A Lady Fit for Royalty

by Fillyfoolish

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rarity, Romance, Sex, Twilight Sparkle, Drama
Length: 15019

Ever since Rarity knew she was a filly, she knew what it meant to be a lady. Her prince would sweep her off her hooves any moment now, if only she were a little more lady-like. That's what she tells Twilight, anyhow.

Ever since Rarity knew she was a filly, she knew what it meant to be a lady. Her platonic friends were wonderful mares, yes, but her prince would sweep her off her hooves any moment now, if only she were a little more lady-like. That's what she tells Twilight, anyhow.

Unilaterally dubbed one of the top 10 fics of 2020 by review master Present Perfect.

This story is part of the First and Only Raritwi Bomb. A week's worth of stories and art all centered around Rarity and Twilight. If you liked it, the previous story posted is Carabas's "Sledding and Other Horrors", and you can find a master list of all Raritwi Bomb content here, https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/873741/the-raritwi-bomb-masterpost.

Thank you to Nonnie for prereading, as well as with fourths, listening to my proto-outline.

Published 2019-10-13 00:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-06-14 20:38:39 UTC

The Love Doctor

Knock.

Knock knock.

Knock knock knock?

A few minutes early for my weekly tea with Twilight, I arrived at the castle. Greeted only by silence, I opened my saddlebag to materialize my Bearer key, unlocking the door and stepping in. I scanned the corridor and adjacent rooms for any sign of a particular purple mare, but the castle was lifeless.

How strange. Twilight always greeted me at the door, but I do suppose she was an occupied mare, and perhaps the occasion slipped her mind.

As a friend, as a lady, of course I would understand such a tiny hiccup.

Typically we took tea in the kitchen, thus there I headed. Yet within the kitchen, there was neither a brewing kettle nor Twilight Sparkle. Of course, the kitchen is the one castle room with perpetual life. I cast a warm smile and hollered, “Good morning, Spike!”

Spike looked up at me from his Supermare comic book, which he held in one claw, the other clutching a spoonful of mushy brownish oat concoction. “Ohirarrie.” He gulped, putting down the spoon, and repeated. “Oh, hi, Rarity! How are you? Looking for the best cereal collection in Ponyville?”

“I’m doing quite well, although I’m afraid I didn’t come for cereal, no.”

Spike shook his head, mixing disappointment with amusement. “Nobody ever does.” He shrugged. “Anything I can help you with?”

“I’m looking for Twilight. We were scheduled to meet for tea this morning?”

“Hmm,” Spike stared off. “I think she’s in the library?” He shrugged, picking up his utensil and spooned in more of… whatever that was he was eating. “Gooluh!”

“Thank you, Spike.” I flashed a smile then turned around, resuming my quest for friendship! For Twilight! For… other things, not that there were other things, of course, because I was – no, because I am – a lady.

Ahem. I entered the library, and I did find her, sitting in a corner immersed in a book in the shadow of an ink and paper cave. I trotted in with audible footsteps, but she responded to no sign of life.

“Helloooo!” I sung. No response. I coughed. “Hello?” Nada. “Equestria to Twilight Sparkle?”

Silence. I trotted next to her and waved my hoof in front of her vision, interrupting her reading. Finally, she looked up, blinking with her mouth hung open. A beat and she exclaimed, “Oh, Rarity! I’m so sorry; I wasn’t expecting you!” She drooped. “Uh, wait, what time is it?”

What time was it? The same time we met every week for tea. What kind of question was that? “9 a.m., darling.”

“9 a.m.” she repeated quickly under her breath, pained by confusion. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Rarity. There are no windows in here; I didn’t realize!”

Didn’t realize? Oh dear, the patient’s case of Twilightitis may have been more severe than initially diagnosed. “Twilight, may I ask you a question?” I paused. “And do answer me honestly.”

“Always!”

“Precisely when did you go to sleep?”

She just stared, opening and closing her mouth once, twice, thrice, no sounds leaving except for an exasperated sigh.

I hung my head low, chiding her like a mother. “Twilight, did you not sleep at all last night?”

Twilight turned her head to the corner of her desk, containing two enormous stacks of book, most of which with pink or black covers and flowery cursive lettering along the title spines. “I’ve been reading?” she mumbled with an uptilt, asking as much as reporting.

I confess, looking back, I may find this incident the slightest bit entertaining and perhaps the teensiest bit adorable. But in the moment, oh, how she shredded my heartstrings. I pressed my hoof against my temples, nonchalantly affirming, “So I gathered.”

Twilight turned back to face me. I felt myself losing consciousness to the depths of her vision. She sputtered out, “Okay, okay, okay! I know it looks bad, but I promise there is a perfectly reasonable explanation!”

“I’m listening.”

“You know how you told me when an opportunity for romance presents itself, the protagonists in your books would take it?”

Romance? Twilight, what did you go and do? “Yes, that is how the author advances the plot.” I stared off up to the brightly lit corner, noticing a lampshade hanging from above.

Twilight nodded swiftly. “Well, an opportunity presented itself, in a manner of speaking.”

“Oh?”

“You know Doctor Hooves? Brown-coat, stallion, hourglass cutie mark?”

I nodded. “I’ve seen him around Ponyville, though I’m afraid I’ve never met him.”

She blushed. “Well, he, uh, he asked me out.”

Princess Twilight Sparkle? Asked out? By a stallion?

What an… unexpected turn of events. Not that it is unexpected that somepony would have feelings for Twilight, of course, and I suppose there really is nothing unexpected about somepony acting on said feelings, and I suppose that yes, if anyone were to ask out a given lady like Twilight, it would have to be a stallion, so there is nothing unexpected, for this is exactly how a lady is supposed to interact with a stallion. And a stallion with a lady. And. Um.

So no, I do not have a problem with this absolutely typical situation whatsoever. There is no part of me that minds in the slightest bit that a stallion is taking interest in my clo– in one of my closest friends.

I am one-hundred percent okay with this. I am a lady, and she is my friend, and I must be there for her to guide her and lov– support her as she finds love. With a stallion. Because that is what mares do. Date stallions.

