given to her. However, she refrained from making any comments. It wasn't her place, she couldn't meddle in her life more than she had already. Besides, she was ingesting something else besides black coffee, right? That was an improvement, at least.

"It's really good." Twilight decided to swallow the worry before it resurfaced completely and changed the subject. "Did you bake it?"

"If peeling and cutting the apples counts, then yes." Sparkle commented with a small smile. "Celestia made it, she loves to cook sweet things. I'm more of a salt person."

"You get along with her, don't you?"

"She's like..." Sparkle began to make circles in the air with her fork, searching for the words that suited her idea best. "Like that aunt that you wish would be your mother or something like that."

"I know the feeling." Twilight felt the corners of her own lips rise. Princess Celestia was the one who had always been there for her. Be it offering her a cup of tea at the end of their lessons when the frustration over some failed spell was too much, or when stress and fatigue fell like lead on her shoulders. Many other times, Twilight had also accompanied her at tea time just to chat, always returning home with something to reflect on. "It's good to have someone like that."

"I guess,” she commented, cutting her slice into equal parts. "At least I don't have to put up with lectures if I do something in a way she doesn’t like."

Well, there went the attempt for a more casual and positive conversation.

In her particular case, Twilight's parents hadn’t been strict. Of course, there were schedules and norms that had to be respected, tasks to fulfill and responsibilities to carry out on the daily basis of the — apparent — family normality. It was more of a structured organization, rather than strict. Her father used to be quite permissive, beyond the fact the everything had an implicit cost to pay and his authority came from it. Her mother was the opposite, sometimes she wouldn't give her the time of day and would send her over to her father or brother. Others, she was so over everything Twilight did to the point of annoyance. At least it was a sign that her mother cared, right?

And Shining, being ten years older, was always the balance between the two. The closest thing to a healthy parent figure. Several times he had made better decisions than any of their parents. Shining was the only one with whom she could say she got along with greatly and that she adored with her soul.

Twilight didn't realize that the conversation was over, each of them occupied with what they had in front of them. Until Sparkle decided to pick it up again.

"Speaking of parental figures and all that, can I... ask you something?" The aforementioned stopped short, her fork with a piece of dessert suspended in the air for a second. Twilight made a sound of affirmation before resuming her activity as calmly as possible. If Sparkle was asking for permission, it was likely to be something sensitive. "It's going to sound weird, but, how... did your father die? If it's too personal pretend I didn’t say anything, really."

There was a genuine curiosity in the tone, still trying to be as sensitive as the subject would allow. Twilight exhaled air through her nose before sipping coffee to lower the food and respond more clearly.

Her father’s death wasn't something she had trouble talking about. Not only had it been of public knowledge at the time, being a recognized figure in his field of work, but it had also happened a long time ago. And it was difficult to stay with any feelings, given the events.

"As an astronomer, he worked at the Canterlot Research Center studying the influence of celestial bodies on living beings. At that time he was in a joint investigation on how the moon cycles affected the venom mortality in a scorpion, that if I'm not mistaken, was becoming an epidemic in Saddle Arabia." Twilight remembered that, as a child, adults used to burn her ears off with compliments about how helpful and great his job was to society. She also remembered nodding her head or keeping quiet until they stopped talking. If he was so nice, who would believe her if she said the opposite? "I don't know how it happened, only that he came in contact with the venom and, uh, they found him in the lab, the next day."

At that point, Twilight used to walk back home alone, or waited for her brother if he ended his shift early at the royal guard. That day, she found it weird, seeing Shining waiting for her at the entrance instead. Thirty minutes and half a dozen donuts later, she received the news, still halfway to the house.

She never knew why, but that was the only time Twilight shed tears. She didn't remember crying at the funeral, the grief only belonging to those around her. Twilight had remained motionless, looking at her father's lifeless body as if at some point he was going to get up, like it was only a joke. Until her mother took her out of self-absorption to give her a white lily, when it was her turn to say goodbye and give him good wishes for a sure ascent. She placed the flower carefully in the coffin, hiding it so that it wouldn't be seen that it had been withered after a simple spell.

"Ah," Sparkle murmured after a moment of polite silence, still crushing her cake slice in equal parts over and over again. "Now I think I get it".

That last sentence left Twilight frowning in confusion, since in spite of the low and withdrawn tone she still managed to hear it.

“Get what?” She asked slowly, not understanding. The temporalities of the events? The spectrum of parallels? There was something in Sparkle's tone that she didn't like. As if she had just won a game where Twilight didn't know she was participating.

Definitely, that comment had been involuntary, unconscious, or whatever it was. Sparkle seemed to panic for a second until she realized what she had muttered aloud. It was then that she crossed her arms, her expression dropped, and the quiet atmosphere with which they had begun changed drastically.

"You know what I mean." They seemed to have gone back in time eight months ago. To the school library, to intense visual communication, to measured movements full of enormous meanings.

And as in early May of last year, Twilight met a defiant look on an expressionless face. One who warned her that fire ate the predetermined truths, that she would end up in ashes. Because if both didn't end up in the same state, then they would never be even.

She inhaled air through the nose in the most concealed way possible. So as not to show that exasperation was quite triumphant and rapid in the terms of traversing the skin were concerned. Twilight wasn't going to go through this again. No, no, no and no.

But if they were here to have an honest talk, there weren’t many alternatives left.

To the bonfire, then.

"No. I don’t have the slightest idea why you believe that having a pair of wings and a polished little crown resolves and absolves you all evil." It wasn’t like Twilight wanted to rub her own problems in her face. But Sparkle had this idea that everything was easier for her. As if she had been given to choose from a tray of silver what events she wanted in her life to happen. A little pepper to encourage the drama with a tragic background and then a few spoonfuls of salt to cover up all the fiery flavor. "Because my sleep disorders are still there, my anxiety problems are still there. Everything is still in the same damn place."

Twilight wished she could cover everything with huge and extensive saltpeter. Wished things had been so easy.

Wished Sparkle was easy to convince without the need for physical and concrete evidence.

"Your father died when you were barely ten, Twilight,” she reproached her. As if the answer was there in a poster, obvious and giant in front of her nose and she couldn’t see it because she just didn't feel like it. "Didn't we speak thousands of times of the amplitude in the parallel spectrum?"

Twilight frowned even more bewildered, at the tone of her counterpart. How did that automatically translate into something positive? What kind of train of thought was she following to reach all these absurd conclusions?

"And what do you think? That I went to talk to you because I spied you through the window? That I stole your diary? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me?" Twilight had actually taken the trouble to visit several centers of the list and investigate every single site one by one, making sure that both the attention and the information were useful. It wasn't easy to sit down and talk about hypothetical cases and personal experiences with the guidance team.

Nor it was the best thing to do when she had almost been forced to cross the portal to clear her mind from the very same topic. It seemed like a pattern, getting into situations that made her feel horrible, and that was the reason she wasn't putting an end to this discussion.

Sparkle leaned against the chair. Her back as straight and tense as someone who feels the imminent need to get defensive and stand to the imaginary height of their supposed antagonist.

Twilight knew how this was going to end. She didn't want to hear it.

"Well, it seems that it didn't take you anything to throw me under the bus in order to play heroine in front of your girlfriend." And it didn't take anything for Sparkle to reproach things that had happened eight months ago. Even though she had all the right to do so and this was the first time in months they sat down to talk. It was absurd. So absurd that now along with the anxious exasperation on the skin, the guilt was dragged up to her chest and the base of her throat.

"I'm sorry! Ok? I had a horrible argument with Sunset because of that." They spent more than a week without talking to each other. It hadn’t been the main reason, but a powerful trigger. "I was nervous and I didn’t take into account a lot of stuff, I admit it."

She took a heavy gulp from her coffee, with a nervousness so rough that it even hurt to swallow it. But she was losing control of her hands over everything else, either gesticulating too much or stretching the damn skirt of the dress that now didn't cover enough skin.

Sparkle gave an exaggerated and incredulous snort, without taking it seriously in the least.

Control, Twilight, control. She's doing it on purpose.

"Yeah, sure. Nervous about what? That she wouldn't take your acting seriously?"

Twilight rose with a thud of her palms that lifted the forks a millimeter off the table.

Here she drew the damn line.

Sparkle held her gaze in all her adolescent and poisonous rebellion, inviting her to give an answer. Inviting her to the damn fire more horrible than the asphalt snakes on the outside and more potent than the endless flames of Tartarus' infernal heat.

Talking to her at such times was like talking to a young reflection. One of eleven or twelve years old, when she answered back to her mother to the maximum provocation to make her show she cared enough to impart a limit, however extreme it might be.

It was a double-edged sword, you got that false sensation of having the advantage and the control of the conversation at the cost of destroying your nonexistent self-esteem. Which can always break a little more, right? Who cares?

