The Change You Wish to See
The wishing well, the wishing well,
For all your hopes and dreams to tell.
In darkest night, with no moonlight,
You wish it with a penny bright.
A small group of colts and fillies sang as they skipped along to school. The sun blazed overhead, and not far from it, another star shone. Not that anypony could see it easily. It wasn’t really part of Luna’s domain; for only a couple of hours before dawn, it would look over the landscape, but soon enough, the sun would overpower it and relegate it to nothingness again.
Always wishing, these ponies. By a well, over a birthday cake, on a star. First star I see tonight. Then spewing their rotten, selfish desires, forever beseeching the evening star, never the morning. Never the morning.
Rarity put down the scissors and pins she had in her levitation’s grip. With no daytime sounds to muffle it, the clock chiming four in the morning almost hurt her ears. A looming deadline sure had a way of making her normally beloved creative process into a chore. She took a deep breath, but it had gotten rather stuffy in here. Some fresh night air would give her mental health a little boost.
Heaving a sigh, she slipped out Carousel Boutique’s front door and trotted through the deserted streets. Thick clouds above had completely obscured the moon, but she knew the way. She’d walked through this town nearly in her sleep enough times. When she had arrived at a familiar clearing just outside town, she walked the last few steps to the low stonework of an old well and sat.
“Look at me. Even wasting time here, when I don’t have enough of it to spare.” She let her eyes drift closed and slumped a little closer to the ground. If she simply let go, she might enjoy a nice nap. But she would also probably have an irate client in the morning.
Across the clearing, a dark shape slowly bulged from the underside of a large branch. Curious. Some manner of animal? She’d have to get Fluttershy to relocate it. Nothing that dangerous ventured to town, and if it decided to tangle with somepony as bereft of patience as Rarity, it would soon learn better.
It fell to the ground, piece by piece, like thick globs of sap, each one making a wet splat. So a muddy creature then. Wonderful. It grew little by little, with each new drip, until it surged upright and stumbled forward, and reached… a hoof toward her. A pony?
Rarity jumped and yelped as she banged a foreleg against one of the well’s timbers. What kind of pony would hang from a tree, in the middle of the night, with who knew what caked all over it? “Who’s there!?” she squeaked.
“I apologize! I thought myself to be quite alone here,” a voice said in the most delicious uptown Canterlot accent, somewhat low for a mare, but wonderfully resonant.
“Ah! I didn’t expect anypony else to be here at this time of night either.” Rubbing her bruise a bit, she turned to see her unexpected companion, but couldn’t make out more than an outline. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have been spouting off my personal thoughts like that. It’s not… ladylike.”
“Oh, you have nothing to fear from me. We’re all friends here, after all. I didn’t mean to startle you, dear.” The voice’s source withdrew a bit before moving around to the far side of the well. “I’m much like you. I just found myself a bit out of sorts and needed to take a walk to clear my head.”
“I can certainly understand that,” Rarity said, holding a hoof to her chest. “I’ve got so many orders due. In fact, there are six dresses that need to be shipped off to Canterlot by noon today. I’m not even halfway finished, but… I felt like I might collapse.” She took a deep breath and let it out gradually, bracing a hoof against the masonry. What had suddenly made her lightheaded?
“Of course, of course. We all have competing demands on our time. Always in a rush. It can help to stop and vent once in a while.”
“Yes, but… at the expense of the very thing I lack, it would seem.” Rarity pursed her lips and drooped her ears. “You see, my personal life often takes a back seat to the professional, but I simply can’t disappoint my clients. I have a reputation to maintain. However, you’d think that after all these years at it, I’d have found the balance.” Odd. She didn’t often open up to strangers, but something about this one felt so familiar.
“Who could possibly blame you? Your job provides you the means to have a personal life in the first place.”
“I suppose so.” After brushing away a few strands of mane tickling her cheek, Rarity stood up and gave a weak smile. “Well, the sun will be rising soon, and I still have much work to do. I should be going.” She creased her brow a bit as the figure moved back around the well toward her. “You’ve been a good listener.”
“Thank you, dear. I’ve found that it’s something I do rather well. And now, that sense is telling me that there’s more to it. Please pardon my being forward. I don’t mean to pry, but if it might help…”
“Well, I…” Rarity looked downward and turned her head away.
“It would only take a moment.”
Letting a long minute of silence pass, Rarity finally answered, “It’s just… my sister…”
“Go on.”
“I rather enjoyed the closeness we shared some days ago at the Sisterhooves Social. It’s not really something I’d made time for, but it meant so much to her.” The faintest pink glow began to breach the horizon, and even in that low light, the stranger’s eyes glimmered within their shadowed form. “She’s growing up so fast, and she’s becoming an interesting young lady. She could get her cutie mark at any time now, and then off to pursue her passion. I owe it to her, and to myself. I wish I could spend more time with her.”
“You wish?”
Nodding, Rarity cocked her head toward the well. “Maybe that’s what drew me here. Just a bit of foalish silliness. I haven’t been here in years.” She sighed and shook her head. “Sweetie Belle can be a lot to handle, to be sure. But she’s my sister, after all. I’d like to play dress-up with her, watch a movie, talk about her dreams… but who has the time? And frankly, at this point, why would she want to?” Rarity sat in the grass once more and wiped a hoof across her nose. “She’s learned quite well to do without.”
“It’s never too late.” As it approached, Rarity still could only make out a vague form. Finally looking directly at it, she couldn’t discern a face, even in the growing dawn light. “I think you’ll find that you have more time than you realize.”
It stood but a single pace away, though still somehow cloaked in shades, but its eyes… They were right next to her. She lifted a hoof off the ground to be ready for… something. To run. To hold up to her face. To push the thing away. Only she hadn’t. Her hoof sat unmoving while she tried to tear her gaze away from those eyes.
On her way trotting from one of her ponyquins back to the shelves of fabric, Rarity paused to look in the mirror. Try though she might, she couldn’t get her eyes more than halfway open. Her frayed coat hadn’t been brushed in days, and her mane stuck out at all angles. Shameful if anypony saw her.
She turned one way and the other in the mirror. Who in their right mind would buy something from such a haggard-looking designer? “Get your own house in order!” they’d say. And they would be completely right. The glow around her horn fizzled out, letting the sketch she was carrying drift to the floor.
She picked it up in her mouth and returned to her table, where yet another half-finished shawl lay. With her teeth gritted, she managed to coax a feeble glow from her horn and set her needle to looping through the fabric once more. She dared not run her sewing machine in these pre-dawn hours, so it meant doing everything by hoof. And more than once, that meant stabbing herself in the pastern by nodding off in the middle of stitching.
