A cool breeze flowed under a sunny day, the perfect day for every Ponyville resident to spend outside with her friends. Beneath a layer of perfect weather, a warmth like a hug from Mother Nature herself, Fluttershy spent the afternoon with her animals. Pinkie Pie met up in the park with her good friends Applejack and Rainbow Dash. Even Derpy Hooves was enjoying an afternoon of sunbathing (despite covering herself in a UV-resistant blanket). If you were from Ponyville, you were busy enjoying the outside.
Well, unless your name was Twilight Sparkle. A certain purple princess stayed blissfully ignorant of the beauty outside, bleary-eyed from an uninterrupted six hour study marathon in her castle library. Towards the end of the sixth hour, the assistant librarian (as she had taken to calling Spike) entered, his footprints obscured into silence.
“No! X must never exceed negative fourty-two point nine, as clearly shown by the solution to the data flow equations governing the— no! Book, what is wrong with you? You just said a page ago that– no!” Twilight screeched to herself, or perhaps to the eight-hundred page textbook spread open on the table in front of her, all trapped within a magic bubble. Inside the book was a dense set of mathematical jargon with cursive notes in the margin, a forbidden legacy of the ink pot to the right of the book, a cool pool of dark magenta liquid drowning a fine white quill in its center. Normally, the library maintained strict anti-vandalism rules, upheld and enforced by Twilight herself. But as the deck of sticky notes next to the book grew thinner by the page flip, somewhere around the thirteenth hour, Twilight inevitably switched to noting in the book itself. Perks of being a princess.
Spike stared at Twilight, seeing her lips move aggressively but hearing no utterances. Twilight in turn continued to stare at the book. “Hey, Twilight.”
No response.
“Twilight?”
Nada. Spike noticed the faint purple bubble surrounding Twilight’s study space. A soundproof bubble.
Spike waddled over to her desk, breaking the sound barrier at a mere one meter-per-second, and covered the text with his claw. Centimeters from her ear, he shouted, “Twilight!”
“Huh?!” Twilight sprung, rigidity rebuilding into her spine, driving away a painful slouch. Twilight’s eyelids jumped up, and with them, her pupils dilated ever so slightly. Acting on instinct with a frozen countenance, she jerked her head from side to side, analyzing her surroundings in a vague paranoia. After a cycle, her eyes landed on Spike, and she exhaled, returning her slouch. “Oh,” she sighed. “It’s just you.”
Spike shrugged. “Who were you expecting?”
“Nopony.” Twilight’s lips curled up in a modest display of warmth. “It’s good to see you. What have you been up to?”
Blushing, Spike looked away. “I was at Carousel Boutique. Rarity has been perfecting her…” He trailed off, his blush infuriating.
“Perfecting her…?”
“Dress!” Spike blurted. “Perfecting her dress! I was helping Rarity perfect her dress. Her spring line, to be specific.”
“Her spring line? But it’s October.”
“Winter! Winter line,” Spike corrected. Quick to change the subject, he turned back to face Twilight, his blush fading. “What are you so busy with?”
“Oh!” Twilight beamed, biting the front of her bottom lip slightly in a dorkish display of enthusiasm. “I’ve been studying near-linear time methods of – uh, nothing! I’ve been studying nothing! And if I were, I couldn’t say anything…” She paused, finally relenting as she rationalized to herself, “Well, you are part of the royal family, and I do have the authority to extend disclosure within reason, as permitted by the Royal Decree of 927 A.S. I can tell you about what I’m researching, just… promise not to tell?”
Spike rolled his eyes. Princess perks. He crossed his heart and wacked his eye. “Pinkie promise.”
Twilight squeed. “I’ve been studying analysis of the behaviour of complex spells!” She clapped her hooves together like a filly about to order an ice cream. “It’s quite fascinating, in fact. For years, even talented mages like Starswirl the Bearded have assumed that static analysis of a spell given only its incantation was impossible, and that casting the spell was required to deduce its properties.” Her voice faded. “I guess I made the same mistake, too, when I cast that spell years ago. When everybody’s destiny got switched…” She blinked, hesitation evident, but pressed on. “Anyway, a mare publishing under the name ‘Mage Daylight’ developed some magic. I shouldn’t say much yet, as most of the juicy details are still awaiting court approval for widespread dissemination, but it turns out there’s no book I can’t buy if I flash these!” She raised and lowered her alicorn wings, as if to demonstrate.