Ladies dating stallions, to be a real lady. So I’ve told myself since grade school, the first days of my fillyhood when I resolved I must become a lady.

I confess Twilight has had more success in this endeavour, and I don’t believe she was even trying. Of course, she did have the advantage of birth. And, I suppose, a stallion asking her out.

That would help my case, wouldn’t it? Shame it didn’t work out with Blueblood; as intolerable as the brute was – what a mockery of stallionhood! – his presence by side would have reinforced my ladyhood.

Twilight’s would be detrimental.

Not that I would ever consider consider the detriment of me dating Twilight, because that is exactly what it is. A detriment. A detriment that I have no interest in. Since I have no interest in dating my platonic friend. Twilight.

See? Settled!

I beamed, relegating to my ladylike duties. “Ah! Tell me everything about this stallion.” I squinted, eyebrows aggressive but lips enjoying every bit of drama. “And do not leave out any details!”

Twilight giggled. “I don’t know! We were in the marketplace chatting. He asked me what I’ve been up to, and I started explaining Equestrian political structure, compared with the neighboring kingdoms.” Talking politics to her date: classy, if unorthodox. “Though I admit he wasn’t the courtroom type.”

“No. Really?” I exclaimed, bringing my hoof to my chest, closing my eyes with a jaded frown. “Colour me surprised! How could a perfectly good stallion not absolutely adore comparative contemporary political science?”

Twilight laughed. “I wish I knew! Well, as soon as he realized he was more of a science type, I obviously delved into my research on chaotic loop theory.”

I racked my brain. Chaos, loops, I had definitely heard those words before, though not memorably together. I did recall her showing me some fancy research apparatus she built. “Is that the big machine you have in the basement? The one that keeps making those crash noises?”

Twilight blushed, looking away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Umm..”

“And if there was such a machine” – I felt the floor rumble as she spoke, a crash no doubt echoing from beneath us – “which there is not, do not tell Princess Celestia.”

I nodded blankly. “Okay.”

Twilight snapped back into reality, coughing. “So I was talking to Doctor Hooves about the parts of my research that don’t involve proscribed magic – which is to say, all of it!” She smiled like a proud foal showing her parents her A on her spelling test.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! And he then told me about his research on something he’s calling ‘linear algebra’, which is super interesting stuff. It turns out there’s this idea where…”

I have to be honest. I have no idea whatsoever what she was babbling on about. I don’t know what a linear is or why it would be algebra. But I did enjoy her presence, and if the cadence of her speech was an indication, she enjoyed having a friend to throw words at.

She had a friendly warmth then, trailing on about science and mathemagics. There I was, the scientist, observing her in her natural state.

I lost track of time spent with her lecture passing through one ear and leaving from the other, and no doubt she lost track of time lecturing. But at some point, it must have come to close. C’est la vie.

“–and that’s how time travel was discovered!”

…Sometimes it isn’t worth it to question. “That sounds wonderful, Twilight.”

She clapped her hooves. “It is! I don’t know what happened exactly; we just really got along, you know?” I nodded, well-aware of the feeling. From real life, totally, definitely not novels. “He asked me if I wanted to get coffee with him sometime, and I wondered if it meant he was asking me out, but maybe he just meant that as a request for further communication scientist-to-scientist.”

I smiled, though a knot was tying itself within me. “Do go on,” I begged.

“Well, I asked him, and he said, yes, he would like to go on a date with me!”

I would have exclaimed, but I lacked the force within me. “That sounds lovely, dear.”

Twilight beamed, sincere it seemed. “It felt really nice! So as a scientist, I knew what I needed to do.”

“Oh?” Oh my. “What’s that?”

“Research!” she shouted.

“Oh my.”

“‘Oh my’ is right, Rarity!” She panted. “As I see it, Doctor Hooves presented me with a wonderful educational opportunity. There is so much about romance I don’t know, and there was only one way I could find out.”

“Putting yourself out there and dating a pony, even knowing it may or may not work out?” I ventured a guess. Maybe if I followed my own advice… I shouldn’t venture there.

“What? No.” Twilight snorted. “No, I wanted to follow your advice, Rarity. You’ve always told me that your strategy for learning romance has been reading romance novels–”

“–I’m not sure that’s a strategy I would endorse, darling–”

“–so I took your strategy to the logical limit!” She turned her body and outstretched a hoof to point to a colossal pile of books in the corner of the room, of which the two stacks on Twilight’s desk were apparently only a tiny subset. With pride, she elaborated, “Those stacks contain the entire deduplicated collection of romance novels within the Ponyville Library system, from both the Royal and Everfree branches, as well as assorted psychology collections tagged in the library database as love, romance, or relationships”

I blinked.

“Oh! I also borrowed some books on an interlibrary loan from the Canterlot system. Normally, it might be frowned upon to borrow that many books at once, but nopony asks questions to a princess.” She fanned out her wings. “And after all, this is an emergency.” She fanned back in her wings, bearing a blush, and mumbled, “Of a sort.”

I blinked again.

“So! The books from Canterlot should be arriving tomorrow.” Her eyes drooped, highlighting a pair of gloomy dark circles. “Uh, today,” she frowned.

I blinked thrice, scanning over the hundreds of novels and nonfiction, her piles containing everything from Greyscale Quill’s classics Guardaespaldas and La Princesa to Flaming Dress’s Dichos Tavianos, works with dozens of titles I recognized and hundreds more I did not. “Wow.” I ogled. “Certainly puts my adolescence to shame.”

“Ha!” She beamed ear to ear. “I’ve been reading nonstop since last night. I’m making good progress, but there’s so much to do!” She giggled. “Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part!”

“Yes?”

She bounced up into the air, spreading out all four hooves. In her magic she held up a journal with random pages torn out; illegible Equestrian cursive sprawled out across the pages remaining. “Notetaking!”

Notetaking, indeed. I hesitated. “Uh, Twilight?”

“Yeah?!”

“I’m worried about you,” I said solemnly.

She deflated, my words pins popping into her nerd balloon. She drooped back into her chair, released the notebook from her magic, and sagged, the adrenaline rush crashing and sleep deprivation kicking in. Frowning, she muttered, “I hoped it’s what you would have told me to do.”