"...Why you, out of everyone, don't believe me?"

When you live the hell on earth and somehow escape from it, the first tendency is to avoid anything that is similar even in the structural skeleton of its form.

Sparkle was challenging her to show all the possible and concrete proof that, indeed, she had gone through all that she claimed and had survived to tell.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that I also had it bad?" Twilight didn't bother to control the rebellious tear that would escape her eyes. She only stared at her counterpart, who got up too.

"What do you mean why? You got to have it all so good." Sparkle spoke, nailing without any real force the tip of the fork in her counterparts chest after each word pronounced. Twilight didn't flinch, motionless without understanding the words that reached her ears, nor her explosive tone in envy. "Your father is a nice memory, your whole family loves you, you’re popular even in my school. God! You are a princess who lives alone in a crystal castle. How could you possibly know how I feel?"

Only the noise of the fork crashing into some ceramics on the floor nearby made her blink and look at her in bewilderment. Much bewilderment.

Did Sparkle really think that she had everything served on a silver platter and still complained about it? Because her already worn misfortune by the things of the life, didn't fit in with the ideal she had of her?

What?

"And what about me? Why do I have the worst?" she reproached her, pointing to herself with a break and a despair in the voice that was reaffirmed in the tremor of her hands, in her expression, in that spark of helplessness that moved quickly between white corneas and violet irises. "Why do I just have to suck it up? Why do I have to settle for the leftovers? It's not fair!"

Her mug of white ceramic with generic flowers painted in pink and red, broke into about ten or thirty-eight irregular pieces as it flew from the table and fell squarely on the floor. The few cubic centimeters of coffee remaining were scattered around.

And Sparkle collapsed. She defragmented like sand on the table, on her arms, on her scars.

"It's not fair," she murmured in the suffocation of her own body, between what seemed like a type of crying that only served to accumulate more anguish in the center of the chest.

Sparkle could look better, more alive, more like herself. That didn't necessarily mean that she was better, that she felt one hundred percent better. It had been just six months. It was the first approximation to a normality that ended up being strange after years of having to live under a different logic, toxic and even self-destructive. For Twilight more than almost seven damn years had passed and there were still emotions that would always be there omnipresent. There were always things that would escape her control.

Like now, where the only possible reaction was to move the plate with the cake turned into crumbs like its initial owner. Next to her own half-finished slice that now churned her stomach by just looking at it, for the fear that it also ended up in shards and one of them would get hurt.

For some reason, Twilight legs trembled when she tried to move them. She still forced herself to walk around the table and occupy the seat next to Sparkle. For a moment it occurred to her to put a hand at the beginning of her back or perhaps an attempt at a comforting embrace, but it was quite likely that she would also send her flying with an answer of the same nature as the others.

Twilight then just fell silent, as if she had just been told a relative died and it was her responsibility to take care of comforting those around her. She must feel bad, too. And Twilight felt bad, she felt like the author of the crime, as if everything had been her fault.

“I think it happened a year before entering what you here call elementary school”, was the first thing she managed to say. She wasn't responsible for what Sparkle believed or stopped believing about her. However, perhaps by showing her that she was mistaking her for an enemy, by showing Sparkle that she was in fact as burned as intended, Twilight could mitigate some of her hatred. Or calm her down, at least. “I don’t remember what I read about storms, but I know there was one that night so I asked my dad to stay with me because I was scared”.

Twilight was sure she should be around five or six years old, since she was the only one in her class who could read, write several words and even levitate small objects or perform spells considered difficult for her age. And because she practiced for the entrance exam for Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. Her desire to learn added to the apparent natural talent that she had with magic and gave her an advantage, but there was no guaranteed vacancy without practice.

"I remember he put a spell that made it look like little stars fell from the ceiling. I was so excited that I asked him to do it like ten more times. Later I learned he only did it to cover the one that blocked the sound..." Twilight felt herself get wrapped up in the uncomfortable tingling that provided electric touches all over her body and made her hair stand on end. So familiar, so close, so common, that her stomach churned just thinking about it. The nausea was present just thinking about it. "I s-suppose it was by direct association, but after that night I know I hated golden stars and storms made me panic."

There were times where Twilight would sneak around before sleeping in her bed. It could be under the latter, a closet, the sofa, or even when she got her first telescope, she stayed on the roof. It had a flat and easily accessible part, which her father himself taught her as the more feasible and clear to observe the sky from the house. She always slipped away with a blanket, a pillow, and her constellation book. She watched the stars until the tiredness forced her to make into a ball and sleep, waking up with the first rays of the sun to stealthily return to her room and pretend she had never moved in the first place.

"And, uh, a bit more than… two years ago I told my family." Twilight wasn't sure if she still lived in Canterlot at that time, why the three of them had met for lunch, or how she had reached the point where shouting seemed a good idea. "Mom slapped me in the face and told me things I’d rather not repeat. Shining wasn’t like that, luckily, but it still wasn’t a nice situation."

Her mother was the type of always having a different idea of the past, one much more positive and denial of reality. To her, Twilight had the perfect childhood, as if the school citations she had for getting into fights with all the boys of her classes or for odd behaviors had never existed. And since she was a great daughter, she tried to overlook all of these illusions most of the time. Until her patience ran out and Twilight ended up remaining her that wearing a smile in a family photo didn't mean being one hundred percent happy. When things can’t be avoided, you try to endure them in the best possible way, you keep going, you ignore them, they are hidden during the day until they have to go out again at night.

The last argument she had with Velvet had its roots in that very same thing. Twilight had gone to her childhood home in Canterlot to help her mother with a late spring cleaning. The idea was to spend some time together, clear as much as possible the house and settle the idea of moving to a more comfortable place for a single person.

She ended up with totally opposite results when she was forced to explain why she didn't want to continue seeing family albums, if all she was going to hear was how happy she looked in a photo with her father all that kind of comments that seemed more justifications than anything else. Twilight had to bring to the surface many sensations, many feelings so that the answer was that she couldn't let mistakes go.

“After a while, she apologized for acting that way. Though she still believes I’m being resentful and that “I shouldn’t make a storm out of a glass of water”.

The only good thing that had resulted from all that experience, was this. Maybe she wouldn't have deigned to think about her counterpart, maybe she wouldn't have gone to investigate and maybe they wouldn't be sitting here, having an honest conversation six months after absolutely nothing. At least, the dancing chill, the growing anxieties, the discomfort, and the bad feelings had somehow served to help someone else. That was what mattered the most.

Sparkle lifted her head from her self-imposed darkness, swollen eyes and wet cheeks with anguish that she didn't bother to wipe with her forearms as it would prove to be in vain.

"Five years?" she whispered under her breath, watching her suspiciously from top to bottom for a moment. Searching desperately for something, anything, that proved her right. "Until he died?"

Twilight held Sparkle’s gaze with all the anguish blossoming in her chest and memories walking through her arms. It was one of frightful familiarity. One that challenged her until giving up when it didn't find the slightest fictitious evidence it was looking for, and whose exaggerated luminosity became blurred between reddened corneas and violet irises. One where the horror of perfect understanding became as present as the twinkling of impotence. Where she saw herself reflected and enveloped between gleams of anguish, between that glimmer of empathy. Between the disgusted resplendence of the own experience.

Twilight nodded slowly, almost not finding her voice.

"Until the day before."

Sparkle stretched out an arm, with annoying need more than with real desire, to the only coffee mug left on the table. That for sure would be cold and lost its appeal as a drink. She anyway gave it a heavy and audible drink, as if trying to lower something more than simple nausea or loosen a twisted stomach. And she stood still thinking, looking at a particular nothing where apparently all her emotions and thoughts were passing.

She stood still thinking for twenty-eight damn counted seconds.

"I really thought you had more luck than me." Honesty was palpable, there in her voice, like one who admits defeat and also completely grieves about it. As if the explosion of envy also meant the burial of relief. "I guess in the end we're just as screwed up, aren’t we?"

She commented, with a kind of bitter laugh, a smile, and more wet cheeks. It made Twilight feel for the first time her own tears fall from the chin to the collarbones. It was strange, since with these sensations was that she alienated herself from her own body and any kind of touch felt far and distant, as if trying to perceive through a thick and invisible layer of numb skin.

Twilight stretched a trembling arm to the black marble bar of the kitchen, taking napkins perfectly folded in triangles. Held between halves of a wooden fish of colors so vibrant and paradoxically more alive than the people in the room.

"I'm not here to compete with you." She offered them to Sparkle. White and neat as a sign of truce and openness to negotiations as if were ethnic Han from the Equestrian North in their confrontation with the Southern region. The girl looked at her surprised for a moment, understanding the message, and accepted one with reflected trembling hands to blow her nose.

"I know," she muttered once that she seemed to recover her composure a little, with dry cheeks and a more regular breathing. "...I'm sorry I yelled at you like that."