Throughout her explanation, Spike stared at Twilight. No, perhaps that’s the wrong word – Spike stared through Twilight, a mere apparition of a pony, her words as faint and ghastly to the dragon as a comparison of comic book superheroes would be to the princess. Once he was satisfied that she had finished speaking, he mumbled, “Cool.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re eating and drinking water and… attending to your Princessly duties.” He blushed a bit at the euphemism.
Twilight blinked, mulling over his words. Her silence was greeted by a tummy grumble. “…Thank you. Should we go eat?”
Spike nodded, and the duo headed for the castle kitchen to share a snack. At Spike’s insistence, Twilight took a glass of water and visited the restroom.
After the meal, Spike spoke up. “Hey, uh, I’m going to be heading back to Rarity’s. Do you… maybe want to join me?” An indeterminate mix of hope and hopelessness brewed in his tone.
Twilight frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can make it. I want to write Princess Celestia a detailed report on the utility of the new spell analysis techniques. These could have profound effects on Equestrian national security, if they are as versatile as they appear in the abstract, and I want to document it all!”
Spike returned the frown, but he quickly wiped it away with a shrug. “That’s alright. Best of luck on your research.”
She nodded. “Thank you! Shall I return to the library then?”
Spike waved her away with a claw. “See you around. Try not to forget to eat again, okay?”
“Okay,” she laughed, waving back and trotting off towards the castle east wing.
Once she was out of sight, Spike turned for the doorway and headed off to Carousel Boutique as he promised. “Maybe this is better, anyway,” he mumbled to himself.
Back in an inlet of the castle library, Twilight returned to her desk and reignited the silence spell. She opened her book and stared blankly at the text, her untapped concentration broken by the forced snack break. She was sure she left off somewhere around the three-quarter mark of the right-hand page, but she couldn’t be sure quite where she had stopped, and she couldn’t remember the section’s context anyway. Disgruntled, she glazed her eyes over to the top-left corner and began to read or reread, each word fascinating and novel in its own right, yet with the vague familiarity of a long lost friend.
When we all share in the knowledge, perhaps every book on the shelf is a long lost friend, Twilight mused to herself, her concentration lacking with her bookish streak broken. She continued for a few minutes of page flips – both backwards and forwards, mind you, including a guilty flip to and from the final page in the book to read the last sentence, squeeing in the scandal of spoiling the ending (even though it was nothing more than “QED.”). Finally, she settled back into her routine of reading and annotating, returning once more to colour-coded sticky notes for short textual comments and longer commentary in a dedicated spiral-bound notebook placed to the side of the textbook.
With no contact with the outside world, no other ponies to talk to, no clock to stare at, and no miscellaneous distractions to pull her from her paper universe, Twilight lost herself into the timeless world of nonfiction.
Ten hours or ten minutes passed. Twilight remained unaware of the time, except perhaps by estimation by subtracting page numbers and dividing by her reading speed constant. Twilight turned the page to yield a pair of diagrams, part of the “coloured figures” section lined in the middle of the book. On the two-page spread were a pair of figures: to the left was an illustration of the analysis algorithm as applied to a sample telekinesis spell, and to the right was a diagram of a stoic white unicorn with an elegant mane.
“That’s funny,” Twilight muttered to herself. “The figure’s caption says the right-hand pane should contain a sample analysis of levitation as a special case of telekinesis as applied parallel to gravity. Yet the only figure depicted is a pony.” She grinned, scribbling about the editing mishap on a sticky note pasted onto the book.
She grinned, that is, until the figure moved.
“What in Equestria…?”
Until the figure grinned. Beamed, really; “grinned” is such a plain word, alas. “Good evening, Twilight.” A familiar voice flooded her.
Twilight’s eyes bulged, staring at the figure in wonder. “Rarity…? Is that you…?”
The Rarity figure nodded, smiling ever wider. “The one and only!” She wagged her hoof, smirking. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Haycartes’ method! Tut tut.” She stuck her tongue out, teasing. Twilight blushed, acutely aware of the disconnect between the figure’s playfulness and Rarity’s usual proper self.
“Of course I’ve heard of Haycartes’ method. I can do Haycartes’ method.” Twilight blinked. “Wait. Since when can you?”