I bit my lip. “I admit much of my romantic knowledge is not from personal experience, and much of the second-hand knowledge is from romance novels–”

“–See!–”

“–But that is no excuse for going thirty hours without sleep!” I barked. “I love you, Twilight, and that means I care about you, okay?”

She grinned adorably, and it became harder to scold her when I could be indulging her. “Aw, I love you, too, Rarity!” Her grin turned devilish. “So seriously, could you help me figure out how to prepare for my date with Dr. Hooves now?”

I closed my eyes for a moment to breath in and out. A lady never lets her own emotions overtake her responsibilities as a friend. “I care about you, and that means I care that you have enough sleep to function, okay?” A smile upon my lips I tried on for size, but it didn’t fit; I allowed myself to mirror her deflation.

She huffed. “You’re not my Mom, Rarity!”

I rolled my eyes. She had a point there, I suppose. “Touché. Okay, tell you what. Get some shut eye now, and I’ll come back later this afternoon to help you with your boyfriend.”

My dreamy commandment was lost as she repeated, “My… boyfriend?”

Though the words felt hollow to me, they were what lady Rarity lived for, were they not? I waggled my eyebrows, an empty gesture by an empty mare.

Twilight blushed, slowly raising herself from her chair. “I, uh, will get my pillow.”

“I don’t suppose you need to me read you a bedtime story?” I smirked.

“Rarity!”

“Or sing you a lullaby?” I cleared my throat. “Hush, Twi, quiet Twi…–”

“–Okay, okay, you win, I’m going to sleep!”

I smiled. “Good night, Twilight.”

“Good night, Rarity. Erm, morning.”

The Love Sickness

A few weeks of giggling, lovestruck Sparkle later, I sat alone in my workspace on a Friday night, sewing an expedite-order lacy purple dress for a mail-order client. I would have wished to defer to Monday, but my eyes were wide awake beside the candlelight. Business calls – the little sacrifices we make for our livelihood. The large ones for our art.

Needle in, needle out, the zen state of flow within me, zoning out and zoning in as the threads bundled into creation. Needle in, needle out, a poetry of dressmaking, a music a la mode, and a painting of th–

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I dropped my needle, the magic aura of concentration broken by bullets pounding on my door. Why in Equestria anyone would come over this late is a mystery. It could be a solicitor, but marketing door-to-door this time at night is simply uncouthe, I tell you. The new generation of Equestria at play. I sighed, intent on resuming sewing wh–

Tap! Tap! Tap!

For the love of Celestia, how hard is it to get some peace and quiet around Ponyville, in my own private home, to simply get a little work done? I realize I am not the only pony in the city, but seriously!

¡TAP! ¡TAP! ¡TAP!

A familiar feminine voice screamed, fright fraught with sadness, and my stomach dropped. “Raaaarity!”

I dropped the dress and galloped to the door, unlocking and swinging it open to reveal none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle.

The Princess, in dire straights, laying out curled up on the cold winter ground outside the Boutique, head staring at the floor of the door, hind legs dug into the snow bank beside the pavement. The Princess, forehooves outstretched to punch through the door the minute I swung it open. The Princess, overdressed in shoddy makeup, now a coloured river streaming down her muzzle leaving misty trails behind.

The Princess. My best friend.

At the sight, I swore my heart shattered then and there, and to this day, glass shards remain outside my Boutique door, so do be careful where you trot.

Needlessly I asked, “Twilight, are you okay?”

She looked up at me, and the hurt in her eyes told me all I needed to know, eyes that lost their specular spark of optimism, eyes that lost their shine. Pleading eyes, muddy eyes, dying eyes. Her vocal cords on the verge of snapping, she croaked, “No.”

No.

No. No, please could she have any other word but No., but no, ’twas no and nothing more.

I bent down so my face was on her level, stretched my hoof and beckoned her to the warm inside. “Come in, please,” I urged. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

To tell the truth, I hadn’t the foggiest idea what this is, but as I saw her sigh and swallow, I knew those were words she needed to hear, the words I needed to say. Wobbly, she raised herself up and trotted in, with great resistance – walking through the jelly aether into my home. By instinct or desire, I could not say, but she led herself to the couch in the front room, and plopped down, curled up against the fabric cushions, and cried.

My chest heavy, I sat beside her, in silence at first. Silence broken by her tears, silence broken by my whimpers. I wasn’t sure if I was helping or hurting, but she was hurting, so what could I do but finally ask, “Twilight, dearest, please, what’s going on?”

Twilight sniffled. “You know how Time Tur– how Doctor Hooves and I were together?”

Oh dear. “Yes?”

“Well, we’re… not anymore.”

Oh dear indeed. “I’m so sorry, darling.” I outstretched my hooves to her, offering a simple hug. She responded not just by hugging but… enveloping herself in me? She lunged within her seat into my hooves, yes, and rested her head against my shoulder. Then and only then did her sniffles escalate to waterworks.

I allowed my hooves to wrap around her, a safety blanket of physical contact. “You’re okay,” I whispered to empty ears, my words inaudible next to her creaking. I did my best to focus on Twilight – my friend – and not the fact that she was pressed up against me and there were no shortage of ways this could end poorly.

Did I mention the room was hot? It must have slipped my mind. Funny, too; it was winter with a broken thermostat, and I was melting.

In between sobs, Twilight let out, “Yeah – well – we had this – this date.” She rubbed her eyes, pausing to open the aqueducts behind her irises. “We had this date planned for tonight. At a restaurant in Ponyville?”

A. A date. Some date it must have been, and I trembled to find out why.

“Except. Except it wasn’t really a date. And he wasn’t asking me out. And he. He just came to tell me. To tell me that he… He… He didn’t…”

Oh. Oh no. This was going to be a long night, wasn’t it.

You know what the legends say: some hurts never go away.

What could I say, to make things better? Nothing I could think of, nothing including what I did say, a meek declaration of “I’m sorry.”

Twilight bawled, head buried into my shoulder as we hugged. “What do I do wrong Rarity? How could I have screwed this up so bad? We were only together a few weeks, and he already doesn’t want to be with me! This is all my fault!”