That was the signal that Twilight needed to place, slowly, a hand on her counterpart's shoulder. It was strange, she felt like she was freezing, but the heat invading her touch seemed to regulate the temperature of at least part of her body again.

"It's okay, I know where it comes from." She shook her head slowly, dismissing unnecessary apologies. It wasn't as if she were a saint when it came to answering back. That was clearer than water, so accepting them when she had fallen into a game she knew too well, would be something hypocritical on her part. Or at least not very sincere. "You know that I also have a… strong personality. And, uh, better to do catharsis than to keep pushing it down."

A hand rested upon her own, alien, hot and sure in the small squeeze that gave hers with, she supposed, a certain level of appreciation.

And suddenly that fire spread to her whole body when she received a hug. It was comfortable in comparison to the shiver that gloated winning to the logical sense and the total and rational control. One that she welcomed with one hand at the base of Sparkle's back and another in the silky smooth hair that Twilight began to caress in the way she knew was effectively reassuring. One that gave her warmth, like those hugs that are given with such affection that they don’t want to be undone.

"Thank you." She felt, somewhere close to her ears. "For everything."

And after what seemed like an hour, Tartarus’ infinite heat and the snakes made of flame that went from the inside to the outside, Twilight felt the corners of her lips rise and her eyes moistened again.

"I’ll do it again a hundred times."

Author's Note

Blog post about why I like to ruin peoples' lives here. :duck:

All I have to say is: catharsis is a double-edged sword, just... use it carefully.

Extra 3 | Once Again We're on Fire

September was one of those months that brought mixed feelings. It came with allergies, the blessed middle-season weather, strawberries, the handing of report cards, and Twilight Sparkle's indifference when she found out she failed seven subjects out of fifteen.

Her friends were shocked as they apparently had her on a pedestal of intelligence along with her doppelganger. Twilight just shrugged it off. There were worse things, like failing an entire year while having parents who expected a minimum grade of nine.

At least the educational psychologist wasn't as insistent or annoying as those at her previous schools, and when she saw her report card she didn't give more than the usual speech, with maybe a little more understanding and a pinch of empathy.

Celestia didn't seem fazed by the potpourri of sixes, fives, and fours either. She simply asked if she wanted to save her grades now or to prepare for the exams in December. Which was strange to her, as Twilight (unconsciously) assumed she'd listen to a half-hour-long lecture with complaints about ruined vacations.

And after two months of living with Celestia, that was the hardest part to get used to. Having an imposed routine meant an exact schedule for everything. How, when, and where to do what. There is no space for flexibility.

Celestia wasn’t strict at all. Of course, she had her schedule, like dining between nine thirty and ten, or things that were inevitably repeated because if you don't pay for the services, then the State and the banking entities will chase you until they take away all your possessions. Even so, Twilight was free to organize herself as she pleased, to do things at her own pace. She could lie on the couch for three hours straight watching TV, and she wouldn’t hear much more than suggestions for coffee or something similar. No lectures, no “go do something productive,” nor “don’t you have any homework to do?”

Twilight was so used to the rigidity of measured behaviors, of having to comply with schedules and activities in a certain way, that so much autonomy, she had to admit, scared her.

Or, well, maybe scare wasn't the exact word. Something more akin to… bewilderment? Disorientation? Uncertainty? Twilight felt like she was made of toy bricks, and once the five-hundred-piece cruise ship was taken apart, unless the instructions were followed to a T, it was impossible to build it from memory. She felt as if she’d been asked to put it back together from scratch, no matter the result since those were the ways of art these days.

The problem was that Twilight was used to doing everything following exact, strict instructions. A list of steps to follow in an unalterable order.

It wasn’t like Twilight disliked the idea. On the contrary, now the air reached her lungs in its entirety. But there was a point where it was annoying that instead of scolding her, everyone tried to give her the psychological talk and be understanding of what was going on in her head. All under the excuse of her "situation" (which was neither that important nor that special).

But that's what biological mothers were for, right? To keep the structures and a straight back.

During that talk about low grades and undelivered lectures, Celestia offered the possibility of calling her mother to sign her report card. As was usually done with irresponsible parents or forgetful children. Or mothers who were busy traveling for work.

Two plus two equals four. It didn't take long for Twilight to say yes, with the idea that maybe they bumped into each other in the hallway and her mom thought of asking about her life.

Thankfully, she wasn't wrong.

During her two o'clock class, her preceptor showed up to tell her that someone had come to save her from her lack of interest in the damn subject. When they reached his office, Velvet was waiting for her for a supposed dentist appointment, already signed her out and everything.

Twilight had the decency to contain herself and act normal, instead of running to hug her as if she were in kindergarten instead of high school.

Before, when there were no uncertainties and the radiant tens deserved it, her mom used to pick her up from school with the same modus operandi. There was a medical excuse most of the time, and they ended up having a coffee somewhere. It happened on miraculous days where her mother had the time and good humor to spend some mother-daughter time and talk about trivialities. Girls business, she said.

This seemed like one of those times, so Twilight wasn't going to waste it no matter the situation. Especially after two months of seeing nothing but her picture in the newspaper.

"You look prettier," Velvet commented approvingly, tucking a strand of hair behind Twilight’s ear. "I heard you're going to the nutritionist?"

The nutritionist was a pain in the ass. She helped her organize the calories and nutrients she needed, sure, but she always tried to add more than necessary. Twilight just stopped taking her pills and started sleeping at least six hours a day. But it's not like she could tell her mom why her complexion went from oily to combination skin, and since Velvet already had threatened to take her several times, she opted to indulge her and ignore the rest.

“Uh-huh,” Twilight nodded with a small smile before getting curious about the information source. “Why? You talked with Celestia?”

“We barely exchanged words, nothing more.” The tone indicated the opposite of a casual conversation, so Twilight chose not to inquire further and let her mother hug her by the shoulders with affection, feeling it as a small fire, as they left the school. Not like she could say she missed her or something, it’d be too direct and raise questions.

Besides, Velvet had always been like this. Sometimes she wouldn't give her the time of day and would send her over to her father or her brother. Others, she was so over everything Twilight did to the point of annoyance.

Insufferable beyond belief? Quite.

The indifference was worse.

“I don't have any dentist appointment, do I?” Twilight asked when they reached the car, just in case. Her backpack was a mess, and if she needed her necessaire, she might as well look for it now through loose folder sheets and the book she brought to read in class.

Goodness, she had to sit down at some point and try to restructure herself a bit.

“No, honey,” Velvet replied, no reprimand in her voice, as she checked to make sure the street was clear to backtrack. “You had your yearly teeth cleaning back in April, remember?”

“Ah, right.”

Twilight could barely tell it was mid-September because the third line of her report card was still empty.

She couldn’t remember the dates no matter how many times she wrote them in the top corner of the pages. It was easier to rely on the activities or subjects of each day. Tuesday? First two hours of Literature, and Nutritionist in the afternoon. Wednesday and Thursday? Blessed AP Calculus. Saturday? Be a listener in the group therapy she was forced to attend.

Before the silence became awkward or her school situation came up, Twilight decided to start a conversation. And what better option than to play it safe: her mother's work.

As said and done, The next ten minutes were about the progress the entire research team made after fifteen years, the official presentation of the papers at different international conferences, what was left to do, etc., etc., etc.

Twilight listened attentively, asking questions at the right time. A lot of the time she did it to avoid possible lectures, but Twilight would be lying if she claimed it was a mere way of dissuasion. She always asked about her parents' research projects, and they were fascinated by her interest. “The interest that Shining never had,” they'd said.

It was one of the few things Twilight had in common with her parents. And perhaps something she missed about them.

Well, maybe she missed a few other things. Little bits.

That was until Velvet said something about sacrifices needed to improve the quality of human life, and Sparkle automatically stopped listening, turning her gaze to the beautiful life outside the tinted windows.

For a moment, an instant, the rebellious idea of reproach was born. Of telling her once and for all that those weren’t sacrifices, but drastic choices she made. Unless Twilight was bleeding to death in front of her, then her mom always had other mom's priorities. Sacrifices were those made by the religious groups on the riverbank at night.

Was she really not able to make time in her schedule to greet Twilight on her birthday? A message, a five-minute call at three in the morning. Even if it was a day before the congress and a five-hour time difference with Germany. Even her father sent a text to her old phone. A simple “Happy birthday, have a nice day. I love you.” that gave her mixed feelings.

“Inhale, exhale, calm down. Casual. There’s no point in thinking about it.”

What for? To ruin the only moment of peace they might have after two months? To go back to the same old thing? The tension, the fights, the lectures?

Better to change the course of the conversation, think of something nice. Or at least, less frustrating.

“Where are we going?” It was the first thing that came to Twilight's mind, out of curiosity. To remember the menu of the place and think in advance what to order, more than anything.

