Chirping?
There shouldn’t be any sound here. In the dark, Twilight Sparkle’s mind sloshed back and forth gently with the incoming tide. There shouldn’t be any birds underwater. The chirping continued, despite her logic.
As it went on, she focused on the little flute solo, fluid trills dancing in her ears. She allowed a faint smile onto her lips—yes, she had a mouth, and a physical body. She’d forgotten.
One eye popped open, and Twilight found herself lying on her back in the precise center of a rather unremarkable iron bed. The center was good. Symmetric. She had the sheet tucked tightly under her. A white sheet. White bed. White cinder-block walls, linoleum floor. A small ledge that barely qualified as a desk, with a chair nearby. An even smaller shelf over the bed. All white. Sheer curtains billowed in the breeze swirling through the open window, the birdsong outside continuing its lilt.
Twilight pulled the edge of the sheet from under her and swung out of bed. She needed to see what a bird might sing about outside of this white room, but she turned around at a crackle of static behind her. On the small shelf above her bed—a radio, also white, but she didn’t remember turning it on.
A flash of color—at the far end of the shelf, a music box hung open, an elegant pegasus rearing up as if to dance across the purple-enameled surface beneath the lid. After staring at the figure for a moment, she tried to wind the key on the back, but it wouldn’t budge. Why would that be here? She shook her head, which finally started feeling unclogged, but that static didn’t help—she reached out with a hoof to nudge the radio’s dial.
“Twilight!”
Her head whipping around, she walked over to the window. So many colors… Flowers everywhere, in blues and yellows and… pink. A huge cluster of pink, which smiled back at her.
“Hi, Twi! Hee hee! Can I come in?” Pinkie asked, her tail swishing through the blooms.
Struck speechless for a moment, Twilight finally gave a small nod and blinked. Just the flowers, the well-manicured lawn, a black cast-iron fence. No pink.
“Here, silly!”
Twilight turned toward the sound and looked to where Pinkie sat in the plushly upholstered desk chair, its pink fabric dotted with a peppermint candy motif. She walked away from the frilly pink curtains and plopped back onto the fluffy pink comforter on her bed, next to the pink wall covered with pink balloon wallpaper. The radio’s static had snapped to a jaunty polka tune.
“How are you doing today, Twilight? I’m glad you don’t mind having a visitor!” Pinkie leaned forward in her chair and closed her eyes, an immense grin stretched across her face.
“I… I don’t know, Pinkie. Where is this?” Creasing her brow, Twilight searched the room once more for something, anything, that might spur her memory. Only the pink, and the music, and that dancing pony that didn’t work.
“It’s just your room. You don’t recognize it?” Pinkie asked, scratching a hoof behind her ear. Twilight shook her head and wrapped the corner of the comforter around herself. “That’s okie-dokie-lokie. I just wanted to check up on one of my bestest friends. You’re having a good day?”
Huddling a bit further against the wall, Twilight flattened her ears as she nestled into her billowy shield. Was she having a good day? She didn’t know. She didn’t know. “Where is everypony? Where’s Spike?”
“Oh, you worrywart!” Pinkie said. She waved a dismissive hoof as she giggled. “Everypony’s fine. Don’t you fret your little purple head over us. I’m the one visiting you. I want to know how you’re doing!”
“I… now that you’re here, it seems to be a little better.” She readjusted her position and flashed a faint smile. Her legs sank into the mattress like lead weights, and she shivered beneath her thick covers. If only she could slow down her racing heart, her heavy breathing…
“Hee hee! I’ve been accused of worse.” Pinkie bounced her head along with the music. “Of course it’s better with friends, Twilight! That’s why we need to have you back.”
Twilight frowned and wrestled her voice from a chest that felt stuffed with cotton. “Back?”
Pinkie rose from her chair and walked to the bed’s side, then placed a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. Her smile decayed, and she took a deep breath. “Twilight, I want you to know that you’ve always made me laugh. You’ve been a fun friend.”
“Made you laugh?” Twilight snorted as her shoulders relaxed. She’d had quite enough of being a punchline in her school days. “What did I do that was so awkward this time?”
“No, silly. I laugh because I like being friends with you. Do you remember that book of knock-knock jokes you found in the library last month?” Her head bobbed in a silent giggle. “You laughed so hard! I couldn’t help myself! It was so contagious, and the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Laughter’s not always about funny. Sometimes it’s about happiness.”
Laughing a bit herself, Twilight closed her eyes and reached out to hug Pinkie like a big, warm teddy bear. Finally, something familiar—she could lose herself in the puffy pink mane, right where she’d always belonged, right here in the room of pink—no, of white—of…
“We miss you, Twilight. The laughter hasn’t been the same without you… Never forget to laugh.”
The voice and the music echoed in Twilight’s ears. Even the warmth lingered, but… she opened her eyes and saw her hoof extended into the empty space in front of her. It fell to the white sheet below as her smile faded. Where…? Pinkie?
Twilight clambered out of bed and rushed to the metal door, then looked out the small wire-reinforced window to the hallway beyond. She craned her neck to see as far as she could in either direction. Nopony anywhere—she ran to the window to find it blocked with iron bars.
No. No, sh-she had to get out! Her breathing quickened and her heart raced as she returned to the door and tried the knob, but… it-it opened easily.
Stepping into the corridor, Twilight ran a hoof over the white-and-red-checkered wallpaper and looked at the faded photographs hanging there, the worn floorboards creaking with her passage. She followed the hall past all those smiling portraits until it opened onto a rustic porch. A pair of rocking chairs faced west, and a number of wooden posts supported a tin roof, which pinged every few seconds in the growing heat. A short distance away, acres of golden wheat stalks rippled in the breeze, the early sun gilding their edges.