Her workroom should have been a light and airy place. But she’d kept the curtains drawn and all the windows tightly shut for some time now. A cardboard sign beside the front door read, “Please pardon the inconvenience, but by appointment only until further notice.”
With adequate forewarning, she could spruce herself up enough to meet with a client and feign her normally effortless navigation of high culture, as long as it didn’t occur too frequently. But Sweetie Belle had taken ill, and it had proven a rather persistent infirmity. Most times, a sickness would pass in a week or less, but this one had clung to her sister doggedly, and no doctor had found a reason or therapy for it, physical or magical. They could only treat the symptoms, so she’d move on to the next one, who’d have nothing substantive to add, and her parents had needed to attend to a great aunt across the country following her surgery, and—
She glanced down to where one of her slippers had lain forgotten for an hour or more. At least the weather had turned warm, or she might have caught cold from it, and then where would she find herself? Begging a friend to take care of both of them?
They were running low on ingredients for soup. Drat, that meant a trip to the market, out in public. She mustered a deep breath and tried to ignore the aching in her shoulders. Time to look presentable.
Awaking with a start, Rarity looked around in the broad daylight. She’d made little progress overnight. And she was already a week overdue. She wiped a trace of unladylike spittle from her cheek and glanced at the clock.
She shot to her hooves, sending her stool clattering to the floor as she dashed into the kitchen. No, no, she was late! The leftover soup from the refrigerator—she dumped it into a pot and lit the burner underneath, focused her magic on it as well. Anything to heat it up a little faster. But a watched pot never boils, and how hot did it need to be anyway? Sweetie Belle might prefer it merely warm. A few minutes later, Rarity emerged with a steaming bowl of vegetable broth and carried it upstairs, hesitating every few steps when its sloshing got a bit too much to manage. Only outside Sweetie Belle’s door did she add the small parsley garnish in the center and slide a napkin onto the tray.
“Are you awake, dear?” she whispered as she poked her head through the doorway. Only silence greeted her, so she gingerly set the bowl down on the bedside table. She had just turned to leave when she heard a stirring under the covers and pricked her ears toward the sound. “Sweetie Belle?”
Her sister rolled over to face the door and craned her neck to squint at Rarity. Sweetie Belle plopped her head back down onto the pillow as she gathered the sheet, comforter, and quilt more tightly around herself. The entire bed shook with her violent shivering.
Rarity closed her eyes and felt her body sag. Yes, she should have brought it to a full boil to make it nice and hot. Sweetie Belle hadn’t been lying up here hungry anyway, but circumstances had her in a corner now. She opened her eyes again, all wide and bright.
“Here you go, dear. This will help warm you,” Rarity said as she levitated a spoonful of soup. Sweetie Belle squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Please. For me. You need to keep your strength up.”
Sweetie Belle tucked her chin and grimaced as she gulped hard, then slurped the bit of broth. One spoonful at a time, she made her way through half the bowl before she shook her head once more. Better than at lunch, but the poor dear still wouldn’t eat much.
“That’s a good girl,” Rarity said, smiling as she wiped the sweat from her sister’s forehead with the napkin. “Now, if I draw you a hot bath, will you come down the hall with me? I think it will make you feel a little better. And breathing the steam should do you some good. I’ll give you a nice change of sheets while you’re in there, too.”
Sweetie Belle thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes,” she croaked. Rarity lifted the corner of the covers, and the rush of cool air made Sweetie Belle shake even harder. She rolled off the mattress and inched her way to the bathroom on wobbly knees, pausing a few times to catch her breath. If only she’d allow Rarity to simply levitate her down the hallway, but she’d already received a lecture about how Sweetie Belle could do it herself.
After Rarity had let the water run up to temperature, she did have to levitate her sister into the tub.
“There! You just have a good soak, and I’ll see to the laundry.” Rarity walked back to her sister’s room and threw open the window for the short period she might be able to air it out. All musty and dreadful in here. She stripped the bed and carried the bundle of sheets downstairs with her, leaving them in a pile by the stack of her freshly cut fabric that also needed washing, but who had the time?
Maybe her client wouldn’t mind yet another delay if she offered a discount.
“Rarity!” a frail voice called from upstairs. “I can’t reach the shampoo.”
She almost wept.
Rarity sat on a stool in the middle of her workroom, staring at the rack of colorful clothes. She had finally filled her order of six dresses, albeit three weeks late. Thank Celestia they hadn’t been needed by a specific date. She should get started on the next set, especially in a moment like this one, when she likely had more than five minutes to dedicate to it.
But there she sat.
Her head in her hooves, Rarity stared at the wall. There was a small, barely discernible mark on the plaster. She might not have even noticed it before, but now it gave her eyes somewhere to focus. Maybe an hour had passed, maybe thirty seconds.
She jolted to her hooves when she heard a sudden fit of phlegmatic coughing from upstairs. She rushed to Sweetie Belle’s side and helped her to sit up, thumping her on the chest, how the doctor had shown her. He could treat the infections Sweetie Belle kept getting, but not whatever made her so prone to them and ceaselessly constricted her breathing. The way her poor sister grimaced, her throat must have gone raw long ago. At long last, Sweetie Belle stopped, wheezing and gasping for air. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she mouthed a silent “I’m sorry.”
“Shush, dear. It’s no trouble,” Rarity declared as she tucked Sweetie Belle in. “You’re my sister!” She smoothed Sweetie Belle’s mane where flyaway tresses had escaped the normal curls. “Now, try to get a little more sleep. I’ll be up a bit later to read you some more of that novel.” As she walked out, Rarity quietly swung the door around.
Then she fell against the wall, on the opposite side of the hallway, so Sweetie wouldn’t hear the thud. If only she could follow her own advice, but the bills had to be paid somehow. Five minutes to brew some coffee, and she might get an hour’s work done.
On her way down the stairs, Rarity heard the bell on the front door jingle and looked over to see Pinkie Pie entering with a covered tray balanced on her back.
“Hi, Rarity!” she whispered. “Is Sweetie Belle doing any better?”
Rarity blinked once and shook her head.
Thank Celestia that Pinkie understood the need for quiet. That one usually escaped her. Pinkie slid the tray onto a side table and took off the cover to reveal an array of bite-size cupcakes with a hollow space in the middle of each. “I thought it might be a little easier for her to take her pills if you stuffed ’em in something sweet!”
Thank goodness for Pinkie. Her eyes tearing up, Rarity walked over and hugged Pinkie. She didn’t let go for a long time.
Finally, she winced at the sound of another bout of coughing, drew a sharp breath, screwed up her muzzle to hold it in, and headed back for the stairs.