“Home.”

That answer was followed by a second of silence and a blink.

“What? Why?” Twilight bit her tongue for speaking so quickly. It was hard to change the subject this way, to change sudden feelings into calmer thoughts.

Her mother looked at her with her typical look, the one where she raised her eyebrows, and the obligation to nod with what she said was implicit.

“What’s the problem? It’s your house, Twilight.”

No, it wasn’t. Not anymore. Or was it? Twilight left on her own, somehow that meant it didn’t feel as… as much as a home, or whatever it was called.

Still, beyond technicalities, she just wasn’t sure she wanted to go back. The idea gave her the kind of chills that sat in the stomach with heaviness, after traveling through all the nerve endings. The ones that indicated that all-too-familiar discomfort.

Twilight wasn’t ready. And five minutes weren't enough to mentally prepare herself.

Not like it would help. How many times had she mentally prepared for inevitable things and it turned out to be in vain? It hurt less, yes, but only a bit. The negative feelings wouldn't go away.

And here, now, saying no was not a possibility. How could she?

“Nothing, just…” She took a lock of hair from the back of her neck to start braiding it as fast as her fingers could allow. More effective than pulling out the split ends of her hair or biting her nails, and her hair was left with nice waves. “I wanted the carrot and walnut pudding from the cafeteria across the train station, that's it.”

Well, there was nothing to lose by disguising a suggestion with the excuse of a craving.

Her mother's only response was an affirmation that they would do it next time (who knows when) since she didn't suggest it earlier. Sure.

“What’s not convincing you that you're frowning?”

Twilight turned to look at her mother, trying to hide how perplexed the question left her. In general, it was more common with Night Light, because he paid more attention to all those anxious habits. And, well, with Shining too. With her brother, she sometimes felt as transparent as the glazier's daughter.

A moment of silence and escaping glances passed.

“…Just you and me, right?” she murmured.

“Yes, Twi. Just you and me, don’t worry.” Her mother gave her a gentle caress on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. That, wow, did manage to feel like it, who knows how. “You’re still a kid, even if you don’t feel like it. There are many things you’re not responsible for.”

And Twilight, who was already on her third braid, relaxed her shoulders a little. She wasn't going to claim the cliché of one less burden on her, those never went away. One less contracture, one less discomfort, perhaps were more appropriate terms.

Twilight realized her fingers were working on a fourth braid when her mother parked in front of the house. Which seemed odd, considering the entrance to the garage was empty. Unless her father’s car was inside? But he usually came home from work at around four in the evening.

According to the clock on her new, modern phone, it was almost three o’clock.

Twilight’s legs didn’t shake when she got out of the car.

What a beautiful thing, the sense of security.

It was an important feeling, a fundamental feeling. Crucial for self-esteem, being confident about oneself and your surroundings, to standing up with a straight back in front of everyone and do a presentation without stuttering to get a radiant ten.

Crucial to make decisions without blinking twice.

How long had it been since they moved to this house? Four, six years? Five, at least.

Twilight didn't live here anymore. It wasn't her house anymore. Unofficially.

However, there was familiarity in the sounds of the keys, in the small pathwalk of eight steps to the main door, or the wooden coat rack in the hall. Or the natural light that bathed the living room, or the pictures, or the redecorated old furniture.

Everything was in the same place as always. From the small hedgehog-shaped mud-cleaning statue at the entrance to the empty hooks for keys that would be hung after four o’clock in the evening.

Everything was the same, and the air was still reaching Twilight’s lungs.

Maybe not everything, then. Maybe it had to do with the little details that made it whole and not the whole thing per se. Knowing what to do with the given solutions.

“I have to take this to the study, why don’t you make coffee in the meantime?” suggested her mother, in a tone that sounded as if it was and not a disguised order. Well, not the usual imperative tone. Almost, almost a hundred percent genuine suggestion. So much so, that Twilight considered suggesting tea. Tea was a mood sweetener lately. “The capsule ones.”

Had the stars aligned or did these two months also affect her? When her mother came back from a work trip she had the same attitude as always, and was usually Twilight the one that got clingy. For obvious reasons.

“Oh, uh… Okay.” She nodded anyway, with some (a hint) of enthusiasm. Who could refuse good moods and quality coffee?

Twelve steps from the hall to the kitchen, passing through the living room. Steps walked with confident muscles, with a calm and relaxed pose. The wood creaked the right way under the sole of her sneakers and the natural light invaded corners of a house where the air reached her lungs. Just like returning home from vacation stress-free, well-rested, and everything seems simpler.

How nice would it be to be able to combine older things with the current flexibility. Maybe she could convince her mother of something like this. To reach a middle point, a stable point. She seemed to have enough humor to listen, or to at least to be open to negotiations.

Or maybe not. Maybe Twilight would just have to say yes to everything, and once she was out, she'd think of the best options. It was a matter of knowing how to improvise.

Or maybe she could throw her passive attitudes to Hell and demand to know what her father was doing in the kitchen, with coffee and a laptop just like every time he sat there because he liked who knows what about the space.

Night Light greeted her with his typical smile, as if Twilight left due to circumstantial changes or as if she returned from a school trip. And Twilight stayed under the door frame, at a careful distance. Watching how the air became heavier and everything turned opaque and dark despite the light coming in through the windows. How all the peace, calm, confidence, turned into sand that slipped through the fingers, forming a useless pile of fragility on the floor.

“Inhale.

Exhale.

Casual.”

There wasn’t much more to do.

“Good afternoon, Dad.”

How disgusting, the way Twilight could still naturally execute the pretended casualness, with which the bile rose through the esophagus up to her throat.

Yet Twilight smiled all the same, as she knew behind all the act stood an analytical look that turned her into crystal and left her with stiff muscles, with her blood exposed to nothingness, with the system on high alert. And to falter was not an option even if Twilight had to control the trembling of her arms, measure all of her actions, or listen to the cardiac rhythm galloping over her ears.

That’s how Twilight retraced her steps like a little rag doll that was forced to be polite, instead of entering the lion’s den to make coffee under false promises. The wood of the steps creaked in a way that reminded her of the first summer of lectures and complaints, instead of the serene afternoons of solitude and naps to catch up on sleep.

Did it matter? In the slightest.

Once again, she stood in the doorway of the study, where Velvet was indeed arranging papers. Twilight decided that if she knocked on the door, she would do so with more force than necessary. Screw manners, then.

“Why is dad here?” She hoped the animosity in her voice wasn’t that obvious, but it wasn’t even directed at him, as much as Twilight didn’t want to see him.

Even so, if her mother was bothered by it, she didn’t show it. She just turned to look at her as if it had been a question about the weather.

“Because he lives here, Twilight, why else?”

…What?

“You said only you and m–”

“You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to.” She shrugged, as if it was the obvious answer to a normal fight or something. “The house is big, we can talk wherever you feel more comfortable.”

Twilight stared at her for a moment, doing nothing but trying to find a logical explanation to what she was hearing.

“B-but you…” she started, barely audible. “You know about the restraining order I have against him, right?”

A very clear one that came at the beginning of August, where a distance perimeter of no less than five hundred meters was explicitly delimited. Not five, not ten. Five hundred.

She could simply not know, right? Sometimes important things slipped her mind (a birthday, for example) this could be one of them. Or maybe her father hid the notification from her, as illogical as that sounded. Or… or something like that, something could’ve happened, anything, and her mother never found out and that was it. Mystery solved, right?

Right?

“Yes, and it seems unnecessary to me.”

The world stopped for a moment.

Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) could do nothing but stay there, stay still, feeling everything crumble around her, while her vision blurred and she was forced to blink so that the shapes would make sense again.

“...What?”

With a sigh worthy of the beginning of a lecture, her mother closed the door and motioned for Twilight to take a seat in one of the chairs, then take the other and hold her hands. All with a gentleness that almost felt uncomfortable coming from her. Her mom wasn't treating her like she was going to break, but then again, such a good mood and understanding Twilight saw on her face now wasn't usual.

It wasn't usual not to see her mother for two months, either.

Perhaps something did change, as minimal as it was.

“Twilight, honey, I need you to be honest with me. Are you sure we're talking about your dad?” Maybe the world stopped entirely, this time. And Twilight felt her blood turn cold, the ringing in her ears raising in volume, the air burning her nostrils when she inhaled. “He hardly ever raised his voice at you. You're the girl of his eyes, for God's sake!”

Maybe it hadn’t been the world, per se. Maybe it was Twilight Sparkle who remained frozen, unable to say a word. Seeing her own reflection in the eyes of someone who was genuinely looking for answers.

Answers according to what she wanted to hear.

Twilight tried to articulate a word, to move her jaw slowly, to form a sentence, a word, something. She only managed shaky movements.