“Mornin’.”
Twilight slowly turned her head to the farther chair, where Applejack rocked and sipped a glass of lemonade.
“Sleep well, sugarcube?” Applejack waved a hoof toward the empty seat and stifled a yawn.
Nodding, Twilight slid into the chair and looked past Applejack to the next building. A pair of farm workers leaned against the bunkhouse’s wall. One picked away at a slide guitar while the other played an out-of-tune fiddle. In the distance, a small steel windmill tower squeaked away as the blades spun, seemingly in time with the twangy melody.
“I got a glass for you too, Twi. It’s fresh,” Applejack said, nudging a drink across the small table between them. Lit up by Applejack’s grin, Twilight sampled it and finally relaxed back into her chair. Nice and cool, and not overly tart. They sat in silence for a few moments until Applejack swept a hoof past the fields in front of them. “Y’know, I’d have none o’ this if not for good, honest hard work. But you’d know somethin’ ’bout that, too. You’re not one to shy away from effort.”
“No, I—I guess not.” Twilight took another drink—she gulped it down and kept the glass tilted up until one of the ice cubes came unstuck and slid against her nose. Why was she so thirsty? “I’ve… always tried to do my best.” With a sheepish grin, she set her glass back on the table. “But it’s not quite the same as what you do.”
“Shucks, sure it is, sugarcube. Would I lie?” Applejack laughed as she tipped the brim of her hat a little further upward.
Twilight shook her head and gazed out at the windblown grain. It felt so right here with her friend. She couldn’t imagine a more perfect morning than this. But… she couldn’t remember waking up here. In this house? Pink—no, Applejack didn’t like pink. So why—?
“See, you never use your fancy logic or philosophy to dance around the truth. That’s what I like about you.” Applejack took a long drink, then jabbed a hoof toward Twilight. “No avoidin’ it, no hidin’ from it, no disguisin’ it. You work as hard as any Apple, and all o’ Ponyville’s the better for it.”
“No! I messed up when I tried using magic during Winter Wrap-Up, and with the time travel, a-and…” Hanging her head, Twilight let out a sigh.
“But you owned up to it. Dontcha see? And in the end, you weren’t afraid to tell it like it is, and worked your flank off to make it all right. First winter ever wrapped up on time. That was you,” added Applejack, giving Twilight a sharp nod. “All ’cause you had no fear o’ the truth.”
Twilight blushed a bit at the compliment and refilled her glass from the pitcher. “I’m just lucky it all turned out well.”
Applejack hummed along with the musicians for a moment, then chuckled. “I don’t know why it’s so fun to sing about losin’ everything. But that’s country music for you.” She leaned toward Twilight and patted her shoulder. “We can’t lose you, though. You mean too much to us, sugarcube. You keep your mind fixed on the truth. And truth is—we miss you. Be honest with yourself first. Know when you’re hurtin’ yourself.” She shook her head as the music waned, the sun’s glare off the windmill’s rotating blades forcing Twilight to cover her eyes with a foreleg. “You shouldn’t be here. Come home to us.”
“Miss Sparkle?”
Twilight lowered her leg and blinked at the stallion bent over her. He wore a white smock and a reassuring smile. She looked forward once more, a half-remembered image teasing her, but no farmland—just a small concrete patio and a narrow strip of grass. A wheat field… No, a pink room…
“Miss Sparkle, are you ready for some breakfast?” he asked as he pointed toward the doorway.
Twilight cast a wistful gaze at the empty chair beside her. She reached a hoof toward it and mouthed, “Applejack.” She did feel a little hungry, though. And so thirsty…
She nodded to the stallion and followed him to a common room filled with long tables, where he pointed her to a serving line. Some colorful plates of mixed vegetables—green, orange, yellow, red. No pink. A bunch of paper cups with water or iced tea. No, she wanted lemonade. So thirsty…
After wandering through the low buzz of conversation and clinking silverware—had she passed that stallion with the dice cutie mark three times already?—she chose a secluded table in the corner and stared off at the wall. She barely noticed when a mare took the chair opposite her.
“Good morning, Twilight. I’m Doctor Canter. Do you remember me? Are you having a good day so far?” She craned her neck until her face nearly filled Twilight’s vision.
Twilight shrugged. “I saw Pinkie Pie and Applejack. They came to visit.”
“Oh, good,” the doctor said. “And how did it go?”
Directing her stare down at the tabletop, Twilight frowned and let her ears fold back. “Good. I think. I’m just… confused.”
“That’s fine. We can work with ‘confused.’ Are you at least feeling well?” Twilight gave a halfhearted nod in response. Everything seemed fine. If she could remember what “fine” felt like. “Well, I’ll check in with you this afternoon. Just try to relax today. Please. That’s the only item on your checklist.”
Twilight focused her eyes on the mouth that had formed that word, and she sat up taller. She could mark that off her list. Mark it as complete. She nodded, and the doctor’s mouth had started moving again, but the sound came out muffled, as if spoken through a scarf. Her eyes drifted shut, then another noise, in the background…
Voices faded away, and Twilight’s ears pricked toward a faint sound. She blinked and stared at an old phonograph in the far corner, its turntable spinning away. A few quiet hisses and pops issued from the bell-shaped horn, and then a lively overture started. The darkened room teemed with art deco furnishings, chrome accents, vinyl-covered banquettes, and dim frosted-glass lamps. The scent of fresh bread and herbs wafted through the air, and she felt the light coolness from a ceiling fan turning lazily overhead. From outside, the neon lights lining the nighttime streets flashed an interplay of colors on the glossy granite tabletop. Voices had joined in with the instruments—some kind of show tune.