I wrapped my hooves together awkwardly, tightening within. If I can’t be strong for myself, I must still be strong for my dear friend. “Sometimes it isn’t you,” I said. “Sometimes it’s just him.”

And sometimes?

Sometimes it’s me.

“I guess.” Twilight sniffled. “But. I’m just.” She hung her head. “I’m unlovable, Rarity.”

“Hey,” I whispered straight into her ear, interconnected. “You’re not unlovable.”

“I’m not?” Twilight asked, as curious as incredulous.

“You’re not. I promise.”

Twilight bit her lip. “How can you be so sure?” Strained, she said, “He doesn’t love me.”

Yes, I suppose that much was clear to both of us. But I could be sure. “Because,” I leaned in to whisper once more at her. “I love you.”

I felt awfully rosy in the cheek region, if you follow, but these are sacrifices we make for loving friendship. Friendship.

As I spoke these words, she was still sniffling, and it still pained me to listen to the hurt waves echoing from the depths behind her eyes. Yet for the first time that evening, I saw a sliver of a smile creep onto her lips, in deep contrast to the frown painted across her eyes. “I love you, too, Rarity.” She sort of looked at me, with that indecipherable look of someone two standard deviations above your intelligence, the look where you’re not sure if you’re being seen or merely analyzed as a specimen. “You’re my… my… You’re my best friend.”

I strained to smile, uncomfortable with the declaration, yet ever proud. That title, even if it were all I could ever manage, that title would justify the struggle in and of itself, no? It was a title I earned, after all, in so much as anyone else earned it.

I’ve never liked the phrase “best friend”, so competitive, so hierarchical, so selective, so impossible.

I’ve always craved the phrase “best friend”, and here I am carrying her – it – so what can I say?

I don’t suppose I really could have been Twilight’s best friend. She was a princess, and I was a nobody. To her, I suppose I was a somebody, but still, she was a paragon. She deserved a mare infinitely better than I could ever be for her best friend.

She deserved a real lady. Not an impostor like me.

Not someone who crept her way up the social ladder to be seen and to be loved, always pining after success if only to distract from her loneliness.

Her.

Her.

Now there is a word I struggle with.

Her. Best friend. So perfect. So wonderful. So impossible. Such craving.

Her best friend.

So deep into the wishes of my heart and so far off from anything I could earn with my own merit. But could I deny that in such a state of catastrophe, Twilight came to me of all ponies.

Yes. Yes, I could. I was the always the romantic of the group, and it was without a doubt my fault that she entered the relationship prematurely to begin with, so undoubtedly those tears on my bloodied conscious. How I earn the label “best friend” after hurting her – indirectly, I suppose – I can never understand.

But how I earned the label “lady” after climbing way here, I could never tell you.

Ignoring the torrents, I said the only words natural in reply. “You’re my best friend, too, dearest Twilight.”

Twilight was mollified, if only until the instant she confessed, “I just. I don’t know, Rarity.”

“Know what?”

“I don’t know how any of this could have happened. I did everything you told me to, Rarity.” She tapped her hooves, as if to enumerate the list. “I was nice and polite, and I’m smart, and I listened when he talked about… whatever he talked about…”

“If I may ask, what did you talk about?”

“Um.” Twilight stared off. “Science. Mathematics. Magic theoretic properties of the usual. You know. Light conversation?”

There we have it, I suppose, the problem illuminated with no solution in sight. A problem I could pretend to recognize and diagnose from my own experiences. A problem I’ve seen in many a protagonist, but Twilight was my protagonist.

Platonically, of course.

I frowned. “Did you two ever talk about anything else? Anything not related to your work?”

Twilight strained, her eyes darted up to a corner as she walked through memories. “There was that one time when he was wearing a hat, but he took it off. Later in the evening, he lost the hat, and we tried to find it together. Like that?”

Curiosity did get the better of me, I confess. “…Did you find it?”

She chuckled a bit, quietly, empty, as if the vibration of the chortle bounced through her chest but there was nothing left to vibrate, all substance drained out in hours prior. Still, a fondness remained despite the heartbreak. “It was in his saddlebag.”

Always the little things, with the bookish types, hmm. I sighed. “You see that?”

“What?”

“That… casual bonding?”

“Mm?”

“That is a foundation of relationships,” or so I read, remember, recite. “It’s great that you shared interests about science, but if that’s all you share…”

Overshadowing realization dawned on her as a cloud of darkness as she finished my sentence. “…That makes us coworkers, not lovers.”

I nodded solemnly, and she furled up her brow. “Oh.” Just a simple oh and nothing else.

I hesitated to respond, brewing a silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, no, but still. A silent stillness.

Yet in the silence there was discomfort, or comfort, or a messy mix of emotions as the two of us remained embracing, physical touch uniting us, the smell of Twilight overtaking me in absence of her words.

The sense of her. The sense of belonging. The sense of me, ceasing loneliness for the first time.

But why ever do my thoughts falter? I am a lady, and so is she, and that puts an end to it, or so they say.

I am a lady, and she is emotionally vulnerable, heartbroken by that ruffian and now under repair as it were. Even if she did like me that way, it could never happen, not ever, but especially not now.

Twilight was first to break the silence. “I don’t get it, Rares.”

“Hmm?”

“You know so much about romance, and I know so little.” She blinked. “How did I end up with a coltfriend and you didn’t?”

Because I’m a hopeless wreck with crippled self-esteem and a vague history of codependency issues? Because I’ve spent my life searching for Mr. Right when she’s been standing beside me for years? Because I’m obsessed so dearly with the notion of “ladyhood”, a ladyhood I may never and in all probability will never attain, yet that still drives my every word, my every thought, my every action. I shrugged. “That’s fate, I suppose.”

“I just…” Twilight scrunched her muzzle. “This is so not fair!”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve said so many times that having a coltfriend is super good! But this is just so unfair and so complicated, and not in a good way, not like calculus is complicated!”

She had a point there, I admit. “I…”

“I just.” Twilight furled up her brow. “I don’t understand why I need to love a stallion when I already have so many wonderful friends I love.”

That’s simple, social customs for a lady dictate that a stallion must always be present in your life to provide legitimacy to your ladyhood.