None of this made sense.

It couldn't make sense.

“But I… I’m not–” Sand that turned into a pile of useless fragility on the floor. Useless fragility, confidence undone, opaque colors and bewilderment. Bewilderment was the only thing she had left, that she could feel and squeeze between her fingers to control the trembling of her forearms. “I'm not making anything up.”

Twilight felt the bile at the base of her throat, stinging and threatening to burn her tongue. Her mother couldn't possibly think she was lying, could she? Twilight never lied except in situations where it was strictly necessary. Obvious exceptions to the rule. Little white lies, excuses.

Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) only wanted to sleep for more than eight hours at a time, with all the liberties that that implied. With the calm, the security, and the stability that it implied. No nutritionist, nor psychological evaluations, nor being treated with the care and fragility with which she held her newborn niece.

And she had the right to want something different, no? Was that really too much to ask?

The problem was that, in order to do it, she needed a restraining order, which required a report. And a report couldn't be made with evidence to support it.

A light breeze came in through the curtains, along with the singing of the birds and the gallop of the heartbeat in her ears.

Expectant silences were horrible.

And the expectant silences that involved her mother pondering what to say, made her organs twist and knot.

“Again, hon, I'm not saying you are. It's just…” Her mother sighed as if she was building the patience to explain something obvious. Something that Twilight, out of her own free will, didn't want to understand. As if the answer was up there in neon lights and she wasn't paying attention because she didn't feel like it. “Look, you need an adult to file a report, Twilight. And these kinds of family matters are settled in private. Why involve someone who barely knows you?”

It was a calm, slow, understanding tone of voice. Like she was explaining things o a child, or when Twilight asked for help solving a complex exercise.

Twilight felt the walls closing in on her, her hopes and opportunities crumbling with each word. Why would her mother say that? Did she really think she was stupid enough to believe a lie of this magnitude? And then what? That Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) submitted herself to the humiliation of physical exams for the sake of it? That she sat for hours recounting fictional events just because someone told her to?

It was bordering on cynicism already.

Seriously, how could she come up with something like tha–

Velvet, her mother, kept talking. She kept giving arguments as to why the situation was ruining the family. That they could lose their jobs, that rumors like this only ruin lives. They could lose absolutely everything they worked for their entire life, Twilight. So can you just shut your mouth and pretend nothing happened so I can finally meet my granddaughter, we all go back to the hypocrisy of loving each other, and you move back to the house and go back to the showers in the middle of the night with an empty stomach and impurities rotting her skin and--

“I’m leaving.” She was sure her voice trembled and Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) wasn't sure if it was from rage, anguish, bewilderment or all of them at once. “Good luck with your prizes, mom.”

Sparkle left the house of her own free will once, why not make it twice? Why not just never come back and have them all go to Hell?

She had the right to want something different, after all. No. Not want. Need. Sparkle needed something different. Something that didn't require to endure Hell for it.

Was it really so insolent?

Of course Velvet wouldn’ let her off the hook. Because deciding for herself didn't necessarily mean she was given permission to do so. And since when did her mother ever pay her enough attention?

As expected, as soon as she got up from her seat Velvet grabbed her arm in that uncomfortable and annoying grip, even though there were no bruises under the layers of cotton and acrylic.

"Twilight, calm down, take a seat, and we can discuss this like grown-ups." It was clear Velvet was making an effort to maintain the patience, one that Sparkle knew would run out at any moment.

"What is there to discuss if you made up your mind already?" Her own, too. Sparkle didn't agree to come back home (at first) nor did she come here for her mother to tell her this.

"I'm trying to find a solution for this mess that would benefit everyone. And you, out of everyone, should stop trying to throw a tantrum and be of help."

"A tantrum? Mom, I'm being serious.” For a moment, the idea of answering back with anger stopped being a simple wish to turn into a reality. "Can't you just listen to me once?"

At this point it was strange, since Twilight was used to biting her cheek and shut up, because a routine full of tensions meant one without the slightest break.

Velvet, snorted, seeming outraged.

"I want to, I really do. But it's impossible when you get like this."

"Ok. Then there's nothing to discuss here. You just don't give a crap about me.” She was shaking, the arm that held her in place was shaking, her vocal cords were shaking. Velvet wasn't interested in knowing the whys, and Twilight wanted each and every one of them explained one by one, instead of turned into the liquid falling down her cheeks.

"Oh for God's sake, Twilight! Can you stop being so dramatic?"

“Dramatic?” The conversation back in the car, the fact that they hadn't seen each other in the last two months, that one time she kicked her out of the study because emergencies, if not real, could wait until dinner. There was a scroll of situations to be written. "You couldn't even remember my freaking birthday!"

“I was at a conference in Germany, Twilight, what did you expect?”

THat was when Twilight SParkle understood that she was only part of the picture. Part of what was expected just to be able to say “I have two beautiful children with a good future”. It didn't matter what happened to her as long as everything seemed to go well, so gossip was kept away.

“I don't know, a text, maybe? Even dad sent me one, and he's not supposed to even do that!”

“Ah, didn't you have a restraining order, Twilight?”

Correction: Twilight Velvet only cared about understanding the whys of the parts she was interested in hearing, if she was interested in hearing them at all. Under her own conditions.

And the rest?

The rest didn't matter.

"What does that-- ugh! It's always like this! I try to tell you something and always always you dodge it or try to throw it back at me. This is why I don't want to live here anymore, you're insufferable!"

"And you think you're easy to deal with? All this happened because you think you're the center of the universe and we all have to bend to your will." Twilight felt that pain always mentioned in novels and movies go through her chest like, following the cliche, a damned dagger. "You're not the only one who's gone through things like this, Twilight. So you better shut your mouth, get back here and start studying to raise those disgusting grades you've been getting."

A dagger stabbed right at her front that twisted side to side to make sure it hurt, and the blood would pour so the expectations drained faster from her head.

The type that makes you see red from anger and not control the brutality of the words you spit out.

“I get why you don't like Celestia, now. She actually knows how to be a mother.”

Twilight's face ended up looking in the opposite direction in a matter of seconds. The heat on her left cheek didn't take long to appear.

Or course.

But it was the truth.

“If after everything that happened these past months, everything you did... you're going to insist so much on destroying this family, then you're no longer part of it.”

Instead of kicking her out, her mother turned around and left her alone in the study, with a slam to the door that made Twilight jump. But it somehow made her react to, in a stupid attempt, go after her and her strong, fast steps on the stairs. Twilight ended up five steps from the ground floor, on the last flight of stairs, watching her mother take the same keys she hanged minutes ago, while she put on the blazer from the coat rack in the entrance. Same actions in reverse, same feeling of frustration as that time when Twilight stopped at the door of the study.

“M–”

Same slam to the door as always. Same as the one from seconds ago, but that marked something different at the same time. Because even at this distance, Twilight was close enough to hear the keys operating in the entrance gate and, at the same time, far enough to be locked in when the metallic clink made its last turn.

Twilight stood there, feeling one side of her face burn as her throat closed up, taking deep breaths to control the pain bunching in her chest, so she could take the steps down, one by one.

“Inhale, exhale.

One. Two. Three.

Four. Five.”

When her sneakers hit the ground, Twilight forced herself to do so firmly, her gaze fixed on her backpack with all of her things. Things both new and old, where she had stored in her left pocket, the keys to where she was staying temporarily, although perhaps now that would change to something permanent, given the circumstances of what had just happened-

“Are you okay, Twilight?”

As expected, the world stopped. Only for a moment.

Or maybe, maybe, it was never a moment. Maybe the world never stopped spinning even for the smallest of moments, and it makes moving in the same direction, keeping up with it even though the thorns pierced and the body was torn to shreds, as now the priority was to keep going in despite of everything since her mother brought her here without asking and she was back in the lion's den–

“...Twi?”

“Inhale. Exhale. Casual.”

Twilight wiped her tears with the sleeve of her sweater with more force than necessary and turned around.

Her father was there, looking alarmed, confused, and anything else that could be attributed to a consolation devoid of genuine concern, but that Sparkle really didn’t feel like analyzing at this moment. It wasn’t a priority.

The priority, right now, was that he was there, when he should have been five hundred meters away. Not five, not ten. Five hundred.

It would be so easy, so simple, to just go back to the previous mechanical movements, to give a shake of her head and listen to what she wanted, what she (maybe) needed right now. To Hell with the multiplying debts and the prices to pay later.

However, after two months, Twilight Sparkle knew that there were other things. That the real comfort was something completely different from the invention of the disguised moment. That real warmth existed.

That she didn't need any of this.

That she didn't have to come to this house, her pseudo home that appeared in dreams and woke her up with the horror of the belief that he still lived here, that he hadn't left. But did she have another option? Could she leave? It was as easy as turning around, grabbing her backpack and turning the knob, but the other set of keys weren't hanging there.