And then another voice… “I just love this bistro,” Rarity said while fixing an out-of-place strand of mane. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us—I know the chef.” She beamed at Twilight as the waiter delivered their food: a pair of cucumber and endive sandwiches, a small crock of Dijon mustard, a basket of cut flowers to share, and two tall glasses of pomegranate juice.
“Mm, this looks delicious, Rarity!” Twilight levitated the pepper shaker and mustard over, and added a bit of each to her sandwich as she licked her lips. She perked her ears up and smiled. “How do you find all these places?”
Rarity tossed her mane and flicked a hoof at Twilight. “Oh, tools of the trade.”
Twilight picked up her glass and had drained half of it before she came up for air. And even then, she spilled a little on the table. She stared at the small puddle, glistening on the stone. The color, the shine… and her own face reflected in it. Purple, glossy, and… a pony that didn’t work? In a white—
“You know, I do so prefer one-on-one time like this, dear. It really gives me a chance to get to know my friends,” Rarity added, holding a hoof to her chest. “I’m afraid I don’t make time for it like I should.”
“But Rarity—” Twilight knit her brow and cocked her head “—we do lots of things together.”
“Oh, pish posh. A bit of fun here, a bit there. Twilight, I would do anything for my friends. I love making my little creations for you,” Rarity said. She waved a hoof at the exquisite amethyst-studded gown that Twilight wore. “But where is the line? I pour so much of myself into each one of them, but at the expense of what? Not having the time to give my friends the real article? Giving them a labor of love but not the love itself, because it’s stuck toiling away at the boutique?” Exhaling sharply, she shook her head.
Rarity’s ears swiveled momentarily to the song playing on the record. “Oh my, Les Mareserables! One of my favorite shows.” She hummed along with the melody, then joined in at the beginning of the chorus. “On my own…” Stopping just as quickly as she’d begun, she sighed. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? I’m not on my own. ‘Give until it hurts,’ as they say, and it does hurt at times. That’s not what your friends want, though.” She averted her eyes downward, avoiding Twilight’s gaze.
“Rarity, we do appreciate what you do for us. You’re so creative, and we all show it off with pride.” Twilight took Rarity’s hooves in her own, leaning forward onto the cool stone of the table, and waited for her to make eye contact. “But you don’t have to prove it over and over again.”
“That’s exactly the dilemma, Twilight. Generosity taken to such an extreme that it deprives you of your friend is no generosity. ‘Get your own house in order.’ Oh, listen to me,” she said with a wry chuckle. “I sound like one of those familiar quotation books.” Though her eyes brimmed with tears, Rarity gave a polite little laugh. “My point is that you have to be generous to yourself sometimes. Merely indulging yourself in your friends’ company is often the best gift you can give them as well.”
Rarity walked around to Twilight’s side of the table, sat next to her, and wrapped a foreleg around her neck. “Don’t take yourself away, Twilight. More than what you do for us, we need you. You don’t belong in this place,” she said, sweeping a hoof about the room.
Twilight hugged Rarity back and buried her muzzle in the curls of her friend’s mane. The smell of her perfume, the feel of her soft coat against Twilight’s face, the gentle thud of a heartbeat… how she’d missed that. H-how long…? She couldn’t remember the last time. Twilight squeezed her eyes shut tight, and her friend even tighter. But all things end.
She put her hooves on Rarity’s shoulders and backed away to look into her eyes again, but… nopony there. Just silence and a small plate of vegetables on a rather industrial table.
She glanced up to the seat across from her, where Canter stared intently. She hadn’t budged. “Are you back with us?” Twilight’s mouth hung open for a moment while she surveyed the room as if seeing it for the first time. No music, no street, no perfume. “Who came to visit you?”
“R-Rarity.” Her breath catching in her throat, Twilight shoved herself back from the table, sending her chair clattering to the floor. “Sh-she told me I didn’t belong here. I have to go! I need to go!” Her eyes searched the room quickly. A door—no, that led to the kitchen. Behind her, a wall, and on her right, another. Another wall. Walls everywhere!
“Twilight,” the doctor said softly. “You can leave whenever you want. You’re not confined here. In fact, you checked yourself in of your own accord.”
“No! I-I can’t stay here!” A-a door out! And the doctor wouldn’t catch her if she ran now! Twilight bolted for it, with Canter making no move to stop her. A wide hallway, probably the main one—she galloped down it until she reached a pair of large glass doors, sunlight streaming through them. She broke into a triumphant smile, shoved the doors open, closed her eyes against the bright light, rushed outside…
She skidded to a stop in deep sand next to a pair of swaying palm trees. A steady sea breeze blew in off the ocean, carrying its salty scent and countering the sun’s relentless warmth. Behind her stood a small straw-roofed bar shack at one end of a stage, where a jazz trio played. Above it all, a few wispy clouds drifted across the sky.
“Oh, hey, Twilight!” Rainbow Dash said, looking up from her beach chair. She gave a goofy grin and wrinkled her zinc-dabbed nose. “Glad you could join me! I saved you a seat.” She patted the empty one next to her. After a moment’s hesitation, Twilight ducked into the chair and peered through the slats on the back.
Rainbow peeked over the top of her sunglasses. “What’s wrong? You look spooked.”
“Chasing… me…” Twilight answered through her panting.
“Who?” Rainbow raised an eyebrow. “Nopony back there,” she said with a flick of her hoof.