Or so I’ve told myself over the years.

I admit she did have a point, did she not? Though I can’t believe Twilight of all ponies is the one giving me romantic advice. She was the one who fell. And scraped her lovestruck knees on the way down. Still more than I’ve managed.

Ladyhood is too complicated.

“Hmm!” I chirped.

Twilight shrugged. “I don’t know. I love Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash, but I’m not in love with them. And I love Applejack and Pinkie Pie and…” She trailed off, her eyes mouths of little rivers. “And…” She stared down at the floor for a moment, perhaps contemplating, perhaps spacing out. Tears streaming ever faster with every word, she said the three magic words sending shivers through me. “I love you so much, Rarity, for Celestia’s sake, I think I love you more than I could ever love a stallion or anypony, and this is stupid, Rarity, you’re already like a sister I’ve never had, so why am I bothering with a stallion when I have…” She paused, eyes wet and heavy, continuing only in a whisper, “When I have you, Rarity.”

We were friends hugging throughout her proclamation. As she cried, she was already pressed up against my fur; I could feel the pulse of her body heat mixing with mine. When she knocked on my door in tears, I was prepared for anything she might say to me. I thought I was prepared for anything she might do.

I was not prepared for her face to smush up against mine in that moment.

She punctuated her crying monologue with a kiss on my lips. Well. Loosely speaking, it was less of a kiss and more of a facial collision with my lip and tongue movement, but given her emotional state it would pass for a kiss. Looking back, I suppose it really wasn’t the best kiss I’ve ever received, but at the time, au contraire, stars above, here was Princess Twilight Sparkle with her lips on mine.

I swear I could taste apple cider on her lips. I could certainly taste love, and wonder.

In other circumstances I might admit to that being my first kiss. But stars above, a kiss from Twilight Sparkle of all ponies! Perfection bottled and…

And this is wrong. No. Rarity, you are lady, and she is your friend.

I brushed over my raging interior emotions with a stoic blank face, focusing only on breaths in and breaths out. Never betray your ladyhood, Rarity, never betray.

But oh, there was simply so much worth betraying! Her lips on mine were stars twinkling in my soul; her smile was all the sunshine I would ever need to be happy even throughout an alicorn lifetime. Ladyhood is wonderful, I maintain, but Twilight Sparkle is simply divine.

But ladyhood would have to win out today, as it always has and always will. There is no place for Twilight Sparkle – my friend, a mare – in a slot that ladies must reserve for a stallion.

Ladies like me, most of all. If only I had been born with fabric instead of a sewing needle, if only. What simplicity that would bring – to be accepted as a lady for simply existing, never having to prove myself.

I would never know what that’s like, would I? Every day’s a fight to be a lady – to be seen as a lady by every other lady, and especially every other stallion. Some ladies are born, and some ladies are made. What choice do I have but to be made?

I can never know what it’s like to be like lady Twilight Sparkle, born with a fabric that matched her coat.

Yet here I am, her lady friend – no, not her ladyfriend but a friend who happens to fancy herself a lady – and I’ll never be able to sew that fabric either.

Pardon the implication; my mind betrays me. While busy losing myself within the feeling of her lips on mine, she pulled away from the kiss and to the hug not a millisecond later, immediately Twilighting out. “Oh my gosh, no, oh my gosh, no, oh my gosh, no! What the ponyfeathers, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, oh my Celestia, I’m so sorry. That was terrible, Rarity, I’m so sorry. Consent is super important; I’m such a terrible pony, agh! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll show m–”

I brought my hoof to her lips – only seconds later and there I was touching her lips again, forward even by my standards – silencing her immediately. She only grew pinker with the contact, but what was I to do? Simply stand there idly while she berated herself? Twilight Sparkle, if you want to see a terrible pony, look in front of you, not the mirror. You are a light in my life and the lives of everypony around you, and… I’m talking to myself. Again.

Holding her lips and staring into her eyes, I prayed that I wouldn’t lose myself in them and make a train wreck out of my thought. “Twilight, calm down. I’m not mad at you.”

I released my hoof, and Twilight mellowed, her red glow disintegrating but still visible. She tilted her head, like a puppy caught stealing cookies. “You’re not?”

I wasn’t mad, no. Rather the opposite of the scale, if we really must be blunt. Something near the vicinity of giddy and head over hooves falling. Perhaps I ought to have been a little mad about losing my ladyhood, but nothing is lost if nothing has been done. This little hiccup we would forget in time and forgive immediately.

Yet there’s that nagging thought.

I didn’t want to forget this hiccup.

To be crass, that moment I cherished, however brief, however mistaken, however forbidden. I don’t want to say that was forbidden love – but it was, between a lady and her newly broken up friend I don’t want to say it was meaningless – it meant the world to me, and given the amount of profanity flying out of her mouth, it must have meant little less to Twilight beside me.

I didn’t want to say I wanted to repeat it, but on some level, I suppose I did.

That then was my chance. If I had been waiting, that then was the time I could – shall we say? – sew my wild threads together.

But I was a lady. I don’t merely mean a Canterlot lady, paragon of heteronormativity, although at the time I lament I must have been her too. No, I was a lady, and a lady above all cares for her friends.

What sort of lady – what sort of friend – would take advantage of a friend hours after breaking up with her first real ex? I don’t see anything wrong with starting a relationship with someone after a few months, but hours after? I refuse to demote myself to a rebound buddy.

Still, would it be so bad, my one – possibly only – chance with the princess of my dreams?

I think I sighed, or swallowed my pride.

Yes.

Yes, it would.

“I understand you’re emotional, Twilight, but it isn’t like I don’t have embarrassing anecdotes of my own.” A former life flashed before me, a former life I squashed down to focus on a life crumbling around me in the present. “Just remember the little things. Deep breaths will make a world of a difference.”

Twilight closed her eyes and inhaled, repeating, “Deep breaths.”

“And apple cider,” I tagged on nonchalantly.

She peaked open one eye half-way, furling up adorably. A little nasally, she asked, “Apple cider?”