Long after midnight, Twilight Sparkle left the library and trotted off to the edge of town. She’d scouted out most of the good sky-watching spots by now, but she hadn’t tried this particular one. Better yet, she’d estimated it would have a great view to the east, which would be optimal for that night’s action.
She settled on a nice patch of grass next to an old stone-and-timber well and looked up into the blackness. The height of a meteor shower had coincided with a new moon, so the fire-red streaks would show up especially bright!
In the small amount of time it had taken her to unpack her sky chart and notebook, she’d already noticed five cross overhead. She could barely see in the dim starlight, but her horn’s muted glow gave her plenty of illumination to record her observations.
Leaves rustled and branches swayed in the renewed breeze, but a dry whisper moved through the grass with it. Some manner of snake? Her heart leapt, but no, not at night, and a cockatrice wouldn’t come this far outside the forest. In fact, several dark shapes oozed toward each other—probably opossums or weasels. But they merged, and… a pony? Look at her, letting her mind play tricks on her. As if a monster would lurk in every dark place.
A few more trails glowed in the sky, then a bright white fireball flew over, the momentary lull in the wind allowing her to hear a far-away hiss and pop as sparks shot from it. She dropped her pencil.
“My, that was a good one!” the pony said in precise, clipped tones. A higher voice, somewhat like Rarity’s, or she could have believed it belonged to her old astronomy teacher.
Twilight peered at the figure. The brief flash of light—it had looked somehow familiar.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the mare said.
The initial traces of a light spell grew from the tip of Twilight’s horn, but she snuffed it at a quick word from her visitor.
“No need for that, Miss Sparkle. You’ll ruin your night vision for some time, as well as mine. We wouldn’t want to miss any of the show.”
“Who’s there?” Something vaguely like a head turned to face Twilight.
“Oh, just a fellow enthusiast of astronomy. I must say, this is really a spectacular convergence of circumstances, and a prime vantage point.”
After hesitating for a moment, Twilight nodded and gazed back up at the stars. “Yes, it is,” she said, groping about in the grass for her pencil. “Too bad the one last year was obscured by rain clouds. I had a word with a few weather ponies about it, but they insisted on sticking to their schedule.”
“Different priorities for different ponies. It’s unavoidable. But sometimes things work out in our favor, yes?”
“Mmhmm. Would you mind checking the temperature for me? Thermometer’s over there,” she said, pointing next to her saddlebag. Though she never heard any hoofsteps, the voice was suddenly beside her.
“Thirteen degrees centigrade.”
“Thank you,” she replied as she peeked out the corner of her eye, but still couldn’t discern a face. Where had she heard that voice before? Not the tone, but a certain quality to it.
“Wouldn’t you like to see one of those up close? It would be pretty amazing.”
Twilight shrugged. “It’s more the effect they create that’s interesting. They’re just chunks of rock and metal. Besides, it wouldn’t be very practical. You’d have a hard time keeping up with it, and it would only last a short time.”
The figure laughed. “Oh? I suppose so. I guess I just try to see things from an artistic perspective at times. But of course, you’re right.”
As she ticked off meteor counts in various columns on her page, Twilight let the minutes tick by in silence. The light wind had become more steady, and the nightingales called to each other from among the trees.
The voice reappeared, but this time on her other side. “So there’s nothing you want? To be honest, that’s why most ponies come out here. And with the falling stars, too. Wishing wells and falling stars. Even more circumstances in your favor, I would think.”
“I’ve never had much use for wishes,” Twilight replied with a wave of her hoof. “Nothing comes of them.” Her pencil scratches coming less frequently now, Twilight made one last mark before flipping her notebook closed. “Well, I should be going. I promised to help Rarity take care of Sweetie Belle tomorrow.” Hearing a chuckle behind her, Twilight stood and faced the sound. She creased her brow as she frowned. “She’s gravely ill. Do you find that amusing?”
“No, no, of course not. I didn’t mean any offense. I just thought it was rather sweet of you to offer.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxing, Twilight resumed stuffing her supplies back into her saddlebag. “Are you headed home as well?”
“No. I’m here for the duration. Say, you’re sure there’s nothing you want? As long as you’re here, you know.”
Twilight shook her head and smiled a bit through her yawn. “I’m not a foal anymore,” she said, reaching for her pack.
“What could it hurt? Go on—try it. It can be therapeutic.”
With a forced smile, Twilight looked upward and tapped a hoof on the ground. After a moment, she took a breath and cocked her head. “Actually, I wish we had some new books for the library. Several of the better astronomy references are getting worn, and many of the children’s books could stand to be replaced.”
“See? That wasn’t so bad.”
Twilight nodded as her grin softened. “I guess n—” Twigs cracked behind her, and Twilight turned to get a look at her companion. She lit her horn, but it did little to penetrate the gloom. All she could see was a pair of eyes. “What? Who are you?” She was sure she’d spoken, but her mouth wouldn’t move. Nor would her legs. Her own eyes grew wide as that gaze continued to advance.
Twilight took a few hesitant steps toward the library and looked at the leafy boughs overhead. They brought a small smile to her lips, but it didn’t last. Her mind would only return to last night, when she’d wandered home from… somewhere, only to see the harsh glow from afar and hear the alarms ringing all over town. She’d had to watch it all from Pinkie’s room atop Sugarcube Corner, after her friend had whisked her there and said it would be best if she stayed with Spike.
She made her way to her old front door, which hung loosely on one hinge and still dripped. Only in the last hour had the firefighters left, and she probably wasn’t supposed to go in yet, but nopony cared to stop her. She pushed open the door to the sound of a metallic creak, ducked under the ribbon of caution tape, and nearly buckled beneath the weight of her thoughts.
Once she stood in the middle of the main room, she plopped heavily to the floor. Her gaze traversed the blackened shelves, wispy scraps of charred paper, and overturned chairs. The draft she’d let in swirled around, lifting up little curls of ash in multitudes and spinning them about the debris that littered the ground. Twilight reached out to the large central table next to her and prodded a hoof at its leg. The burnt wood gave way, sending the tabletop crashing down amid a gray cloud. Wincing, she jerked her leg back and folded her ears down.
To her other side, a book lay open, face-down in the grime. Twilight levitated it up and flipped it over to reveal just a cover with a few stubby shreds of pages left inside. She could just make out the words “Daring Do” on one. The rest just stuck together in a soggy lump, the ink all running together. After a moment, she let it slide out of her grasp and tumble down.
She stared at all of it, just taking it in, but it looked so distant. Like she was seeing it through her telescope. Her telescope… It wouldn’t have survived. That was a fact. Another fact, to be filed away with the rest.