Twilight hadn't had the keys to this house on her for at least a month.

He was there, in front of her on a normal day, after a typical argument with her mother. And at the same time in circumstances that she didn't think they would ever meet again.

It was at that moment that Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) realized that the only thing she wanted, if such a moment ever came, was to see him burn.

Maybe he wanted the same for her. He had the right to be as angry as her to be annoying, right? Who knows. Sparkle preferred not to stay to find out.

But, again, such an act required tensing the muscles more than she was doing now, giving unfamiliar commands and doing the rebellious act of not following the norm in front of someone who could actually give her consequences.

And in those ironies of life (or maybe the bad luck always on her side), her father interrupted the static moment with a heavy sigh and a “Go wash your face while I get you some ice, okay?” with a kindness that made Twilight want to stick a thorn somewhere in her body and twist.

Instead, she forced herself to nod, taking the approximate ten steps to the toillette. Not before confirming that, indeed, her father kept his word.

Once in the safety of a private space, the first thing she did was splash cold water on her face, trying to recover from everything that had happened in the last hour. Once, twice, three times.

On the fourth she left her hands there, between swollen eyes and soaked cheeks and burning skin.

She needed her pillow. To suffocate in polyester fibers with twenty-five percent cotton, to scream until her lungs burned and her throat turned to shreds.

What had just happened?

Or rather, what hadn't happened, among all the things that did happen?

She always had fights with Velvet, fights that at some point turned into lectures because Twilight used her brilliant little brain to bite her cheek and shut her mouth. Because if not living together in peace ended up becoming a luxury. But from now on she wouldn't have to worry about any of that.

From now on she was alone, and she would have to take care of everything on her own. As always.

Or worse.

Much, much worse.

How beautiful, the sunny afternoons with pleasant weather and singing birds.

For the fifth and last time, Twilight doused her face with cold water again, hoping that something more than bacteria and tears would go down the drain.

The only thing left was the feeling of security along with the pretended casualness. Trying to fix whatever it was that broke, and leave the house through the front door without acting like an escape artist. At best, the door would be opened at will and everything would end like a happy family movie.

…Low-budget, cliché, and poorly acted, but what did illusions matter?

With a new idea in mind, Sparkle set in motion the collective obsession with fixing the small details. She made sure her sweater was properly placed on her shoulders, washed her contact lenses before putting them back in, combed her hair with a brush she found in the cabinet, taking the time to undo the braids, and even adjusted her shoelaces.

The only thing left that was swollen was her left cheek, looking a little redder than usual. If you ignored that detail, she now looked like a decent person.

Small changes, big impressions. Maybe it had to do with the details that made up the whole and not the whole itself.

“Inhale. Exhale. Casual."

She left the bathroom quietly, closing the door slowly as she analyzed where to go. The entrance was a resounding no. Sparkle didn't need to be a brilliant mind to understand that if her father offered her ice and not the front door, it was for a reason. She could be anything but stupid.

That's how she ended up in the lion's den. The only place she didn't want to go, yet the only place from which signs of movement came through the noise of ceramics and the aroma of coffee.

The kitchen was exactly the same as the last time, with the same breakfast table in the center and the same wooden cupboards with mahogany varnish. Same natural light filtering through linen curtains, same annual school photos of both her and her brother. Photos that Sparkle sometimes stared at, trying to find between immaculate uniforms and typical smiles, when was the moment things lost their way and went completely off the rails. How did they get to this point, from a normal childhood to this? To random nights spent on her bed of thorns. To late night showers and step counting. To leave her own house and realizing she didn’t want to go back. To end up in the very same kitchen, two months later, doing her best to keep her composure.

The papers and the laptop were now arranged in a pile at the other end of the table, not far from the cooling gel wrapped in a cloth, strategically placed, as if her father knew she didn’t want physical contact. Sparkle placed it on her cheek, hating the sensation. Better the lesser evil fast than a day and a half mark.

Sparkle took a seat at the head of the table, opposite where her father usually sat. It wasn’t a great distance, but in this space, a hundred and forty centimeters helped a lot. Plus there was something behind the psychology of seating choices that Sparkle once read somewhere but now couldn’t remember.

Without a word her father placed a generic white ceramic cup in front of her. Not with coffee, but with tea.

Vanilla and cinnamon tea.

Sparkle looked from the steaming cup to her father, trying not to seem too confused as she murmured a thank you, just out of politeness. He dismissed it with a calm gesture, and sat down to her right, setting his coffee down on the table as well.

Well, sometimes Sparkle missed the fact that no one really cared about her personal space.

Was he expecting them to have one of those typical conversations where Twilight went down for coffee at six in the evening and the topics were the most superficial? Yeah, right. Sparkle could be many things and innocent, unfortunately, wasn’t one of them.

It was unfortunate, yes, because now all she could do was keep her senses alert for the slightest gesture, pay attention to the tickling in her body, the bile at the beginning of her throat, the gallop of the heart rate on the eardrums.

Without taking into account her debts.

She was not going to get out of this. At least, not as she expected.

She better mentally prepare herself. How? She hadn't the slightest idea, she'd have to improvise. And if there was one thing Twilight Sparkle (for the life of her) could admit she wasn't good at, it was at the art of improvisation.

To Hell with it.

Sparkle didn't say a word, concentrating on the cold on her left cheek.

Two seconds. A car could be heard passing by on the street.

Ten seconds. Everything returned to its extreme, unreliable calm.

"I'm sorry about what your mom just did, Twi," he said at last, with the usual regret. Because this was a typical conversation, too, just like any other evening. "Only God knows how many times we've had this conversation."

The first truth in all day, since, really, only God knew. Not like talking ever solved anything. Twilight just learned to bite her tongue and ignore the point of the lectures, or else these things happened. So her father's speech repeated itself like a broken record. That even though it wasn't right, they had talked about it, that she had to understand that her mother was stressed (as always) with work, that it didn't mean her mother didn't love her and all that blah, blah, blah, that couldn't be more irrelevant at the moment.

But it never came.

Sparkle decided to take a sip of her tea, to dull the feeling of the bile dancing on her tongue. Plus it was her favorite tea for a reason, prepared with a teaspoon of honey, the right balance between sweet and sugary and, despite the extra calories, healthier.

It also gave her time to think, so the sooner this conversation ended the sooner she could leave.

Twilight tried to remember if she ever read anything about it, or if it was mentioned to her, or if it appeared in the stack of pamphlets she once held in her hands. Or if she heard something similar at a group meeting, even if she only sat there with tea and tried to think about something else.

And so she was back to square one: nothing.

Improvising it is.

Maybe, perhaps, at best, she could start with the most obvious and stupid thing that crossed her mind.

“I thought you’d be angry with me,” she muttered, because she had nothing left to lose, because the expectant silences with her parents were the most unsettling and because overthinking was one hundred percent free. But, it made sense, and at the same time it didn’t. Why make her her favorite tea, then?

Night Light looked at her somewhat confused for a second, then let out a sigh that wasn’t very heavy, but couldn’t be called light either… normal? Calm? Unmoved?

“I think your mother reacted enough for the both of us.” At that, Sparkle wished she was three meters underground, chewing ten of those cheap toothpaste-flavored gums. What was worse? The affirmative answer or the ambiguity? “And you know well I really can’t be angry at you.”

Well, then five gums would be fine. Or eucalyptus gummies.

It made sense, sort of, as the times her father got angry at Twilight, it never escalated to the typical prohibition of something as punishment and some screams to demand for respect as the head of the family. Twilight learned to shut up at the right time, unlike her brother. Hence the origin of all her fears.

“But I don't know if that question should be directed at me.” Twilight? Angry? No, no, she just got bored of the hellish routine of life that meant living under this roof. “I understand that you were distant, and I thought you had gone to your brother's for a few days. No... not this.”

It's not that Sparkle didn't miss her things here, or some of the methods adopted for the damned routine, but she needed something else. Being able to sleep without interruptions was on top of the list.

“I'm sorry, really.” According to everyone, she had nothing to apologize for things that weren't her responsibility. And while Velvet had a tendency to exaggerate this just to make her feel bad, maybe Twilight didn't feel like ruining her parents lives. “I'm not angry. It's not about that.”

“And what is it about, then?”

It was a serious question, as Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) wasn't like that, never had been. But there was nothing wrong with changing, with not wanting to maintain a status quo, or to preserve radiant tens, or to maintain a certain aesthetic. With not having to measure movements, or limited responses, or having to be aware of everything at all times and in all aspects of her life.

There was nothing wrong with wanting to change, or do different things, or break out of the routine, or even having uneven feelings.

At the same time, no matter how genuine his interest seemed, Sparkle felt like throwing everything away.

What did he mean, why?

How dare he?