“Oh, it’s something Applejack once said to me many years ago.” I felt the memories of an adolescence blurred into another life sweep me away. “The foundation of a clear mind and a clear body are deep breaths and apple cider,” I recited. “In hindsight, I don’t think she meant the cider sold to fillies our age. Legally, anyhow.”

Twilight rolled her eyes, a small smile slipping through the disapproval. “Rarity…”

“What?” I lowered my gaze, and I ought to have lowered the pitch of my voice, but I was too fearful of the change in acoustics if I had. “Do you think we should try that? Oh, I’m afraid I don’t stock any sort of cider when it’s not in season, but I could brew us some apple rhubarb herbal tea, served with cinnamon perhaps?”

She cracked a smile. “That’s alright, Rares.”

“Deep breaths, then.”

She obeyed, and I noticed her chest rise and fall to the beat of an invisible tune of tranquility. “Thank you, Rarity.”

I smiled. “Hey. It’s what friends are here for.”

“Thank you for being the best friend I could wish for, Rarity.”

“And thank you for the same, Twilight.”

Twilight mumbled, hugging herself with her hooves a little distant. Noticing the gesture, I outstretched my own hooves towards her, and she gladly threw herself into me, inundating me with a warmth I forced myself to ignore. The deed was done, I missed my chance – if there was a relationship to be had, that was relegated to the past of five minutes prior.

But I do suppose as a platonic friend there was nothing wrong with enjoying platonic warm fuzzies to their fullest, and what warmth there was to enjoy by her side! I felt myself feel warmer than the warm fuzzies, especially in the fabric-and-needle region, shall we say?

But little compromising facts I can ignore with ease.

I’ve built my life ignoring tiny details that could ruin me in the eyes of Canterlot snobbery. What they don’t know can’t hurt me.

Twilight yawned. “Tired, darling?”

Twilight grimaced. “Getting dumped is exhausting.” I stared at her softly, chuckling ever so softly, and she joined in. Sometimes the irony of our own situations is the finest comedy.

The irony would have been lost on her, of course.

“Hey, Twilight?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

“Could I promise you something?”

“Mm?” She perked up, the promise of a promise ever alluring.

I regarded her with contented pride of an elder, and promised, “You’re going to be okay.”

She smiled weakly, still strained but with the faint trace of belief glimmering in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That means a lot coming from you all of ponies.”

I scoffed playfully. “Me, of all ponies? And just what is that supposed to mean, missy?”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “It means I really care about you, you silly pony!”

“Uh-huh.” I grinned, outstretching my hoof to boop her nose.

My, did Twilight have a soft nose. Not that I’ve known terribly many ponies with noses that, er, weren’t soft, nor have I touched the nose of all that many ponies altogether, but Twilight’s was exceptionally soft.

With the press of my hoof against her, I notice her glow a faint red. I suppose that is progress.

Not that there is an end goal to be progressing towards of course. Ladyhood, friendship, Plato, etcetera.

“Hey, Rarity?” she chirped, her voice shaken.

“Mm?”

“Would you mind if I, umm…” Her cheeks flushed as her words trailed off, and I gently prodded for her to continue after a distracted pause. Quickly and softly, her words flying like bullets, she asked, “Would you mind if I stayed the night?”

I blinked. Stay the night? Of course she could stay the night – the darling could stay for life if she so desired. But such I thought I shouldn’t vocalize, not yet anyway; I couldn’t let a stray pawn betray my queen within. In my hesitation, she elaborated quickly, eyes white, “Ponyville can be scary alone at night. So, um, do you think you would mind…?”

And so it was settled. I wrapped my her hooves around her affectionately, if not intimately, and whispered, “Not at all, darling. Not at all.”

The Love Hangover

A purple alicorn stood over a grassy field in front of me, glowing a stunning pinkish aura well-complemented by the cerulean ambiance. She bore a delicate haute cauture dress with multicolour jewels embroidered on a subtle violet fabric, a colour palette blending well with her glow. She outstretched her wings regally, a silly smile painted over her lips in adorable contrast with the royalty she exuded. She was picturesque, and with a natural beauty surpassing that of the dress and sky alike, she was the paragon of pure-hearted poetry through my heart and through my eyes.

She gazed at me fondly, catching me off-guard with the infinities of two purple misty eyes, focal points of her painting and protagonists of her epic poem. Entranced by the breathtaking sight, I leaned forward on instinct, compelled to close the gap between myself and the most exquisite mare in Equestria.

We each outstretched a forehoof, wrapping our hooves together in a pretzel of romantic affection. I beamed, acutely aware of the warmth of her hoof, a special somepony eveloping me in love.

Staring longingly at me, the mare said, “I love you, Rarity. You’re my best friend in the world, and as a scientist, there is so much I wish to discover about you. But for now, one question would suffice. I would to like to know…” She trailed off, lost in my enchantment as much as I was in her hers. She squeezed my hoof, the jolt of pressure surging through my body and bouncing off the walls of my tummy like fireworks. I squeezed back, mischeviously hopeful my return of the gesture would return the effect. Judging by her subtle frozen shiver, it did.

She closed her eyes and inhaled. After a meditative pause, she returned her beautiful eyes to their rightful owner, moi, and though she ensured our shared touch was unbroken, she knelt down to ask the six words for which I have waited for a stallion since I was a filly. Time slowed to a halt, then sped in the wrong direction, leaving me woosy in the backwards time travel of my heart as she asked the question of my dreams.

She squeezed, tears welling. “Rarity Belle, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” I cried, overwhelmed by the moment. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”

Twilight beamed at me, her breath robbed by my answer. I did worry, perhaps there were not enough “yes”s in my response to adequately satisfy my love for her. But yes, a million times over, only for Princess Twilight Sparkle. “Yes.” I cooed, “Dearest Twilight, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Rarity!.”

I raised my eyebrows suggestively and proclaimed, “I love you more!” I leaned in and kissed her, finding myself torn between screaming in excitement and happiness-turned-tears.

“Rarity!” she exclaimed, scrunching up her features adorably to reveal a cute hint of dimples on the outlines of her cheeks. Teasing aggravation in her voice but nothing but bliss in her physique, she chided, “Not everything’s a competition!”