Rarity pouted, irritation and anger in her eyebrows but nothing but satisfaction in her eyes, cheeks, and lips. “You can teach an old pony new tricks! I studied, and I learned!” She whispered, smiling. “Isn’t that what you would suggest?”
An apprehensive nod. “Sure. It’s just… Haycartes’ method is extremely difficult magic. It would be virtually impossible to learn without supplemental magic, like cutie mark magic, even with years of rigorous study.” She stared right at the Rarity figure. “So spill. Are you part of the book? Are you one of the book’s pedagogical tricks?”
Rarity placed a hoof against her chest, her mouth hung open, an aura of surprised discontent washed over her. “Me? A trick? Preposterous.” She lowered her voice. “Hmm.” She winked. “Unless you’d like me to trick you.”
A blush. “Umm…” Twilight mumbled.
The figure in the book took advantage of the awkward gap and asked, “Twilight, are we friends?”
Twilight tilted her head, bearing a dumbstruck gaze. “Of course we’re friends. You’re one of my best friends in the world, Rarity.”
A quick nod. “Do you love your friends?”
Twilight tilted in the other direction. “Of course, I love all of my friends.”
Another nod. “So” – she paused for dramatic effect – “Do you love me, Twilight Sparkle?”
A little giggle. “Of course I love you, Rarity.”
Rarity squeed. “Oh! I love you too, Twilight!”
The duo shared a moment of warm fuzzies. Of course Twilight loved her friends, all of her friends. She loved Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy, right? Sure, she didn’t necessarily tell all her friends she loved them on a regular basis, but everyone knew they were loved. Rarity, for certain, knew Twilight loved her. Celestia, this moment wasn’t even the first time Rarity and Twilight had told each other they loved each other; after her brother’s wedding, emotions ran high for everyone, and so many years later, they still maintain that same almost-familial closeness as a friend group.
No, hearing Rarity say “I love you too” was normal, absolutely normal for Twilight’s unique group of friends. So why, she wondered, did this time leave her with a squeamish feeling in her stomach, and a vague propensity to grin?
Twilight brushed away the straggling thoughts. She knew herself better than anyone, and she knew she was prone to intrusive thoughts that didn’t inherently mean anything. So this probably didn’t mean anything either, Twilight reasoned cautiously. Her stomach must have been upset from too many hours with too few calories; Twilight decided she must have skipped dinner after all, and that was the only reason she felt off. Not that she felt off before Rarity said that, of course, but maybe she just wasn’t aware of it until now? Being hungry, that is. No other it.
Twilight smiled. “Hey, Rarity?”
“Mm?”
“Did you, uh, learn Haycartes’ spell – somehow – just to come into my book while I was studying and tell me that… you loved me?” She blushed as she leveled the accusation, the implications of such a grand gesture only now dawning on the ostensibly wise alicorn.
Rarity returned the blush, perhaps caught off guard by the question or perhaps a question with more accuracy than it could know. “That would have been quite the romantic gesture, wouldn’t it?” she mused dreamily. Twilight ignored the way the word “romantic” slid off the tongue of one of her best friends. A best friend who, in dodging the question, revealed that yes, she learned one of the most difficult spells known to ponykind simply to enter a book and say the magic three little words.
Twilight felt herself smiling when she considered somepony would even think of such a plot. She was never one for fanciness of the sort herself, but she knew Rarity always dreamed off a stallion sweeping her off her feet. Maybe this time Rarity would be her stallion, she thought as she filled herself with fluttering.
“I suppose it would have!” Twilight sighed, giggling. “So, really, why – and how – are you in my book?” She blinked. “That’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.”
Rarity laughed. “Well, if you must have me ruin the surprise, I learned the spell from Moondancer.”
“My friend in Canterlot?” Twilight asked automatically.
“Yes, I asked Pinkie Pie for help crafting a… surprise party of sorts. For you. Pinkie Pie told me to talk to Minuette, who in turn directed me to Moondancer.”
Twilight noded. “Makes sense. So Moondancer just taught you the spell, just like that?” Twilight considered the difficulty of the spell, impressed by Rarity’s hidden magic prowess. She knew her friend was cunning in her own right and an expert at her signature gem finding spell, but she always assumed the latter was cutie mark magic alone. To master a spell like Haycartes’ from study alone…?
Rarity interrupted that train of thought with a snort. “Hah! No, I was absolutely awful with the spell. I kept visiting Canterlot every week for months to meet up and try the spell–”
“–I thought you were tending to your boutique in Canterlot all those ‘work trips!’–”
“–but I didn’t make any progress, even practicing rigorously alone or with Spike’s help here in Ponyville,” she lamented.