Sparkle had a whole list of reasons in sloppy, hurried handwriting, jotted down on a paper sheet of a torn notebook, as if it were the paper of fourteen folds. The main reason was there, first on the list, underlined with fury and so many colored inks that it tore a hole in the paper.

He knew the reasons. He was responsible for every damn answer to every damn question.

"Inhale. Exhale.

Firm.

Firm, firm, firm, firm, fir–"

"There are a… lot of things." Sparkle could’ve said it to his face, the answer stinging on the tip of her tongue. What everyone knew, what she knew, and what he, above all, knew well. What no one dared to say, and that had no point in being explained. "You probably know most of them."

"Perhaps." At that, Sparkle took a sip of tea to keep herself from grimacing. Playing dumb was useless. They both knew that he was the source of many (saying 'all' would be inaccurate) of the ills that plagued this family. “But you should've told us, we could've arranged something. Like staying at your brother's and maybe visiting on the weekends or something.”

Sparkle had to think about it, for a second. Going back to the times when she thought about that possibility.

Would it be enough?

No.

The answer was simply no.

Because Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) realized, at that very moment, that she wasn’t going to settle for leaving five days a week. Otherwise, there would be no way to truly escape the routine. Sooner or later they would come up with an excuse for her to stay longer at this house, or to leave the majority of her things, or even that she was going to bother the baby and she had a room here and no need to babysitter and no, Twilight, you'll stay here and that's it. Stop it with the tantrums.

Again, it seemed that she was transparent in her gestures, because Night Light kept trying despite her silence.

“What I mean is that all this seems a bit excessive to me, and unfair to Celestia, even. The last thing I want is for her to think that we are imposing on her hospitality.”

Without saying anything, Twilight placed the cloth with gel on the table, next to the tea. Fixing her gaze on the cup and rubbing the handle of it with her thumb.

If it’s the only way you'll leave me alone…

Was it really the only way, though?

It didn't have to do with Twilight not loving her family, as she found herself missing them, sometimes. Just like her friends openly talked about their family, typical complaints about restrictions, or siblings being siblings. Normal things, superficial things of normal teenagers, with normal lives and normal problems. Even Sunset, who for some reason lived on her own and seemed to have most things figured out, never said anything out of the ordinary. Even the Other Twilight, her doppelganger, whose everyday tellings would put her in a mental hospital to normal ears, when she showed up she seemed like just another teenager. She didn't mention her family much either, but no one asked either and it's not like she counted.

Twilight Sparkle, the one who came from these lands, was treated like that too. No one asked about the absence of her parents at her birthday or anything but, God, it was obvious that everyone suspected when they didn't show up, and that she was living at the school principal's house, to top it all off.

Discretion didn't make any less awful (or embarrassing) the fact that she couldn't act the same way, that she couldn't have those kinds of worries.

That was the supposed reason for all this, just to have a restraining order and leave things be, even if such a report couldn't be made without evidence to support it.

“Whatever you decide is going to be fine, Twi. Our priority is that you're okay. And considering that you look much better than the last time I saw you..." he let out a heavy sigh. "Maybe it's up to us to think about some things."

Huh?

What?

Was he giving her the free pass?

Did he just say she looked better? Better, as in healthier?

Was he admitting that, yes, maybe they had to consider some things and seek some sort of arrangement? They, plural?

No. Impossible. It couldn't be.

Or could it?

Or not?

Or could it?

What the hell did he just say?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, in a much more relaxed manner and with a slight smile. Maybe because of Sparkle's stupefied expression. And for a moment this seemed like a normal evening, asking for normal advice, those where he acted like a parent that came out of a film. As it should be, actually. "Your old man sometimes has the power of reflection, you know?"

Sparkle to a drink of her tea to not bite her tongue and swallow the possible sarcastic comment.

It could be true that his intentions were real. As Sparkle knew that he was willing to listen to everything she’d have to say, that he wasn't going to ignore her. That he would act like a father that came out of a film, unnecessary examples to express clear ideas and cliché phrases included. He was always interested in knowing the whys, and sometimes he had even taken sides in her favor, beyond the fact that all of that came with a price.

But now Twilight had debts. Too many.

She was going to have to confront them and pay them one by one, wasn't she?

“Inhale. Exhale. Casual.”

“So, you'll convince Mom?”

There was a reason for everything.

Besides, Sparkle could be many things, but stupid and, above all, innocent, were two definitions that didn’t fit her. So much trial and error over the years, of trusting and telling herself “what’s the point?” Because if there are things that are going to happen despite your efforts, then it’s best to make the most of the situation.

That’s how things worked.

So, when she felt that little emotional squeeze from hell burn her wrist, she did nothing but breathe in air as slowly as she could and try to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. Or maybe it was something more than that, but stomach acids dancing on her tongue anyway. It felt like her ribs were squeezing her lungs, and her heart began to pound as if pumping blood would help her keep her distance.

“I can't promise anything, but I can always try.” Again, that movie dad smile, to keep pretending that they were in a scene where what she asked for was something typically superfluous of a teenager trying to find her place in the world.

And a part of Sparkle wanted to trust that it existed. That people change, that two months could serve as a reflection on all those things that happened and that perhaps the intention to change was real, that if he was willing to be better–

Why was she so worried that her wrist wouldn't give away her heartbeat? Of showing herself whole, firm, even if her lungs were burning inside?

Twilight didn't need the answer, because the memory, the reason, was always there, in the darkest and most hidden part of her subconscious. Ready to come out at any moment. After all, two months meant nothing compared to years of misfortune.

Hence, perhaps, the effort to maintain an invisible dignity.

The fire is aware of the damage it causes, after all.

Though Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) was no longer sure if such a notion held any weight in the conscience.

“So… you don’t mind if I go upstairs to get some things, do you?” she asked, her gaze falling on the generic, boring white mug, half-full of tea, next to the cloth with cooling gel that had turned into a damp, slumpy thing. When had she started twisting the end of the cloth?

No, no. Priorities. She had a chance to stop being paralyzed.

“Of course not, Twi.” Sparkle tried not to look desperate to get up, or to let out the breath she had just realized was holding in her lungs. “Let me know if you need a hand.”

“Uh-huh,” she made an effort to sound normal, to sound like teenagers are supposed to sound when using pretended casualness.

She climbed the stairs again, careful not to let the heaviness of her steps be the same as before. To denote confidence, which was important for moments like this, where she had to show herself whole.

Same route as before. Same hallway. Same seven steps to get to the second door on the right.

The third hinge on her bedroom door still made a squeaking noise, as its lack of maintenance was still intentional.

And while Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) had such a sound burned into her head due to its great utility, it never ceased to be a warning sign. A check-in and check-out of her own room. An invitation for the uncomfortable tingle to travel up her spine to her nerve endings, ending with a shrug of the shoulders.

"Inhale, exhale.

Just take your things and leave."

As she opened the door, Sparkle had no idea what to expect. An empty room, perhaps? Or boxes storing her things, or obvious missing items that had gone to a church as a donation. But to her (real) surprise, everything was exactly in its place. Neat and tidy, not even dust. The desk destined for immaculate order with its digital clock on top, her closet, her nightstand, books arranged by theme, size and alphanumeric order at the same time, the calendar on the wall stopped at July, just above her bed–

Everything in its place like she never left this house.

Maybe they did miss her.

Sparkle took a breath to get to work, leaving aside the imaginary bad omens, the speculations and giving priority to what she came to do: take her things.

Where to start? Priorities, priorities, priorities...

Wardrobe? Wardrobe.

Following the pattern of treating her with fragility, Twilight was taken to clothing stores as if she were a little girl. Something about her wardrobe selection being very small and also, why not, changing the style a little. Sparkle wasn’t one to pay much attention to clothes, per se. Especially when it depended on what Velvet allowed her to choose from the options she provided. Therefore, she limited herself to the most classic (and boring, perhaps) options. She spent half her life in a school uniform, so choosing what to wear everyday wasn't relevant until a few months ago.

Like everything in these four walls, her clothes were in organizers by size, color and category, most neutral colors with some specks of blue or magenta, as they matched her hair and all those things that should be taken into account to look put together. She put aside two or three trousers, some t-shirts and a few mid-season sweaters. Extra clothes with versibility in combinations, just like all the videos on how to pack suitcases for long vacations instructed.

The sheets, even if they were impeccably stored in the closet and were made of a hundred cotton threads, Sparkle decided were a definite no-no. While it was pointless to assign blame to inanimate objects, she couldn't really say yes to them, nor take them. Moths don't carry mothballs with them, the survival instinct remains even if you're a bug with a brain smaller than a pinhead.

There was the bedding, that is, the old t-shirts she wore as pajamas sometimes, and the real pajamas made of cotton fibers that she wore, sometimes, when the moment called for it–

She closed the drawer with a sharp push, and with a twist of the doors the wardrobe was closed as well.