“Ah?” I pressed my muzzle against hers and giggled as the snout-to-snout contact lit her cheeks aflame, her eyebrows curled up peacefully. “You’re not just saying that because, deep down–” I smirked with lips almost touching hers– “You know I’m winning?”

“Rarity, I–” Her words were cut-off by a kiss covering her lips. “Mmf!”

She faded into black along with the atmosphere, soon replaced by tens and hundreds and thousands of copies of Princess Twilight Sparkle, all love-struck with smiles reserved to me in every corner of my vision. Inundated by her multiplying presence, I was overwhelmed by the desire to kiss each and everyone a million times until…

I woke up, grinning like a filly, finding myself clutching my pillow in my hooves and pressing it up against my chest as I lay under a sloppy set of sheets, keeping my eyes scrunched for one more minute before dawn would sweep me away.

The last few moments of the dream played back in my memory, and I absentmindedly squeezed the pillow tighter, absorbed in my memories and momentarily unaware of cuddling with an inanimate object. Ah, what wonderful memories they were, whether real or imaginary hardly mattered at the hour. Twilight Sparkle, smiling like a filly. Or was I the smiling one? No, it must have been both of us. Just happy-go-lucky Rarity centimeters away from an overjoyed Twilight.

Twilight. It was always her, wasn’t it? Now, now, I do believe my dreams reflect my innermost wishes and wants, worries and fears. As such, despite the previous night’s wonderful skirmish with the imaginary friends of my mind’s design, I choose to believe – by faith and faith alone – that I do have dreams involving ponies other than Twilight Sparkle.

Admittedly I cannot remember any, but I’m sure they must be there! What kind of a pony only dreams about a single one of her friends, and Twilight Sparkle of all ponies?

A pony with an unbridled love for Twilight Sparkle, that’s who.

Um. Right. Um. Ladyhood. Heterosexuality if not by truth by force. Canterlot norms. Passing as a cis mare and leaving deep stealth. Not falling in love with my platonic friends.

Let me, ahem, clarify. What kind of pony only dreams of one mare due to her itsy bitsy filly crush on a certain Sparkle, Twilight?

A pony who by no stretch of the imagination could be me, for I was a lady. Perfectly conformant to the sacred institution of ladyhood that patterned my life and dominated my thoughts.

I was a lady, at least until my memories from the night prior slowly played back within me. Amid the recalled emotional turmoil I recognized a soft breathing unsynchronized against my own, halting my breathing at the recollection of one last memory.

Biting my lip, I peeped my eyes open and sure enough beside me, the “pillow” cuddled between my forehooves was in fact the most beautiful sleeping bit of lavender I had ever laid eyes on. Not that I have laid my eyes on terribly many beautiful sleeping mares, but I’m sure if I had, she would be the most the beautiful.

My beautiful just-got-dumped female best friend who I definitely didn’t have the slightest tinge of crush on, alone with me, wrapped in my hooves, snoozing in my bed.

Oh, ponyfeathers.

The Love Hangover, cont.

Between my hooves was one smiling, snoozing, lavender princess. The morning was still young – no doubt if I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep I could keep her there, smiling. I could feel her warmth, smell her, all but watch the rhythmic expansions and contractions of her chest with each peaceful breath.

Never mind how she got here. I recall her staying over after the breakup, yes, but I swear we engaged in nothing improper of ladies.

Unless we did, and I was so inebriated I lost all such memories. Even lost the memory of beginning to drink. But a little red wine on a mare as large as I should not cause trouble. All I remember is dozing off alone, and dreaming of the princess: her smile, her lectures, her gentle tap-tap on my door at midnight, her pleading face looking for cuddles from a cherished friend, her nuzzling as she fell back into a content nightly rhythm.

I stared at her form. Perhaps some dreams come true, in the hazy night fog where the threshold of dreamscape and reality is blurred to the morning after.

I allowed myself to take one whiff of the Twilight-scented air, and with a smile, delicately untangled my hooves and exfiltrated myself from my bed. Once up, satisfied she was still asleep, I curled my lip and stared at her from the distance, resisting the urge to bend over and place a kiss on her forehead. What? I said resisted; I promise nothing happened. I am far too proper to violate a pony’s consent so vilely.

But a lady can fantasize. About stallions. Whatever.

I cracked open the door and head to the washroom, running water and a comb through my mane to ensure a perfect coiff by the time my darling… my friend who happened to be upstairs sleeping in my bed awoke.

I proceeded to the kitchen and opened the breakfast cabinets with my magic, grabbing my mason jar of rolled oats and the containers of nuts and cinnamon to its sides. Adding bowls, spoons, and a supply of water to the telekinetic floating pile, I set to work preparing a pair of meals over the a magic stove.

I hummed and I worked, soon hearing rumbling above, creaking boards, a blunt clip-clop of hooves descending the stairs as my platonic friend with whom I have no romantic feelings emerged. “Good morning, Twilight,” I called.

Grunt. I took that as, ah, good morning to you too, Rarity. Another set of tapping hooves and Twilight appeared in front of me. I looked up and beamed. “Restful night, I hope?” Play it cool, Rarity. Play it cool.

Twilight rubbed her eyes. “I’ve had worse.” She looked down to the bottom of her hooves. “And it was kinda nice to sleep with you.”

I sputtered. “I could have sworn we did not – what with my ladyhood or something – how could I forget an experience like that? – maybe we would need to redo it to jog memory – not that there is anything to remember, Celestia forbid.”

“Not like that!” Her eyes bloomed. “I didn’t mean it as a euphemism.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure I cared to analyze the Freudian subtext. “That’s good to be certain of.”

“Yeah.” She looked over to the side, twirling her hoof around a messy lock of her mane as she burned pink. “You did kiss me, though.”

I blinked. Dear princesses, I really have no such recollection. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Um…” Twilight’s eyes finally met mine. “I’m pretty sure you were asleep.” Lovely, sleep-kissing hardly paints a clear picture of my sanity. “But you kissed me on the cheek. You were mumbling something I couldn’t make out between the kisses.”

“Kisses?” I squeaked. “As in, multiple plural kisses from my lips to you?”

Twilight grew from pink to red. “Yeah, must have been some dream you were having.”