How? All those books, maps, instruments. Just gone. That word had never carried such real, weighted meaning before. Gone. It hadn’t even sunk in until now. Seeing the blaze on her way back last night—she could fool herself, say that it would do only superficial damage, that everything would turn out okay. The weather ponies had responded so quickly, brewing up a fierce downpour, but the whole place had simply gone up in an instant.
Nearly dawn when she’d returned from stargazing, and then numb, distant, through the window, like it was happening somewhere else, to somepony else. Then daylight broke, the fire squad got everything extinguished, but too late. She would have teleported so many things out, but she couldn’t see them through the smoke.
Her body would barely respond to her anymore, but she forced it to stand and stilled her trembling legs, then stumbled over to the kitchen. Dishes had fallen from the crumbling cabinets and lay in shards across the floor. Stepping gingerly around them, she saw a pair of deformed drinking glasses in the drying rack by the sink, all melted, twisted, reformed in some fanciful shape. She pulled one to the edge of the countertop, watched it teeter there for a moment, gave it a little nudge.
It smashed on the floor. Smashed. Into a thousand particles, maybe even a million. She saw them all, in slow motion, streaking over the sooty floorboards, shooting stars against a night sky. Glittering. But not forever. Stars must fall.
She blinked and stared. Then blinked again.
Twilight walked back out to the main room, a little blood trickling from a nick on her leg. Carefully, she placed one hoof on the bottom step and put some weight on it. A bit of creaking, but no more than usual. She climbed the staircase to her bedroom and stood at the top of the stairs, eyes closed. Finally, she staggered in. The fireponies said it had started in here.
Bits of cloth lay strewn about, some with still-recognizable buttons attached. Her saddle. Her birthday dress. Shoes from… her Gala outfit…
Her mouth finally broke its firm line, its corners quivering. An unexpected gust caught her attention, and she looked up at a broken window, pricked her ears toward it, then traced the wooden frame’s debris down to the huge hole burned through the middle of her bed. Right where she would have been sleeping.
Her horn alight, she pushed away the tatters and splintered boards. Underneath, an object was embedded in the floor. She focused her magic on it, wresting it left and right, gritting her teeth, harder and harder until it popped free. A meteorite, about half as big as her hoof. Heavily oxidized exterior, mostly nickel and iron, judging by the grain showing from a small break on the corner. Just imagine the places this thing had been…
Twilight heard the front door groan again downstairs as somepony else pushed it open. The last hinge gave out, and the whole thing thudded to the ground, accompanied by a little yelp. Dropping the meteorite onto the windowsill, Twilight looked down to where Pinkie stood on the threshold.
Pinkie let go of the bag she held in her mouth, and it gave a metallic jangle when it hit the floor. “Twilight!” she called, wearing a massive grin. “The bake sale went great. We made enough bits to buy a new set of books for the library!”
Bake sale? Maybe something about that had made it into Twilight’s head earlier, but Pinkie had scheduled it for the afternoon. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. She’d just walked in around nine, and it hadn’t taken her that long to—
The sundial out in the yard showed early evening, and the sky had begun to blaze orange.
Twilight’s mouth contorted as she struggled to keep her face straight. She hurried down the stairs, and the first tears escaped her control. What had she done to deserve this? She closed her eyes, latched her hooves around Pinkie’s neck, and stayed there for several long minutes.
Thank goodness for Pinkie.
Spike jumped down from the carriage and trotted toward home. The sun had set long ago, and he normally didn’t stay out this late, but Twilight had let him go to a comic convention in Canterlot. All by himself!
His backpack teemed with fresh new issues, all ready to be shrink-wrapped, but not until he’d read them very carefully, of course. They’d only cost him a few emeralds, and he didn’t really like the taste of those anyway. Plus the rain had held off, so no danger of his new comics getting wet, and a bright full moon lit his way.
As he passed the old well, something… moved on the other side.
“Hello?”
Whoever it was, their head jerked up, and they shut—a comic book! Spike trotted over, but he couldn’t make out a face or much of anything, all hidden there under the edge of the trees.
“Uh… hi?”
Spike beamed. “Whatcha reading there?”
The figure stared at him a moment before glancing back at the book in its lap. “Power Ponies. Issue eighty-five, where—”
“Where Saddle Sore tries to chap everypony’s hide, and Humdrum’s actually the one who spots the clue to solve the case! That’s my favorite!”
Something like a smile formed on their face. “Plus at the end, Mare Marvelous makes that terrible pun about Saddle Sore crying over his dry skin.”
“Don’t moist your eyes, moisturize!” they shouted together, and Spike collapsed, giggling. Then the figure belched.
“Awesome! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a dragon.”
The shadow peered around and shushed him. “I didn’t mean to do that out loud! Besides, you think I’d come here if I wanted to be around dragons?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone then—”
“No, no, one’s fine. Plus you don’t act like the typical dragon.”
“I know, right?” Spike said while kicking a pebble. “What’s your story? Can we hang out sometime?” He leaned in for a closer look, but the darkness seemed to gather around them.
And they shrank away a bit, too. “I-I don’t… hey, if you could wish for anything, what would it be?”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Wish?”
“Yeah. This is a wishing well, after all.”
What wouldn’t he wish for? Delicious rubies, maybe… maybe a little time with Rarity. Not that he’d say that to a stranger. “I guess a copy of Power Ponies issue eighteen, the rare cover art variation where the artist got fired and hid a dirty word in the background before he left. Only three copies are known to exist!”
The concealed pony snorted again, and Spike could swear he smelled a bit of sulfur. “Heh. Yeah, classic. But I can’t work miracles. Think small.” For some reason, they cocked their head toward the moon.
“How about some ice cream?” Spike said. Then his smile faded. “Daisy flavor.”
“Hah, I had you figured for an ice cream guy! Can’t say I expected that to be your flavor, though,” they responded.
And then an ice cream bar did flop onto the ground in front of him. The wrapper even said daisy.
“Just happened to have it on me. Enjoy.”
Spike only shook his head. “Not for me. My friend, Twilight. It’s her favorite. She let me go to a comic convention because she said I needed something to distract me, to make me happy after…” He let out a heavy breath. “Well, our home burned down. It’s getting fixed up okay, but I could use something to make her happy.” Somehow, most of his stuff had avoided going up in flames, or else he would have needed to buy a lot more comics.
No response. But for once, he could see eyes watching him back. Soft ones, not dragon-like at all. And he got the impression they’d never stopped smiling through that whole explanation.