Twilight frowned, the earlier magic impression wilting away but the feelings it brewed blissfully ignorant. “So what did you do?”
Rarity smiled. “Moondancer modified the spell using her new…” She paused, raising her hoof to her chin, spacing out with her eyes darted off to the top-right corner. “What was it called again? Oh, right, ‘spell analysis framework’. She was able to craft a version of the spell that was significantly easier to learn and allows me to stay in the book effortlessly for as long as I please!”
“Wow! I never imagined that kind of magic was possible!”
“Moondancer gets all the credit,” Rarity said wistfully.
Twilight attempted a quick “mental reverse-engineering” of the modified spell. She supposed the capabilities enabled by meta-recursion of the spell analysis framework would allow for – “Wait. What did you say? A spell what?”
Rarity repeated, unphased, “Analysis framework. Her words, not mine, dearest.”
“Analysis framework? I don’t know about any analysis framework! And if I did, I definitely wouldn’t know that it is – would be – a top national secret! Nope!”
Rarity grinned. “Ah, that’s where the magic comes in, Twilight.” She paused for a dramatic effect. “Can a framework really be secret… from the pony who invented it?”
Twilight’s mouth grew into an o of understanding. “Mage Daylight. MD. Moondancer.” She facehoofed lightly, annoyed with herself for never making the connection before. “But how could Moondancer tell you about it? I know you’re a Bearer of an Element of Harmony, but to divulge information like that modified spell – let alone the existence of the framework itself – would require the consent of Princess Celestia herself!”
Rarity shrugged. “Moondancer acquired permission to teach me the spell from Princess Celestia herself.”
The o was, once again, fixed into an o of incomprehension. “But why?”
A beam of sunshine flowed from Rarity’s eyes. A little soft, in contrast to the warmth in her eyes, she looked around the book and asked in pain, “Are you lonely, Twilight?”
“I have friends.”
“But are you lonely?”
Twilight stared at the Rarity figure, then looked up towards the ceiling of the library. Finally she relented and admitted, “Sometimes.”
Rarity nodded, unsurprised by the inevitable answer but nevertheless hurt by painful empathy of a loved one. “We all love you, Twilight. I… I especially love you, ever since… Never mind; there will be time for stories later.” Twilight bit her lip, but Rarity continued. “I know you spend a lot of time in your library. Your research matters, Twilight, but so do you. You matter to Equestria, yes, but you matter to your friends.” She pouted. “And I’m selfish: Twilight Sparkle, you matter to me.”
Without grasping the implications, Twilight replied, “You matter to me, too.”
Rarity sighed. “Thank you. I really want to be with you, Twilight. As a friend, as a special somepony, as a not-so-special somepony – I just want to be there for you, Twilight. And when Moondancer and I came up with this idea, not even Princess Celestia could say no to a chance to make you beam like the mare you used to be, so many years ago when you first moved to Ponyville. I miss those days, Twilight. I miss you.”
Twilight hung her head low, struck by the desperate need to atone for her deadly sin of solitude. “I miss you too, Rarity,” she whispered.
Rarity dabbed her eye with her hoof. From the crude sketch in the book, it was unclear why, but Twilight needed no visual to understand the emotional cue. The figure in the book sighed and asked, “I love you. So without further ado, I feel compelled to ask you: Twilight Sparkle, will you m–”
Twilight leaned back, collapsed, and fainted.
Maybe a minute later, Twilight returned to the realm of the living, greeted by Rarity’s smirk. As she regained consciousness and the events of the past few minutes replayed in her mind, she nearly fainted again, but kept her cool. “Rarity, were you about to ask me… to marry…?”
Rarity snrkted. “Moi? Alas, I just have a flare for the theatrics. I did enjoy the part where you were so overwhelmed by your undying love for me that you fainted as soon as you realized I would be the one to propose to you first.”
Twilight pouted comically. “I don’t remember that part happening!”
“Hmph!” Rarity stuck her nose up. “Well then! Have it your way!” She allowed the atmosphere to cool down – metaphorically, of course, there is no ambient temperature inside of a book. Finally, she clarified, “No, I was going to say: I love you. Twilight Sparkle, will you meet me in this book?”