Twilight chanced a look and popped her head above the chair. Just an open beach, a hotel up on the hill, a pool in between… a few ponies playing volleyball, and a few more putting on snorkeling gear. She steadied her shaking hooves and settled into the seat.
Rainbow took a sip through the straw protruding from the coconut she held and nodded toward another one that lay in the sand between them. “Help yourself, Twi. Never tried one of these before, but it’s pretty awesome.”
Levitating the drink up in front of her, Twilight took a tentative pull and smiled at the unexpectedly cool sensation. She smacked her lips. “Mm. That is good!” Why was she so thirsty? And out of breath? She’d spent the entire morning on the beach, just sitting there, after all. Squinting, she scrunched up her snout and glanced at Dash. “Why are you relaxing at this time of day? I figured you’d be practicing stunts or managing the weather.”
“Yeah. I guess so. But sometimes you just have to chill. Go, go, go all the time will burn you out, you know? You gotta—oh, hang on. I love this part!” She mimed along with the trumpet player’s solo, puckering her lips and holding her hooves up in front of her as a wingtip worked the imaginary valves. After gyrating along with the blazing tempo for a little while, she brushed a bit of sweat off her forehead and picked up her drink again. “Heh. See? You can still get a workout, even while you’re relaxing.”
Twilight chuckled, but then held a hoof to her mouth and looked behind her again. She didn’t remember why, though. Watch out for… She shook her head and shrugged. “And you do know how to relax, don’t you?”
“Yeah…” Rainbow’s wings sagged, her ears drooped, and she flopped back into her chair. “I know. I—I’m sorry, Twilight. I know it looks like I goof off all the time, but…”
“No, I didn’t mean—” Twilight sat up and leaned toward Rainbow. “You work so hard, Rainbow Dash. With your speed, you can get a job done quicker, but that doesn’t mean it takes any less effort.”
She reached over and touched Rainbow’s shoulder. “If you did nothing but weather all the time, that would be great for Ponyville, right? Sunny days, rain only where needed. You could put tiny rainclouds over every one of Applejack’s trees and leave the rest of town nice and clear, but it’s not worth it. Things don’t have to be perfect.”
“I… I guess not,” Rainbow said with a forced grin. “Though it’s weird to hear that comin’ from you.”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Ponies can put up with a bit of rain, a few downed branches, a dry spell. You’d keel over if you had to do it all. You love Ponyville, and you want to do your best for us. Sometimes that means taking care of yourself so you can do your part. Sometimes showing loyalty to everypony else means showing loyalty to yourself.”
“Thanks, Twi,” Rainbow said. She tousled Twilight’s mane. “Nopony seems to get that, and explaining it’d just sound like excuses.”
“So many ponies depend on you. How do you handle it?” Twilight asked, her ears pricking.
“Heh. This isn’t about me, Twi. You do important things for Ponyville, too. But just having you there is more important. We want that back. You shouldn’t be here, Twilight. Don’t stay.” Dash hopped out of her chair and leaned down to give Twilight a hug.
She didn’t show affection often—Twilight hugged her back and pulled her close. A little smell of sweat, but she didn’t mind. Just part of what made her Rainbow Dash.
Twilight probably held on a bit too long—Rainbow wiggled free and picked up her drink off the arm of her chair, but a loud slurping noise signaled the end of her beverage. “Be right back,” she said, licking her lips. “I’m gonna get a refill. You want another?”
“No, thank you,” Twilight replied. She took another draw from her drink, scrunching up her face and closing her eyes as Dash gave her a pat on the shoulder. Nice and cool and tangy with lime, and it felt good against her parched throat. Maybe she should have taken Dash up on that refill—no matter how much of it she drank, she couldn’t seem to slake her thirst.
Twilight slumped back into her seat and closed her eyes. Wind rustling the palm fronds, waves lapping at the shore, seabirds calling. Why wouldn’t she stay here? Over the white noise, a… wagon?
She opened her eyes again—she sat on the curb of a busy Canterlot street, sucking on a hoof. The only music left was a teasing remnant in her head.
“Miss Sparkle?”
Twilight looked over her shoulder to see the same stallion as before.
“You’ve got us worried, Miss Sparkle. Would you please come back inside?” he asked in a soothing tone. She tensed at his sudden appearance, but he made no move toward her. “Maybe you’d enjoy a hot shower?” Would she? On the beach, she—she’d gotten a little sweaty. Maybe. Yes. Yes, she liked cleanliness.
She sidled past him and trudged to the washroom. Empty. Good. She didn’t want anypony else here right now. At the middle stall, she paused. It was the only one that had all its curtain rings. Complete, symmetric. It fit a pattern. She flicked the knobs on and waited for the water to heat up.
White tile all around her—she looked up at the small patches of sky showing through the pair of windows set high on the wall, the glass covered by metal gratings. “…Nor iron bars a cage,” she mumbled to herself. Where had she heard that before? What did that even mean?
Water washed over Twilight’s face as she stepped under the spray, the gentle drops smoothing her disheveled mane. Water. She greedily filled her mouth, swished it around… and spat the rusty-tasting liquid on the floor.
Twilight sighed, rubbed her eyes dry, and looked up into the soft rain falling amid the rich green forest canopy overhead. She stood at the edge of a rough path and watched vividly colored birds flitting between the branches, elegant butterflies floating from one orchid to another, and playful monkeys skittering up and down the dangling vines. A damp, earthy smell filled her nostrils, and above her, the misty droplets cascading down the foliage cast a rainbow across the thin ribbon of sky showing through the trees.