“Twilight, I’m home!” Spike called on his way through the door. It looked like Applejack had gotten a lot of the bigger repairs done already, and thankfully, the outside parts of the tree seemed to have avoided much damage. Just the interior, so… the tree would live.
“In here,” she replied from the kitchen before stepping out. Her eyes still looked like they had so much weight behind them, but she wore a broad grin for him.
So he gave her a big hug. She deserved it. She needed it. “Here, I got this for you,” he said, pulling the ice cream bar out of his backpack. He’d have rushed home faster, but it had one of those magic stay-cold wrappers on it. “It’s daisy.”
“Ooh, my favorite!” For the first time in days, she livened up, smiling with more than just her lips.
“I got it from somepony at the wishing well,” he said, and she paused just before biting down on it. And he squinted out the window. “Wow, moon’s bright tonight.”
Then the ice cream bar floated in the air as she inspected it. “Do you think it’s safe?”
Spike frowned for a moment. “Do you really think somepony would try to hurt you?” Sometimes her mind could go dark places.
But Pinkie pronked through the door at just that moment. “Free ice cream! Wow, somepony is having a lucky day!”
If it cheered Twilight up, yeah. “I wished for it,” Spike said.
“And ice cream wishes are even luckier!” Pinkie chirped from midair. But when Twilight still hadn’t bitten it, she rolled her eyes and continued, “If anything was wrong with it, the seal would be broken, and the wrapper wouldn’t have kept it cold anymore.”
Twilight shrugged, nodded… and took a bite. “Mmm, this is good!”
Pinkie beamed at her, then gave Spike a wink. Thank goodness for Pinkie.
Gravel crunched under the wheels of Applejack’s cart as she towed it into town. Each turn of the axles brought a fresh squeak. They sure could use a fresh coat of oil. Especially in this weather.
Mile after mile passed by, and the morning chill finally made its way through her coat. Near the end of her journey, but she’d actually arrived a bit early. The market wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, and it wouldn’t take her more than thirty minutes to get everything set up, even in the pre-dawn blackness. There was plenty of time for a little break. As Granny Smith always said, there’s no “late,” only “on time” or “early.”
Humming to herself, she pulled over by the roadside, unhitched the harness, and settled down in a patch of grass. She pulled an insulated bottle out of her saddlebag, unscrewed the top, and took a sip of hot spiced cider. Around her, wisps of fog rolled about, muting any view of the moon into a dull glow from all over.
A few tendrils of fog escaped her mouth and nose as well, swirling away with each breath and each drink of cider.
Applejack brushed her hoof over the frost-tipped blades of grass and stashed her bottle in its place. As she let the canvas flap fall over her saddlebag, she cocked her head at it. She flipped it open again and pulled out her bit pouch. It had a more high-pitched jingle lately—not that heavy clink from when it was nice and full.
She got to her hooves and strode over to the old well she passed regularly but rarely afforded a second glance. The foals liked to toss coins in and whisper their hopes down the cold stone shaft. If only adult life worked so simply.
She leaned on the edge of the stonework and peered at the hints of trees in the mist. “Sure would be nice to have more’n a couple o’ bits to rub together.” With a sigh, she looked back to where her half-filled wagon lurked by the road. “Early frost is doin’ a number on the trees, though. After this summer, I was hopin’...”
A few of the darker, denser clouds floated toward each other, looping, swarming into one. Each tiny droplet met another, melting and congealing, until a large black shape stood at the edge of the woods. Most ponies would find that alarming. Most ponies couldn’t kick near as hard as her.
“Business not goin’ so well, friend?”
A pony? Applejack’s hoof slipped off the well’s rim, but she caught herself before she fell. “I-I didn’t expect anypony’d be out here. Didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Oh, don’t pay me any mind. ’Tweren’t your fault. I should be apologizin’ for scarin’ you. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
Applejack held a hoof to her chest and gulped, forcing herself to take a few slow, deep breaths. “No, no. I should be goin’, anyway. I know how ponies have their particular spots.”
“Please, sit a spell. This ain’t my spot any more than the next pony’s. It’s meant for sharin’.”
“Do I... know you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she squinted through the haze. “I don’t meet too many folks ’round here without an accent.”
“It’s possible we’ve met. I come across a lot of ponies. I don’t really keep track.”
“I’m just takin’ a load in for market day.” Applejack tipped the front of her hat up a little higher. “What brings you out here?”
“You know. Chores, stuff to fix, and what have you. Better to get ’em done ’fore first light. Just stoppin’ for a breather.”
Nodding, Applejack leaned back against the masonry. “I ’preciate a good work ethic. Well, to answer your question—no, business ain’t been so good lately. This frost lost us a lotta apples,” she said while sweeping a hoof around at the clearing’s white-tipped carpet. “It’s okay for now, but whatever hasn’t ripened already ain’t gonna make it.”
“Ooh. ’S a shame. Awful sorry.”
Applejack gave a half-smile and stared off at the hidden horizon. “Nothin’ you coulda done, sugarcube.” She scratched a hoof at the dirt and bent her ears down. “We put so much work in this summer, and there was plenty o’ rain all spring. I was lookin’ forward to bein’ the class of all Equestria this year. But we might be lucky to break even.”
“You’re in it for the long haul, though. Keep grindin’ away—that’s what I always say. One bad season ain’t the end o’ the world. You seem more the practical sort. Tell you what—leave a wish behind. That’s what this here place is for, anyhow. Won’t hurt a bit.”
Rolling her eyes downward, Applejack sighed and held her thoughts for a moment. “Why not? It always seems like we’re so close. I wish this year we’d done it. I wish we were the top apple producer in all Equestria.”
“There. Feel better?”
Applejack shrugged. “I dunno. Say, ain’t I s’posed to throw in a penny or somethin’?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just a bit o’ foolin’, anyway. And you of all ponies know better than to waste a penny.”
“Heh. You sure I don’t know you?” Not waiting for an answer, Applejack trotted over to her cart and took an apple from the top of the pile. She turned back toward the voice and tossed the apple toward it. “Here. Have one on the hou—”
The fruit landed with a soft thud and rolled a short distance. Applejack stood transfixed as the shadow moved out of the fog toward her, gliding over the grass.
It was just another pony. No reason to be afraid. So why did she have the urge to whip around and kick as hard as she could? In fact, she could have sworn she already did. But there she sat, stock-still, as it kept getting nearer. It was close enough to touch now! But all she could see was a pair of eyes. Eyes that she desperately tried to avoid, but she couldn’t help herself.
Run, run away, but she couldn’t move!