Eyebrow raised, Twilight repeated, “Meet you in the book?”
“Moondancer told me you’re an expert at Haycartes spell, and I told her you’re an expert at most spells.”
Twilight blushed, instead choosing to focus on a strawman. “I’m nervous. I don’t know what will happen with two ponies inside the same book. Is that safe? Will the spell still work? It might not cast. Or it might be risky for you.”
“I tested this with Moondancer; there’s no issue. The spell, under the influence of multiple users, behaved just as she predicted with her system. But actually living it, it was… quite the experience, actually. There are few things stranger than being inside a book, and being trapped inside a book with someone else is one of them.”
Twilight’s mind raced. “Fascinating! But, still, are you sure this is a good idea for just the two of us?”
“Nope!” Rarity exclaimed. “But I want you to do it anyway! After all, I’m sure if I keep distracting you – and yes, I know I’m distracting to you–” she winked. “You’ll just tell me, ‘I need to return to my book’. So that is precisely what you shall do, darling!”
“This seems like a bad idea,” Twilight laughed.
“You’ll never know until you try!” she sung.
Twilight obeyed without further quips, concentrating on the incantation for the classic (unmodified) version of Haycartes’ spell, making a mental note to ask Moondancer for the modified version in the future. She recited the spell in her head, focusing her energy onto the book in front of her, allowing a white burst of magic to swirl around her horn, glowing brighter as it absorbed her into the spell itself.
She found herself in the familiar whirlwind of a yellowed off-white atmosphere. As she oriented herself into her new world, her eyes adjusted, and soon she could notice the distinct forms of the black serif text making mountains around her. As she focused more on placing herself into the world of the book, even the words themselves disintegrated somewhat, making way for the physical essence of the ideas contained, the Platonic world of forms embodied by text itself. She relaxed, recalling the parallel worlds of each book she had entered studying in nights of her past.
She trotted through the book’s universe, finding word after word and idea after idea. She trotted until she found the “coloured figures section”, finding a life-size diagram of an algorithm flow.
A few meters away, she caught sight of her. Rarity Belle, a mare whose beauty was worthy of her surname. A beauty Twilight never quite appreciated before, in the pony world; Twilight had been all but blind to beauty in Equestria. But a bookworm at heart, there was a beauty Twilight could always find in the written word unparalleled anywhere else in the world.
And there Rarity was, standing meters away, mixing her Equestrian beauty with a textual likeness, creating a literary-equine composition she could never have imagined. She stared. “Wow.”
Rarity flipped her mane knowingly. “I know, I am quite the sight to take in.”
Twilight did not register any words were spoken. “Wow,” she repeated.
Rarity shook her head with glee. “I love you, too, Twilight.”
Stare. “Wow.”
“…Okay, I suppose this is getting slightly odd now.” Rarity trotted up to close the gap with Twilight. “Hello? Anypony home?” she waved her hoof around Twilight.
Twilight, lost in a literary heaven, felt herself churn in wonderfully odd ways she had never known before. She found her eyes following Rarity’s hoof. After a moment, she returned to the reality of the book. “Can I say something weird?”
“Always, dear.”
Twilight stared into Rarity’s eyes, now a mix of a perfect glossy purple and perfectly kerned serif text with well-typeset equations from a LaTeX mathematics paper. “Is it possible you’ve become ever more beautiful since the last time I saw you?”
Rarity smiled, a smirk creeping onto her lips. “I could say the same about you.” She fluttered away her dreamy eyes to look at Twilight head-on. “Though, Twilight, I have to ask, just so I know what I’m up against.”
“Yeah?”
“I may have heard some rumours. Just, be honest, dear.” Rarity fluttered her eyelashes, guaranteeing subdued honesty. “Do you have a thing for fonts?”
“No!” Twilight yelled, then blushed. “Okay, fine, yes!” she blurted, blushing harder. “Not fonts themselves, just perfect typography!” She drawled. “You are so beautiful, oh Celestia, Rarity, did you know I was going to react like this? Was this all part of the plan? I thought I was the one who was supposed to make over-elaborate plans!”
Rarity bopped Twilight’s nose with her hoof. “Thank you for the compliment. And no, I didn’t know.” She sighed, resting her hoof still on Twilight’s nose, lightly amused by an “eep!” from the mare in front of her. She whispered, “But it’s certainly a welcome surprise!”