Fluttershy flapped her way to a landing beside Twilight and unstrapped her saddlebag full of medical instruments. Three parrots landed on a limb just above her, and when Fluttershy nodded to them, they began croaking a reggae beat. Giggling, Fluttershy hunched up her shoulders as she turned to Twilight. “Um… Hello, Twilight. I hope you don’t mind. The music calms the animals down while I’m treating them. If that’s okay…”
“It’s fine, Fluttershy,” Twilight replied. “I find it relaxing, too.” She eyed the decaying leaf litter covering much of the ground and leaned against a tree instead of lying down.
Fluttershy hid her faint smile behind her mane and flew up to the higher branches to examine a hummingbird’s wing. “Looks like that healed up nicely,” she remarked. She then returned to the forest floor, where a monkey sat, patiently waiting its turn. After studying an ugly purple bruise on its arm, she retrieved a splint from her saddlebag and tied it in place.
Twilight watched the slow procession—those animals would normally go into a panic when injured. They just couldn’t understand, but they somehow drew that calmness from Fluttershy. And, she noted, her own heart had stilled from when she’d gotten surprised by… by what? She couldn’t… She glanced at her hooves and, for some reason, expected to see sand on them. She frowned at them briefly, but Fluttershy caught her eye as she came over by Twilight again.
Most of the animals had dispersed by now, and Fluttershy approached a sloth hanging from a low vine to clean a wound on its leg with a sterile cloth. “Twilight, could you—if you don’t mind, that is—get me a bandage?” she asked as she pressed the cloth in place.
“Sure,” Twilight said with a big grin. She pulled one from the stash of supplies and unrolled it. Whenever Fluttershy got into doctor mode, Twilight always felt an… affinity for her somehow. All the materials and instruments in place, all the procedures to follow, everything so… organized. “Will it be okay?”
“Oh, yes. No problems.” Fluttershy looked it in the eye. “Now, you take it easy on that leg for a few days.” She gave it a pat on top of its head and shooed it away.
“Thank you very much, Twilight. It’s so kind of you to help!” Fluttershy giggled and ducked behind her mane again.
“Not at all. You’re always so kind to everypony else. The least I can do is give you a little help,” Twilight answered, giving her a one-hoofed hug.
“Oh, but I always worry about that! What if something happened to me? Who would take care of all the adorable critters?” She looked away and knit her brow. “It takes more than just me, Twilight. The animals that visit me just because they want to, the support from all my friends… The poor creatures need my help when they get hurt or sick, but if I didn’t do anything else all day, it’d wear me down, and I couldn’t help them anymore.”
“I know,” Twilight replied. “So you have to be kind to yourself, too. Seems I’ve heard a similar message a couple of times lately, but I don’t know who…”
“Well, yes, but…” Fluttershy rolled her eyes to the side. “I was talking more about letting your friends be friends. You have to let them carry some of the weight, too. Nopony can do everything alone. If I can’t accept kindness from others, then who am I to give it?” She closed her eyes and smiled, but then jerked her gaze toward the rustling branch beside her, where the sloth had already moved a good five hooves.
“Whoa! Slow down, little one! You have to take it easy, or you won’t heal right.” It forced a toothy grin and continued on at a more normal pace.
“Oh… as I was saying, Twilight—kindness starts with yourself. If you’re worthy of giving it, you’re worthy of getting it, too, and accepting it from your friends makes them feel good. I love it when my friends show me kindness.” She walked to Twilight’s side and wrapped a wing around her. “Speaking of which—you look like you could use some right now. You’ve got a nasty… Well, I don’t know what that is. Is something wrong with your head?”
Twilight took a step back. “No. Why?”
“It looks—” Fluttershy screwed up her face “—gray. The purple’s running a little.”
Twilight shook her head, which dragged through the air as if it were molasses. “I-I don’t—I don’t know… Th-the dancing—it doesn’t work.”
“It’s okay. This won’t hurt a bit.” Fluttershy took out a fresh bandage and pressed it to Twilight’s forehead, covering her eyes. The parrots’ singing died away as Fluttershy’s voice echoed in the dark. “Don’t stay here too long. It’s not right.”
Twilight opened her eyes. No purple missing from the waterlogged mass of mane hanging in front of her face. She sighed and turned off the shower, then toweled off and plodded back to her room. In the dimness, she closed the door behind her and climbed back into bed.
Still wet—she draped the towel over her pillow to keep it from getting too damp. Walls everywhere, and all white, except for the music box on the shelf above her and the foreleg stretched out toward it. But she lowered the leg to cover her yawn, and she sank into the mattress. Just as her eyelids drooped shut for good, Twilight barely heard some rock music coming through the radio’s static.
She jerked her eyes back open upon hearing a loud crunching noise. Smooth cavern walls surrounded her, and the floor felt warm to the touch. A faint smell of sulfur lingered in the air, and gems lay piled all about. At another crunching sound, she turned around to face Spike. He leaned back against the mound of opals he was eating and held out a clawful of them. “Want some lunch, Twilight?”
“Oh, thank you, Spike, but no. It’s still a little early for that,” she said, waving a hoof.
“Things don’t always have to be perfectly on schedule, you know.” Spike winced at the glare she shot him. “See, that’s what I’m talking about.”
“Spike, what possible trouble could ever come from being organized?” she asked with a squint. “It just makes your life run so much more smoothly.”
“But then it controls you,” he argued. “Look—there’s nothing wrong with paying attention to detail. But you have to know when to bend the rules.” He scratched a foot at the ground and shrank away beneath her scowl before taking a deep breath and pushing on. “Twilight, I look up to you. You’re my teacher, my big sister… my mom. You’ve always been a great role model. But there are some things I’ve learned not to do from you, like with that whole Miss Smarty Pants incident.”