Applejack trotted on one last circuit through the apple orchards. A lot of the trees already had discolored leaves. For the ones that looked salvageable, at least the younger ones, she’d thrown coverings over them, but there was just no way to get them all. There were hundreds of trees. Hundreds. The oldest could probably make do, but she just had to accept that they would endure losses. At least Rainbow Dash had agreed to bring in some clouds overnight to keep in any warmth they could. Every degree would help.
Apple Bloom had headed off to weatherproof the barn, and Big Macintosh said he’d gather firewood at the edge of the forest. How many of these apple trees would be firewood next year?
A cold front was coming through. A line of clouds approached from the southwest, slow but relentless, like a swarm of ants, and they’d already covered the sun. Dash had punched what holes in them she could, and more of the weather team had shown up, too. Applejack had run out of burlap, anyway. Whatever happened now, she’d done all she could.
She galloped to the nearest hilltop and surveyed the acres of trees. They’d harvested all the crop they reasonably could, the hardier trees would survive, and the majority of the saplings had protective sheets over them. She breathed a sigh. It was going to be fine. Shame to see anything go to waste, but the losses she figured they’d suffer wouldn’t threaten the farm. It was going to be fine.
After hearing that reassurance one more time in her mind, she forced a smile and raced to the house. Apple Bloom probably hadn’t finished with the barn yet, so she’d better get started on the house. A few gaps in the boards to caulk, inspect the roof, and such. She was rummaging around for some of the pitch to make up a nice batch of oakum when she heard the bell tinkle at the front door.
Applejack walked over to the entryway in time to see Derpy flitting off against the increasing wind. She poked her head out the door and flipped open the mailbox’s black lid. Just one letter. A scroll? With the royal seal?
She rushed back inside with it, then stared at it on the kitchen table for a moment. They’d never gotten a royal correspondence at the farm before. For another few seconds, she touched the wax seal. Celestia had touched it too, personally. With a sigh, she carefully cracked the wax insignia and unrolled the page. Her jaw dropped just a few sentences in.
As quickly as she could, she ran to the back door. “Apple Bloom!” she yelled toward the barn. Seconds later, her sister’s head popped out from the hayloft, and luckily enough, Big Mac also came around from behind the barn to see what had caused the ruckus. She waved them over, her mouth still hanging open and her eyes wide.
“What is it, Sis?” Big Mac asked once they’d gathered in the kitchen.
The paper rattled as Applejack flailed it about. She jabbed her other hoof toward it and flopped into a chair. “There’s been an apple blight. All over Equestria.” Her mouth kept working, but nothing came out until she coughed and cleared her mind and just spoke without thinking about it. “Appleloosa got it... the worst. H-half the trees are dead.”
Abruptly sinking to his haunches, Big Mac glanced at Apple Bloom, who just kept looking back and forth between her siblings. Big Mac lifted a hoof to his head and rubbed it through his forelock, over and over again, while staring at the floor.
“Braeburn... Bloomberg... I don’t know what’ll happen to ’em.” Applejack’s lower lip jutted forward as she rubbed her nose. “We’re the only farm that had anything near a full crop this year. We’ve been ordered to ship everything we’ve got off to Canterlot, startin’ tomorrow. They’re buyin’ it all, lock, stock, and barrel, to ration out.”
Big Mac stood and nodded sharply. “That’s all there is to it, then. C’mon.” Without another word, he walked out the door. Always duty first with that one.
Applejack had begun following when she noticed Pinkie Pie coming up the front walk, so she trotted around to meet her. “I’d love to talk, Pinkie, but an emergency’s come up.” Applejack stared at the horizon and pressed her hat down a little further over her mane. So many trees, so many.
“I-I’ve gotta get to work, and it looks like it’ll be in the rain to boot,” Applejack said, rolling her eyes up at the clouds. She fidgeted a hoof against the dirt path.
“I heard already, Applejack,” Pinkie said, breaking into a wide grin. “I’m here to help!”
“How...?”
“Hehe! Princess Celestia sent Twilight a letter too, so she could organize everything. Everypony’s on their way over to pitch in.” Pinkie closed her eyes and bounced a bit in place, but Applejack soon weighed her down in a strong grip. She reached a foreleg around Pinkie’s neck and hugged her tightly.
So many trees, everywhere. They could plant seeds, but it would take years for those to mature. Transplants? They could only spare so many trees here. How could they possibly feed the whole nation? Nopony could rival Big Mac’s strength, but even he… even he looked beat down. And after only one day of this.
Thank goodness for Pinkie.
Twilight brought up the rear of the procession filing into the library. At least what would become the library, once they’d finished rebuilding. She tugged the door closed amid the rising wind that flung fat raindrops against the windowpanes.
“I don’t think I want to see another apple for weeks,” Rarity said as she rubbed a towel over her coat.
“Aw, you say that now, sugarcube,” Applejack remarked through a forced smile, “but I bet you’ll gobble up an apple tart the next time you see one.”
With another pass of the towel behind her ears, Rarity turned her nose up. “A lady does not gobble.”
“Just the same. Thank y’all so much for your help.” Applejack grinned at her friends as she shook the water off her hat and placed it back on its perch. “Can’t believe we got all those apples boxed up in just the one evenin’.” She reached for the small toolbox on the table beside her and carried it over to the last remaining bare wall, where boards for new shelving lay stacked.
“Applejack!” cried Twilight. “It’s late! You should be going to bed.”
Applejack closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t sleep anyway. Feels good to get some more work done. You mind, Rarity?”
“Not at all, dear.” Rarity levitated a long piece of oak planking against the wall while Applejack slid out a few of the nails she held between her lips and hammered the board in place.
These girls. What wouldn’t they do for her? And Twilight had to count herself lucky—they could rebuild the library. Before she knew it, they’d have everything as good as new. But poor Applejack and Rarity. When would their tribulations end?
“I’ll just get us some hot drinks,” Twilight said on her way to the kitchen, her own towel still draped over her head. “How’s Sweetie Belle, by the way?”
A strained smile stayed in place as Rarity’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, we do fine. The doctor can’t figure out... what’s wrong. Oh, I simply must thank Spike for sitting up with her tonight,” she replied. “I just wish…” Her eyes went wide, and the next board she had at the ready suddenly clattered to the floor. “I wish…”
Twilight stopped in her tracks. “What’s wrong, Rarity?”
“I don’t know,” Rarity answered, her words coming out in a rush as she stared out the window. “The night Sweetie Belle took ill, I had wandered out to that old wishing well.”