Twilight shivered, unsure if she dared to ask the strangest – yet somehow, in that moment, most urgent question on her mind. “Could I…”
“Yes?” Rarity muttered to herself, She’s going to kiss me, isn’t she?. She released a small contented sigh in anticipation.
“Could I read you?”
Rarity blinked. “Read me? –Right, we’re in a book; I’m covered in words, and you’re in love with me.”
“Am not!”
“Uh-huh.” Rarity smiled. “Yes, you may read me if you so desire.”
Victory was hers. Twilight felt a cool breeze overtake her sense, a calming wind fwooshing over head and bringing with it the sweet scent of Rarity. She smiled as the familiar scent passed by, unsure if the warm feeling was a result of pheromones or mere classic conditioning, content to ignore the psychological question in favour of merely basking in the sweetest aura of Rarity. She glazed her eyes across Rarity’s textualized body, scanning through the words across each part of her. The words, at first, appeared random, but Twilight soon realized taken together, in context, they formed poetry. A hodgepodge collation of nouns and adjectives could form a meter and keep a rhyme, and somehow, not in their dictionary meaning but in the sound they made pronounced softly upon her lips – somehow the rag tag literature formed a poem, a music to Rarity unforeseen outside a book.
Twilight kept up a good long stare and a quiet recitation of the words of her Rarity, perhaps a textual window into the mare’s soul, the vocabulary of her friend’s essence. She sighed like a puppy going to sleep, finding herself in a state of total tranquility, unaware and unafraid of the continued effort needed to maintain classic Cartesian projection. Any amount of magic was worth it for Rarity.
“So…” Rarity mused, enjoying the attention though rather confused at the stream of nonsensical words leaving Twilight’s mouth.
“So indeed.” Twilight smiled. “Thank you, Rarity.”
Rarity nodded. “Of course. Anything for a dear friend.” She snickered. “Ahem, especially a friend as dear as you, Twilight.”
Twilight paused, having lost track of the mental turn of events, overwhelmed by Rarity’s presence. “Rarity, I have to ask, um…” She flustered herself, looking for a words, undoubtedly aware of the irony of being at a loss for words in a world of nothing but shaped, coloured words. “Do you have a crush on me?”
Rarity snorted. “Yes, if you couldn’t tell. Yes, I have had a crush on you ever since that night at the gala, so many moons ago, when we spent the evening dancing together, talking about stallions… and mares.”
Realization dawned, and Twilight nodded. “You have unrequited feelings for me. OK. I can handle you having a crush on me.” She blushed a tad herself. “It isn’t the worst thing in the world to be loved like that.”
Rarity raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Pot calling the kettle black, dearest.”
Twilight cocked her head. “What do you mean, Rares?”
“And I quote: ‘Could I read you?’”
Twilight spoke up. “I meant that as a thing I would say to a friend covered in words, while we both were stuck in a book. It means nothing other than friendly words!”
“If you say so,” Rarity repeated, winking. “Although, I love you, Twilight, but I must confess, I have no idea what you meant by ‘Could I read you?’. Was that, er, supposed to be romantic? Was that a euphemism for simply staring at me?” She blinked. “Um, I won’t mind if it is, but is this still about the typography thing?”
Twilight deflated like a balloon, called out. “Maybe.”
“I thought so!” she smirked.
The two mares stood on their respective sides of an imaginary boundary, silent.
Silent, until Rarity broke the boundary, ending up with the ends of their hooves touching, their faces no less than a few centimeters away. She brought her mouth to Twilight’s ear and whispered, “I love you, Twilight.”
Twilight grew pink, realizing if she flexed a single muscle, her face would be touching Rarity. She whispered back, “I love you, too.”
Rarity sighed. “May I do the honours?”
“The honours?”
“The honours.” She gathered her most regal voice, lost herself into Twilight’s eyes, and asked, “Twilight Sparkle, would you be my special somepony?”
Twilight giggled at the sound of special somepony. Her? With a special somepony? With Rarity? Involuntarily, as if compelled by the force of the monochromatic text of the book around her, she found herself sweetly responding, “I would love to.”
Rarity smiled. “I would love too, too. I would love you – I do love you – words are hard.”
Twilight giggled at Rarity being flustered, for once, instead of her. “I love you, too, Rarity.” As she whispered these soft words staring into Rarity’s eyes, she leaned in towards Rarity, and amid a backdrop of serif text, they touched lips and kissed.