“Spike, I…” she said, trying to deepen her scowl, but a smile won out. “Point taken, number one assistant.”
“I need you to teach me how to be an adult.” He looked up from the ground to meet her eyes, absentmindedly clasping his claws behind his back. “I need you to teach me how to be responsible. And that includes not driving yourself nuts.” After hesitating briefly, Spike rushed up to Twilight and latched on to a foreleg.
“Part of acting responsibly is being organized, Spike. How else would I make sure I’d paid the bills, seen to my studies, done my chores… made time to read with my favorite dragon?” Twilight added, rubbing a hoof on his head.
“Yeah, I got it,” he muttered through his sheepish grin. “But you said you saw my point.”
Twilight bowed her head. Maybe she shouldn’t have taught him such relentless logic. “You’re right.” He looked up and smiled uncertainly at her concession. “You’re right,” she repeated, then watched his smile grow.
“Compromise?” Twilight asked with a poke to his shoulder. “You keep me from getting too straight-laced, and I make sure you don’t get into any trouble. Okay?”
He squeezed her leg tighter. “Please come home, Twilight. This isn’t the place for you.” Her expression softening, she lowered her head to nuzzle his cheek. “Um… somepony else wants to see you…”
The sharp sound of metal sliding on metal—she whirled around in the sudden dimness. Somepony had drawn the drapes shut. In the gloom, she could make out rich furnishings of mahogany and velvet, intricately woven rugs, and highly polished brass fixtures in the stone block room. A huge star map hung on the wall, each dot glowing sharply through the dark. “Spike? Where—?”
“Twilight Sparkle, I must thank you for teaching me what you have. You have been an admirable instructor,” Princess Luna said as she rose from her divan and stepped out of the deeper shadows. Somewhere in the distance, the carillon of a bell tower clanged away. “Without your help, the ability to have a normal conversation like this one might have continued to elude me.”
Twilight raised her head unsteadily and peered at Luna’s indistinct form through bleary eyes. “Luna? Where did Spike go?”
Luna sat down beside the bed and gave a polite smile. “Like me, you appreciate facts and brevity. I will get to the point immediately, then. I have followed your dreams for some weeks now, and I believe you are finally ready to hear what I have to say.”
“A dream?”
“Yes, but… even your waking world has been more dream than not, of late.” Luna stared intently at her—Twilight had never seen that particular expression on her before. Forehead wrinkled, neck swollen with words. Luna wasn’t normally one to hold her tongue…
“Your tutelage in friendship has proven valuable, but my experience in certain other matters is vast. Let me offer a lesson of my own in exchange for your help: do not let a single-minded obsession distract you from what is truly important. You must weigh everything you do critically so that you do not sacrifice yourself for short-sighted gains.”
“Princess… are you talking about Nightm—?”
Luna held up a hoof. “Twilight, please. The point is that a fixation warps your thought processes. You really do think you have the right of it until far too late.” She exhaled sharply and averted her eyes. “Take my words to heart, Twilight Sparkle. Do not languish here. ’Tis folly to dwell in such a place. Your friends have all warned you, but I fear they have misrepresented the danger here.”
“Friends? When did I see my friends?” Twilight pressed a hoof to her temple. “What did they say?”
“They have given you sound advice, but for the wrong reasons.” Luna swallowed hard, and the glint of her starlit mane dulled. “I-I wish I could spell everything out for you. But as much as I would like to return the favor and serve as a teacher to you, you must discover some things on your own. However, I will tell you this: She will dance again. She will dance when she learns not to dance.”
Meeting those imploring eyes, Twilight took a deep breath and nodded, then closed her own eyes as she heard the final bell peal. She knew better than to press when Luna decided to be cryptic. The meaning would usually dawn on her after a day or two. But her friends, too? What had they said, when had they visited, why—?
“Do not rush, Twilight,” Luna whispered. “Remember, they are your friends.”
Something bubbled at the edge of her thoughts, teasing, infuriating. Like a cricket in her bedroom, deafening in the silence, but stubbornly quiet when sought out. Her friends…
Twilight lifted her head off the pillow and blinked at the bright sunlight in her sterile room, with one thought on her mind: lunch. Not food, so much, but why was she so thirsty? She walked back to the common area, waited her turn in line, and levitated a tray of celery and daisies to her usual spot away from everypony else. And after staring at the white wall for a moment, she drank down the entire glass of water. Finally. She coughed and wiped off the excess that had run down her chin.
Doctor Canter settled into the same seat across from Twilight again. “It’s about time for today’s therapy session, Twilight. We can talk here, if you don’t mind,” she said, turning sideways and draping a hoof over the chair’s back. Twilight stared, too, but less at the doctor and more at the water fountain behind her.
Finally, she’d gotten something to drink. But another glass would taste good. Twilight shrugged. Therapy didn’t matter—a waste of time. “I… I should go. I don’t belong here.”
“Twilight, remember that you are here because you wanted to be. You are free to leave any time you like.” She levitated a notepad out of her lab coat and set it on the table. “There must have been a reason why you thought you needed to come here. Do you remember what that is?”
“No,” Twilight answered, her breathing quickening as the muscles tensed in her cheeks. If nothing else, the bile rising in her throat gave focus to her thoughts. “I don’t even know what good it’d do. It’s not like psychology is a real science anyway. I was naive to think I should be here. Nothing good will come of it.” She glared at her half-eaten meal.
“Twilight, I’m not here to debate the merits of psychological therapy with you. What’s important is that we do get results.” Twilight snorted, but the doctor’s unflappable smile remained in place. “Tell me about your friends. Did any more of them visit?”