“Oh, I know that place!” interjected Pinkie from the new sofa. “The wishing well, the wishing well, for all your hopes and dreams to tell! In darkest night, with no moonlight, you wish it wi—”
“That’s just it!” Rarity shouted. “It was dark! So dark that I couldn’t see. I-I wished… I wished… And then I was home.” She held both hooves up to her mouth and looked to Twilight.
“I was there, too.” Squinting her eyes, Twilight jumped over by the sofa and peered down the back at Pinkie. “During the meteor shower. I… wished…”
“Two days ago,” Applejack chimed in, “early in the mornin’. I stopped there on my way to the market. I wished... I don’t remember. Next thing I know, I was in town, settin’ up my wagon.” She exchanged glances with Rarity and Twilight.
After a lengthy silence, Twilight finally spoke. “What… happened to us?” Rarity just shook her head, but Twilight ran over to her in an instant. “Think! What happened at the well?”
Her breath catching in her throat, Rarity stared back and stammered a few unintelligible words.
Twilight whipped her gaze over to Applejack. “You stopped on the way into town! Then what?”
“I… I don’t…” Applejack pounded a hoof against the wall and gritted her teeth. “I don’t like this one bit!”
“But Spike,” Twilight said. “He made a wish, too, remember? I mean, I do remember! But he got it. With nothing bad happening.”
Pinkie shrugged, but then she giggled. “I did like his wish!”
“Why was his different?” Applejack said. “And ain’t there somethin’ you can do?”
Three trips to the well, three tragedies. But one where nothing happened. It didn’t add up! And why could nopony remember? Maybe… No, no, memory spells often had unpredictable effects. Forcing it wouldn’t work. Maybe a gentler spell? Twilight nodded. “I could try something like… a lucid dream. Couple it with… well, the best analog is a mild hypnosis. I wouldn’t want to do more, or else I probably couldn’t rely on the results.”
Applejack raised an eyebrow. “A what now?”
“I might be able to recover the memory.” Taking a deep breath, Twilight squeezed her eyes shut and charged up her horn. Her friends would have to trust her.
She felt the girls slip away, over the horizon, leaving her alone. Only her, nopony else. A little breeze, some murmurs like a stream in the distance, but nothing around her, near her, under her.
A picture resolved out of the black. A grassy field, a little crystal point of light overhead, a low stone—
Her breathing became faint and slow, her chin dipped to her chest, and her eyes slid partway open. A figure stood in front of her. “I was… watching the meteor shower,” she began, her voice in a monotone. “I took some measurements.”
“What’s she doing?” somepony whispered, echoing as if at the end of a tunnel. A bright voice, full of hugs. Pinkie. “It’s kinda… creepy.”
Yes, her friends. Twilight wobbled on her feet, and a strong grip braced her. Not the dark figure, though—somepony with a hat. Twilight needed her friends’ help.
“Just meteors. Streaks in the sky,” Twilight mumbled. “All alone. Nopony was there. I must not… Nopony was there.” Her breathing quickened. “Nopony. I must not remember. I wish…”
Her friends. Remember her friends. She branched her spell out, to the pale one, the freckled one. She could see their faces if she thought about it. And they slumped over. She could feel their fatigue as if her own.
“All alone,” Rarity said. “I wish…”
“I wish,” Twilight continued, “that... I told it wishes were pointless.” Wait, it? The figure, it had… talked to her? “I saw… eyes. I can’t move.”
Something about that made Applejack whimper. But what? What had Twilight just said? Her heart raced on, faster than her mind could follow. “Eyes. Coming toward me.” She gasped for breath and began shaking. “Eyes! I… have to forget! The eyes! Stay back! Stay back!”
“I can’t look away!” Applejack keened. “What does it want? Why is it doing this!?”
“No!” Rarity cried out. “This isn’t what I asked for!”
Then Twilight jolted sideways, crashed to the floor. Sparks danced in her eyes.
“Stop it!” Pinkie shouted, but Twilight only groggily shook her head and blinked. Pinkie had… shoved her? “Stop it!”
Twilight stumbled to her feet and lurched to the wall, her eyes shut once more. “I wished…” she gasped. “I wished that there were new books for the library.”
“...That I could spend more time with Sweetie Belle.”
“...That Sweet Apple Acres was the top farm in all Equestria.”
“...And it told me,” Twilight rasped, her tear-filled eyes gazing at Pinkie, “I must not remember any of it.”
Twilight held a hoof to her forehead until her frantic breathing had subsided. “We have to go back.”
“Now?” Rarity asked, retreating a few steps.
“Yes,” replied Twilight through clenched teeth. “You heard Pinkie. ‘In darkest night, with no moonlight.’ The storm. It’s our best chance for a while. It didn’t happen to Spike because the moon was out bright that night. He said so. Too bad Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy are tied up with all the other pegasi managing this weather. I would have liked to see if they had any similar experiences. But we four can handle it. It’s time to end this.”
Pinkie Pie wore her umbrella hat as she sloshed through the slick grass and walked up to the old stone well. “I wish, I wish, I wish!” she chanted into the wind.
“C’mon, Pinkie,” hissed Twilight from her vantage point across the road, “don’t overplay it.”
Pinkie continued bouncing through the clearing, each landing sending up a fresh spray of water. “The wishing well, the wishing well, for all your hopes and dreams to tell! Hehe!”
A few of the isolated pools moved toward each other and strained upward toward the sky. Bubbling columns of moisture twisted and braided together, warping into a rippling mass. It loomed over Pinkie, but Twilight held her ground, though it did take a restraining foreleg to make Applejack hold hers. It had never harmed them before, at least not until after somepony making a wish, so it wouldn’t likely start now.
The sheets of rain bent toward it, sucked into the black shape that shambled over to the well. “My, you’re an eager one. What a silly filly!” it chirped.
It… talked like Pinkie? But when Twilight had come here, it talked rather like herself. She glanced over at Rarity and Applejack, but they only stared ahead through the shrubs.
Her eyes dancing, Pinkie whirled around. “I know! It’s kind of a thing for little colts and fillies, but I love wishes. I have so many things to wish for!”
“Okie dokie lokie! But you know wishing wells only give you one, so make it extra special. Hehe!”
What was that thing? A changeling? No, it hadn’t drained any love. Maybe something similar that fed off hopes and dreams?
“I can’t do that!” Pinkie said, a toothy grin stretched across her face. “Who could ever decide on just one wish?”
“It’s only a game.”
“Oh! I love games. But a game has rules,” Pinkie declared with a brusque nod. “Why don’t you tell your Auntie Pinkie Pie?”
It sighed. “I’m a year older than—”
Pinkie landed with one final splash. Her face fell. And Twilight’s body ran cold. It hadn’t meant to say that, and the hints of shadows on its face twisted with fury.