Twilight took her time, sitting on the floor with a medium-sized duffel bag she found in the closet and her selected clothes, to start folding in one of the best storage methods she could find.

Folding in two or three parts, and then in halves or thirds. Simple, practical, and easy to follow. Meanwhile, she tried to inhale and exhale deeply so as not to lose focus, not to be at the mercy of memories that would only make her make more mistakes.

Once everything was arranged inside the bag, she moved on to the second most important thing: books.

Twilight had some already saved, they were always included in the part of the plan where she left some things in her locker at school to have them at hand. But there was never too much, so he took a novel or two, Basic Concepts of Sociology, third and fourth editions of Maths by Tapia to add to the first two, and one or two books on astronomy and constellations.

There was also her telescope, a Skywatcher Astrolux reflector type, with a seventy-six millimeter aperture. Ideal for viewing the planets and celestial bodies, which was gifted at her ninth birthday when it became clear to her parents that a simple pair of long-range binoculars wouldn't suffice her curiosity. She remembered how excited she was for the night to come, and then having to wait in complete darkness with a makeshift red light, her dad helping her to calibrate it and set everything in place to observe the stars for hours.

Twilight continued to do so, after the thorns disturbed her sleep, or she simply couldn't close her eyes. She always slipped away with a blanket, a pillow, and her constellation book to watch the stars until the tiredness forced her to make into a ball and sleep, waking up with the first rays of the sun to stealthily return to her room and pretend she had never moved in the first place.

Yes. She’ll take it. It was hers and it made her feel something like happiness, besides, it wasn't as heavy as it looked.

The only thing left was her bed.

No. From the beginning she never thought about taking furniture. It's just that sometimes she missed her bed, her viscose pillow for the spine, the sheets with 180 percent cotton fibers that were soft and warm. Or the many hiding places in her room, or spending the evening watching documentaries, or reading a novel, or doing research.

Sparkle missed her bed and its sommier confort, but it was her bed of thorns, too.

The idea, the simple memory of what it meant turned her stomach and made her physically gag.

Still, with trembling hands, she pulled the pillow out of its case. Furniture couldn't be blamed for the actions of others.

Because the thorns were never something exclusive to the bed. Nor was the bed made of them, no matter how much Sparkle wanted to believe otherwise. They never grew there, but on her own skin. They had taken their roots there, on her tissue, and from there the origin of the impurities.

From there came the origin of all evils. Like Pandora.

The thorns were real. Real, flexible and endless, coiling around her body, twisting around her chest and not letting her breathe, dragging themselves hard and leaving thin red lines behind them or even stabbing her body and piercing her organs and–

Twilight could only squeeze her eyes shut in an attempt to hold back the kind of tears she hadn’t shed in a long time, the kind of catharsis in the middle of the night and screams contained in pillows.

Because it hurt. It really hurt. In every sense and every applicable metaphor.

The din of the little creak of the wood, which seemed to rumble in her ears from the beginning of the corridor, from the beginning of the stairs.

Her heart rate increased in alert. All that was left was to count.

…Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eigh--

There was no eighth step.

The world stopped.

It stopped with two firm knocks, like someone asking permission before opening the door.

When was the last time that happened? That someone knocked on the door before entering her room, in this house? Her brother, for sure. Shining was always cautious and polite in that sense.

Well, sometimes her father knocked on the door too. Times that could be counted with the fingers of a single hand, but times nonetheless.

Twilight didn't know how to respond when the third hinge on the door produced a squeak, its null maintenance still intentional despite the years and promises to fix it.

"Everything okay?" Night Light asked from the threshold of the door, without opening it all the way. His hand still on the handle, as if ready to turn around if Twilight asked him to.

Was this still part of the movie act? Maybe it was.

Or maybe these two months were a point of reflection. Maybe he wasn't lying when he said they had to think about some things. Maybe they missed her as much as she missed them, with the same gratitude for the peace of mind but feeling odd at the emptiness. That's why her mother was so angry for not giving them a second chance.

She didn't know what to think anymore.

Twilight just nodded at the question, breathing in and out in the worst way, the most obvious way, the one that showed that she had nothing left. Nothing to gain or lose, and much less to pretend. Because her dad was there, three steps away and it was inevitable not to think about all the things that happened. How the nights of bedtime stories turned into thorns. How they went from family dinners to arguments with her brother and constant tensions. All those things that she stayed away from for two months and to which she returned fully now.

But the tears fell despite her efforts to hold them back, and she could do nothing but wipe them away with the sleeves of her sweater, feeling heat again on her left cheek.

Twilight heard the words, the usual question if she was okay, if something happened, and she didn’t know whether to twist her skin hard or scream, burn her lungs at the cynicism of such a question. She shook her head, wiping away more tears. What could she say?

Suddenly, Sparkle felt fire.

It felt strange because the flames weren't melting her organs or turning her bones into fiery embers. It was external, from the air around her. It climbed from the base of the spine to the back of her neck, to her hair way-too-thin and way-too-soft but still way too detestable. It scorched her skin, wrapped her torso with such heat that it made her hair stand on end from the chills.

It was fire, yes, and at the same time it felt like simple warmth, comfort. The kind that surrounds with kind arms, that comes from affection. The kind that sometimes gave her security, beyond the discomfort of physical contact.

It was enough to make Twilight Sparkle break.

Contradictory? Probably. Hypocritical? Sure.

After all, innocence was something she didn't possess. Dignity, either. There was nothing to lose, already inside a house she didn't want to come to, after her mother abandoned her with someone she didn't want to see, looking for her things in a room she left on her own account.

Contradictory, yes. But it seemed that every choice she made was wrong.

She knew that her father's intentions, at this moment, were real. That he was willing to listen to her, that he wasn't going to ignore her and that he would act like in a movie. Cliché phrases included.

However, Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) was aware that everything came with a price. One she would have to face sooner or later, especially because of the number of times she thought 'what's the point?’ In which she decided to give the benefit of the doubt and trust.

Perhaps it was that very same thing disguising itself as good intentions. Intentions of help, of worry, and understanding. Of gentle strokes in the hair and empty apologies that Twilight no longer knew who they came from. It could all be a lie.

It was, to a degree. They wouldn't be here, now, in this situation if it wasn't

That's why Twilight didn't return the hug, nor did she try anything to get away when she felt a kiss at the top of her head.

Maybe she didn't want to, deep down.

Maybe comfort was what she needed, right now.

Wasn’t this a father’s real job, after all?

What's the point, then?

“Are you sure you don't want me to call you an Uber? I'll drive you, but the car's at the mechanic.”

“I'm fine.” Twilight barely knew what she was doing. “It’s not as heavy as it looks.”

She knew she hung the bag over her shoulder to prove her point. It had its weight, sure, but it was manageable.

There were worse things.

She didn't have a clue of what time it was, temporalities lost the moment she stepped into the house. That it was way more than expected, for sure. It had been months since the last time she wore a watch, and her phone was somewhere in her backpack, on Silent.

It felt like she was floating inside her head. Thoughts that drifted away the second they became coherent. Numbness crawling across her skin, the low but constant ringing in her ears.

Improvising was never Twilight’s strong suit, and that's why she ended up losing most of the time these things happened. Not like she was ever meant to win anything, anyway.

There are worse things.

There was an exchange of greetings. Something like a 'take care' and an 'I love you', and she had no idea who said what or in what order. It didn't matter.

They were standing in front of the front gate.

The fire surrounded her for a moment, fondly, knowing it was a goodbye. Twilight let the flames scorch her skin once more, willingly, as she had willingly let many other things happen. She wasn't meant to win.

It was a goodbye, after all.

The keys turned, a metallic and plastic clink at the same time.

One step.

Two steps.

A friendly wave.

The sound of the lock, again.

And Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) was free. Free at last.

Free of debts, free of her family, free of the house she lived in for at least five years of her life, free of her mother.

Twilight started walking towards the avenue with the intention of taking the bus. Yet for some reason she collapsed against the neighbor's brick wall when she reached the corner of the block.

Freedom with no waving flag, no music that made the eyes overflow with emotions, no confetti, no clapping, not even company. Only the tiles of the sidewalk, brick against her back, and the inconvenience of a backpack and two extra bags.

Maybe it weighed more than she thought.

Maybe it was the weight she felt in her stomach. The sickness of it. Lead sipping through her organs and turning everything dark and rotten between. The thorns have stabbed her insides to give room for the roots to sink deeper, taking over her bones. Turning them on fire and burning them until they broke at the touch.

Ashes. That's what she was made of, now.

And Twilight was carrying her body in her bags.

Author's Note

...And it only took me 6 years...

Special thanks to Tamiyaguy for supporting my insufferableness.

Blog about this extra.
If you like what I do, you can buy me a Ko-fi!