Twilight looked up from the table enough to subject the wall to her sullen expression. Why even bother telling her? At least it might get her to leave. “After breakfast, I talked to Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. Then Spike, but… I might have gone to see him. I don’t know if he came here. Then I saw Princess Luna, but I think that happened at Canterlot Castle, or… No, I woke up here, but… it was…” Her eyes flicked around the room wildly. She’d seen them. She’d just seen them all. Why didn’t it make sense now?
“Did you learn anything from them?”
“They said… to go, but… Something about needing me. Or them. I don’t…” Tears welled up in Twilight’s eyes as she felt the unpleasant jitteriness of impending bad news sweep over her. It didn’t make sense! What had Luna said? Something important. “Were… were they not really here? Did I make the whole thing up?”
“They do come to visit, Twilight,” replied the doctor, giving her patient’s hoof a reassuring pat. “Pinkie Pie came on Thursday as usual, and I saw Applejack just yesterday. Rarity should stop by tomorrow.”
“B-but nopony was here today?” Twilight asked, her ears drooping. “It wasn’t real?”
“It’s as real as you think. They may be afterimages you perceive of their prior visits.” Cocking her head sideways, she intercepted Twilight’s gaze. “If you’re getting some sort of benefit from that interaction, I don’t see any harm in it for now.”
Benefit from…? She perked her ears and watched the door. Her friends—were they here? She needed to talk to them, to know what Luna said!
“The more I see them, the closer I get to… to… Why won’t it stop!?” Her heart racing again, she buried her face in her hooves.
Lost. She couldn’t figure it out, and nopony else could, either. Nopony but her, and maybe the doctor meant well, but Twilight had to do this alone, and—
She felt a soft nuzzle against her neck and uncovered her eyes.
Celestia stood next to her in the castle’s banquet hall. The long table in front of her bore a sumptuous feast of rare delicacies: exotic flowers, tropical fruit, every conceivable vegetable, all emanating tempting aromas. A steady stream of staff went by, tidying the room, polishing the silver, and setting out the food. In front of the picture window on the other side of the room, a string quartet bowed their way through a sprightly caprice. And all over the room, bunting, ribbons, streamers—she gaped at all the elaborate decorations.
“Princess Celestia!” Twilight said, holding a hoof to her chest. “I don’t remember being summoned here. What’s the occasion?”
“As you can see, I’ve ordered a feast prepared, my faithful student.” A glint ran through Celestia’s eyes, and she smiled warmly. “A feast for you, Twilight Sparkle.”
“For… me? Why?”
Celestia laughed and swept a hoof around the room. “For your homecoming, of course. It won’t be long now. And when you are ready—only when you are ready—all of your friends will welcome your return.” Draping a wing across Twilight’s back, she beamed at her pupil. “I am very proud of you.”
“Homecoming?” Twilight creased her brow and folded her ears back. “Where did I go?”
Celestia sighed and sat in the chair next to Twilight. “You are one of the finest students I have ever taught. You have limitless potential. But you cannot realize that potential in one big step.”
She touched a hoof to her chin. “Let me try this: do you remember your first chemistry class?”
“Yes,” Twilight said, nodding. “I remember you checking my homework for a few weeks.” She blushed and gave a wry smile.
“You’d never struggled with a subject before. You had no idea what to do.” Celestia bent her neck down, almost nose to nose with Twilight. “And what happened next?”
Twilight relaxed her shoulders. “My lab partner, Slide Rule. He said he’d trade, his help with chemistry for my help in history. And then he showed me. In the lab, I could see it work, a-and…”
“And doing gave you a greater understanding than reading about it in a book. The lecture imparts the knowledge, but the experiments make it real.” Celestia tapped her on the nose and gestured toward the panoramic view out all the windows. “Your laboratory is out there. All of those lessons you reported to me—you learned them by putting your knowledge into practice. Don’t just study friendship. Remember, they’re your friends.”
Twilight’s eyes shot wide open. “Luna! Luna tried to tell me…” She pressed a hoof to her forehead, and the room—everything had turned a dull gray. “The pony doesn’t dance. I-I don’t know what it means,” she murmured.
“The pony doesn’t dance because she’s forgotten that she doesn’t have to,” Celestia said. Twilight squinted back—Celestia’s face had gone blurry. “She doesn’t remember a time when she wanted to.” Twilight pursed her lips and fought off a shudder.
“Allow yourself to grow, Twilight. You don’t have to learn every single spell in existence as if your survival depended upon it. I understand that you want to reap the benefits that your magic can bring to your friends, Ponyville, and all of Equestria, but a good student must also know her limits.” Celestia pulled her wing in closer, pulled Twilight against her side, where her coat smelled of… of life.
Twilight shrank back like a foal caught red-hooved in her mother’s chocolate stash. “I-I’m sorry, Princess.” She hung her head and let her shoulders slump. “I failed.”
“Not at all,” Celestia said, raising Twilight’s chin back up with a hoof. “You just have more yet to learn. As you should. You are still a student. As are we all.” She chuckled and levitated a linen napkin over for Twilight to dry her cheeks. “You push yourself too hard sometimes. When you do, you risk depriving your friends of what makes all of those benefits worthwhile: you. I hoped you might discover this lesson on your own, but I feared that if I didn’t intervene now, the damage could be irreparable.”
Twilight sniffled and gulped. “I-is it really you? I-I can’t tell anymore.”
“Who can say?” Celestia said with a shrug. “In the end, does it matter?”
Empty. Empty and quiet. All the decorations, the food, the furnishings, still there, but everypony else had left. “And what else did you learn from your friend Slide Rule?” she asked.