“Don’t look at it!” Twilight screamed as she charged forward, her horn blazing. “Keep your eyes down!”
Pinkie snapped her gaze to the waterlogged grass, her knees trembling. “Flu-Fluttershy?” she whimpered.
Rarity gasped, and Applejack held a hoof up to her mouth. Only Twilight glared at it. She flooded the clearing with her light spell, and the murky shadows melted away, dripping down like mud, to leave Fluttershy standing there shielding her eyes from the glow.
“Remember, everypony, don’t look. That’s why we couldn’t think about what happened. She used The Stare and ordered us to forget.” Twilight lowered her head to hide Fluttershy’s face in the gleam of her horn.
“So, how did you remember, my dear, sweet friend?” Fluttershy hissed, her words dripping venom.
“In a dream,” Twilight replied. “I saw your eyes again. There’s no mistaking them. Once I had that detail, it brought back everypony’s memories.”
Fluttershy snorted. “Clever. I suppose I’m not going to have any more luck in this town, hm?” She turned around and stalked off toward the treeline. “I’ll just find another obscure little corner of Equestria to settle in. There’s never any shortage of wishes.”
“Fluttershy, wait!” Pinkie pleaded. Her mane hung down straight, trailing over the wet ground. “Why?”
“You ponies!” spat Fluttershy. “You and your wishes. What good have they ever done? Wallowing in your own self-interest like a bunch of swine.” She flicked her mane and continued on toward the forest.
“Of all ponies, how can you say that?” Applejack yelled, raising a trembling hoof and risking a glance at Fluttershy’s face.
Fluttershy strutted toward the group, her jaw set. She pointed at Rarity. “You wanted time with your sister. All to yourself. And you—” her hoof moved over to Twilight “—precious books for your library,” she sneered. Finally, she stuck her nose right up to Applejack’s. “You’re worst of all. Money, money, money.” With each word, her frown grew deeper. “Even this one,” she added, jabbing a hoof at her chest, “just wanted something for herself. It’s pitiful!”
“You mean... you’re not Fluttershy?” Twilight asked. She dimmed her light enough to see the glare shooting back at her.
“Oh, I am. And more.”
As Fluttershy squinted, a resounding growl rose behind Twilight.
“How dare you! How dare you!” shouted Rarity. “I wanted to spend time with my sister for her sake! I know she looks up to me, and she deserves that attention. My wish was that I could be what she needs!”
“And lots of ponies use those books!” added Twilight, more gently. “If I were being selfish, I would have only asked for books I use, or a new telescope.”
Fluttershy narrowed her eyes to slits and stared for a moment before jerking her gaze once more to Applejack. “How about it? What’s your excuse?”
“I just wanted... to fix Granny’s hip.” Applejack sniffled as she hung her head. “And be able to send Apple Bloom to college. They deserve it.”
Fluttershy huffed and spread her wings. “It’s easy to fool yourself afterward. Justify it however you like. But do it without me.” She crouched to take flight, gave her wings a downstroke—and Pinkie reached a hoof up to her shoulder.
“What did she wish?” she asked quietly, her ears flat.
“What does it matter? She was just another greedy pony. I’d help if anypony had more than themselves in mind. And everypony wishes on the evening star. Who cares about the morning? Then somepony finally did, and thanks to her, you’ll all get what you deserve.”
“Ain’t that what you’re doing?” Applejack said, and Fluttershy had started to sneer at her, but Pinkie stepped between them.
“She’s the sweetest one of us,” said Pinkie. “I think you decided ages ago that nopony made good wishes, and now you can’t see it any other way.” Her teary eyes shone as she looked up. “I think she’ll surprise you. Give her another wish.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Fluttershy snapped. “She already had hers.”
“Then give me mine. I wish...”
Twilight held her breath. She wouldn’t have thought of that. And if she saw correctly where Pinkie was going with this, then nopony could do it better. Thank goodness for Pinkie.
Fluttershy launched herself skyward.
“I wish you could see the truth. That we care. That we want the best for each other,” Pinkie called into the air.
Fluttershy stopped just above the treetops and looked back, her mouth halfway open and her brow knit. “That’s more than one,” she said, the rasp gone from her voice. “And I don’t have to grant them anyway.”
“That you could have what you want. That you could be happy.”
“Th-that’s more than one,” Fluttershy replied, even more quietly.
Pinkie reached toward her. “It doesn’t matter. Pick one.”
Fluttershy’s eyes flicked around to the different faces arrayed below her.
Fluttershy went about her early morning routine, checking over her garden and putting out feed for her animals before they awakened. A few of the more industrious birds had already warmed up their singing voices in the branches overhead, but most of the world still lay asleep.
This time was always special to her. The bats, owls, and other night life had already returned, and there wasn’t enough sunlight to wake the rest yet. So quiet. So peaceful.
She took a moment to rub her sore muscles, then made her way down the front path. She’d spent the previous day helping Applejack set up for the Sisterhooves Social in three days, and Sweetie Belle in particular had been looking forward to it. Fluttershy had an appointment to help Rarity pack up her shipment of dresses she was on schedule to finish early so she could participate, too, but as to how—well, Rarity and Applejack wouldn’t say, no matter how nicely she asked. This afternoon, she still had to accept Twilight’s invitation to watch the upcoming meteor shower and carry the weather agenda she’d gotten from Cloudsdale while visiting her parents over to Sweet Apple Acres. It looked like a wonderful growing season!
She sat in the grass by the edge of the duck pond and closed her eyes. “It makes me feel so good to be kind to others,” she murmured just above the sound of the stream. “I wish I could feel that way all the time. I wish I could be even kinder to everypony else and make their wishes come true.”
Raising her chin, Fluttershy opened her eyes slowly, but the morning star she expected to see wasn’t there. Odd. She could have sworn she’d noticed it ever since her childhood. She might have to ask Twilight about it later. The other one, too—the one she hadn’t observed until last night: the first one out in the evening, but she didn’t remember ever seeing it before. So bright! How could she have missed it? Was it new? No, the stars didn’t change like that. She must be mistaken, but if it came out first now, she could wish on—
No. Wishes were silly things. Silly things for foals. She could make it happen herself.
She walked back to her cottage, where the first of her critters had begun stirring.
Author's Note
Sweetie Belle’s illness here is loosely based on cystic fibrosis.
When this was a write-off entry, I got a criticism of it that's common with this type of story. I knew that going into it, and I tried to find a way to justify the mechanic. Here’s a recent blog post where I talk about why I think it works.
And yes, the write-off this is from was way back in October 2012. It only took me 7 years to pull it off the revision pile. 