Alone. Twilight glanced around the room again. Alone, except for… a friend. She gave a small nod. “I-I think I understand.”
Celestia flashed a warm smile. “Accepting their help is not a weakness. As I recall, you learned that lesson from your friend Applejack quite some time ago.”
Twilight sniffled again and took the napkin. The staff reappeared, the background conversations, the musicians. She rubbed the tears from her eyes as the music died away again into a hollow memory.
“Come home soon, Twilight. We will all be waiting for you.”
Twilight put her napkin down and looked up at the doctor.
“Did… you just have another visit?” Canter asked. Twilight hesitated a moment, then nodded. “With whom?”
“Princess Celestia.”
“Did she help you?” She sat poised to jot some notes down on her pad.
“I don’t know. I think I… I can’t quite remember.” Breathing rapidly, Twilight searched the walls. Where were her books, her home, her friends? “It’s broken, and I don’t know, and Luna tried to tell me something, but—” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head rapidly.
“Twilight,” said Canter in a honey-laden tone. “Please calm down. I think the most important thing would be to think back to when all this first started. What spell were you researching that affected you so drastically?” Twilight went still and glanced up. Is that what had happened to her? No, no, it didn’t make sense. Canter leaned forward attentively.
“I-I don’t know.”
“Think,” the doctor urged. “It’s important.”
“I… can’t remember…”
“You have to tell me. What spell was it? Tell me!”
Twilight shot to her hooves—she backed away as shadows crept in from the room’s corners and shrouded the entire space in darkness. Canter… Canter’s coat had turned a dark midnight blue. A piercing gaze shot back at Twilight through slitted pupils. Her ragged breath catching in her throat, she gaped. No! Here? She’d reached the wall—nowhere else to go. Gritting her teeth, she brought as much of her magic to bear as she could. She’d have to do this alone…
Pinkie Pie appeared behind Nightmare Moon, then Applejack on the other side. One by one, they all took their places: Rarity, then Rainbow Dash, then Fluttershy, Spike, Luna. At last Celestia, looming over all of them. The lock in Twilight’s mind shattered, and all of her thoughts rushed out at once in a disorganized heap. The music blared, all of it, mixing together into one giant cacophony. Noise, light, feeling like her head would explode.
“Run, Twilight!”
“Yeah, we can handle her, sugarcube!”
“Get outta here!”
“Twilight Sparkle, you must leave now!”
Twilight screamed and clamped her hooves against her ears. Her body trembling, she squeezed her eyes shut and shouted, “No! It’s not real!”
Dead silence.
Trembling, panting, waiting to feel the searing heat of magic tearing at her. But nothing. Only her own breathing in her ears, all alone. After what felt like an hour, she opened one eye. The room in ruins, her unmoving friends scattered on the floor, Nightmare Moon towering above her…
No. She was still in her chair, and the doctor sat there, scribbling away as she asked her question, seemingly for a second time: “Did she help you?”
Her chest heaving, Twilight collapsed forward onto the table.
“Twilight, what isn’t real?” The doctor pursed her lips and reached a hoof across the table.
“I don’t know which spell it was,” Twilight said, breathless.
“What spell?” The doctor knit her brow and frowned.
Looking up at Canter, Twilight stared at her for several minutes. What now? What monster would she become? And why wouldn’t anypony help?
Twilight broke into a grimace, and tears flowed down her cheeks. She remembered. She finally remembered. What Luna had wanted to tell her, what Celestia had said, what all her friends had meant. A shiver ran down her back, one that left her feeling warm. “What is my music?”
“Music?” Canter raised an eyebrow.
“All of my friends have music. Whenever they appear to me, I can hear it. When I’m alone, there’s just silence. Why don’t I have music?” She crossed her forelegs on the table, laying her chin on them as she continued to cry.
Canter took a deep breath and watched her patient for a moment. “Twilight, do you remember that music box in your room?” She scrawled a few lines in her notes.
Twilight nodded. “It doesn’t work. I’ve already tried it.”
The doctor’s eyes glistened as she cocked her head. “It was like that when you arrived. In fact, it was the only thing you brought with you. You’d talk about it almost continuously your first couple of days here, the same things over and over again. It must have carried some meaning. What do you think that is?”
Twilight shrugged. “Just another useless thing. It won’t play any music.”
“I disagree. It still has music in it. It’s just not working quite right at the moment.” Canter patted Twilight’s hoof. “I bet you can get it playing again. And your music? It can be whatever you want it to be. We’ll find it together.”
Fresh tears welled up in Twilight’s eyes as schematics of music box mechanisms flashed through her mind. She forced herself to stop, then laid her head fully down on its side and sniffled.
Luna. Luna had said… The pony would dance again when she learned not to. But—Twilight’s chest tingled—she never danced alone. It took somepony to wind the key. She gulped down a sob.
“Doctor, I-I need help. I… I can’t do this on my own.”
The doctor closed her notepad, laid her pencil next to it, and folded her hooves. “Twilight—” she waited until Twilight had rolled her eyes up to meet her gaze “—do you realize this is the first time you’ve said that since you’ve been here?”
Twilight shook her head, her tears trickling down her cheeks and over her hooves.
Canter smiled and leaned in close to her. “I think we can finally begin. It’s nice to meet you, Twilight Sparkle. I’m Doctor Canter. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Author's Note
I named Doctor Canter after a real person, Doctor Jacob Kantor, who was a big proponent of applying the scientific method to psychology. I figured Twilight would appreciate that.
Illustration by Filler, who created it for the same write-off and placed first for the most-used art submission.