Some dream indeed. “I am truly sorry, Twilight. I had no idea, I promise.” But if my dreams were anything to go by, perhaps I did.

“Hm.” Twilight bit her lip. “Would it be wrong if I confessed on some level I maybe liked it? Being kissed, I mean. Even if you were asleep and dreaming of some stallion, and I just happened to be in the way of whatever you usually kiss while asleep.”

Oh dear Celestia indeed. “I’m, ah, sorry.” Yes, I knew it sounded silly, but stars, what could I say? Admit I had feelings – no, even if I admitted to myself I did, and even if we did kiss under admittedly bizarre circumstances, and even if that conversation sent a ladylike tingle in– never mind that trail of thought.

“Don’t be.” She flared crimson. “I just… Time Turner nad I had a moment or two, but it’s different with a stallion than with a mare, I guess.” She bit her lip. “I never paid much attention before, but the past few weeks – and with last night – I’m starting to think I might be a filly– might like mares.”

If I could pay bits to wipe off the embarrassment from her cheeks with a delicate conscious kiss, I would have in a heart beat, no shame in saying so in the privacy of my own thoughts.

I loved Twilight. As a mare loves her mare friends; space or no space should not make or break the world. Maybe no space would not be so bad. Oh, how simple it would be if I weren’t trans. Or didn’t care about proving my ladyhood at every elite junction, with a homophobic judge, transphobic jury, and power-hungry executioner looming in the Canterlot shadows. Looming in my own mind.

Lips tight – no, don’t give me that look. Tight-lipped I nodded. “Thank you for confiding in me, Twilight. I know first-hoof how hard it can be to come out.”

“Hard? Wait.” Her eyes sunk. “Oh no, oh no, oh no! I assumed because you were… because of your past you would be accepting automatically, but then again, you’re straight yourself, and maybe you wouldn’t, and now this does seem harder than it had a minute ago, and…”

I reached my hoof around her, pulling her into a hug as the oats on the stove softened. “It’s okay. Of course I accept you, dear. I love you, and I promise if you’re gay or maybe bi, either way it doesn’t have to change anything.”

Yet to me – perhaps it changed everything.

Nevertheless I nuzzled her. “Twilight, look at me.” She complied, and I saw a film distorting my reflection in her pupils. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay. I understand it is not always easy, but no matter what happens, I will be here for you.”

She nuzzled back, and at once I felt her cheeks were boiling. I suppose mine were too, along with a few other select regions of my body. I sighed. “You’re wonderful just as you are, dear Twilight. No, scratch that – you’re perfect exactly as you are.”

As she thanked me and tightened the hug, I found myself pondering the mental gymnastics for me to extol the virtues of homosexuality to her of all ponies, while simultaneously beating myself for the same attraction. I had my reasons no doubt – she, a princess in every sense, needed not to prove anything about herself to anypony. She – born as I became – is accepted on account of she is, not despite.

Some of us lack that luxury, or at least the wisdom to recognize it in ourselves. Perhaps some day it would not matter, perhaps some day I could be true without risking my celebrity status up Saddle Row. Move to Manehatten, rebrand towards the Bridleway crowd instead? A nice thought, but not here, not now. Not without Twilight.

I pulled back from the hug, or at least attempted to: she would not let go until a moment too late. Though I heard nothing, I noticed her eyes were mistier than before, but her lips smiled. “Thank you. I… I love you too, Rarity.”

I returned the smile, if only to distract from the waves dancing through my lips. I returned my focus to the oats, and noticing a decent consistency, I stopped the heat with a spark of magic, and distributed the oats to the pair of bowls.

Her eyes danced. “You didn’t have to.”

“Oh, but I did. You’re my guest.” Before I let her disagree, I continued, “Besides, there are few things I like more than helping y– helping my friends. Though I’m done yet.”

“You’re not?” She cocked her head, and I couldn’t help but smile at her adorable confusion.

I scraped the last bits of oats into the bowl, then sprinkled over crushed nuts, finally drizzling cinnamon atop each bowl. I brought the bowls and silverware to the adjacent dining table, setting the two side-by-side, and took the seat behind the uglier of the bowls. She instinctively sat to my side. “I’m done now, darling.”

“wow.” She stared at the dish. “Usually I just have oats dry. There’s too much to do in the morning, especially now that I chair twenty-three committees.”

“Dry?” I gasped. “You didn’t even heat them?”

“No time.” She shrugged. "And adding water without cooking is worse than it sounds. Trust me."

I flashed my tongue. “Oh, I trust you plenty, Twilight, but you might underestimate how bad that sounds to someone with a finer culinary appreciations.”

She giggled. “Well, time to appreciate the finer things in life then!” She ducked her head over her bowl to lap up the meal. “Thishtastes–” She swallowed. “This tastes amazing. Thank you.”

I levitated my spoon and took a tiny bite of my own breakfast. I swallowed delicately and said, “Of course, love.” I blinked. “Friend. Darling. Dear.” I was acutely aware that she lacked any such meal grace, but we were one-to-one faux pas to faux pas by that point. I imagine that is another snobbish ritual that her wings let her break and my past commands I follow.

But nopony said I can’t enjoy watching her smile.

The Love Story

Another twilight, another dream, another blushing Twilight. Overnight – each night – I’m caught, red-hoofed, red-cheeked, and giddy.

One finds authenticity and vulnerability in masses in the world of dreams, a world of creation unimpeded by reason or reality. The creative dreamscape I exploited mercilessly during my teenage years, when I unfailingly kept my notebook on my bedside stand. If fashion – or nature – called past midnight, my dreamy designs (or dreamy Prince Charming) would be accessible within my short-term overnight memory, and I was ever eager to copy down the fabulousity conjured in my mind.

Now, passive dream journaling is useful in and of itself, but in my adolescence in a quasi-religious ritual, I set my alarm before bed for 3 a.m., gambling my health in hope of awakening to peak inspiration. As a filly just months past her cuteciñera, the lure of creativity to an artist was matched only by her day-to-day struggles with a cruel world and herself. Silly or heartbreaking, the decision was hers, and I cannot blame the poor filly for the choices she made – they are, after all, my own.

Thus 3 a.m. it was, and lacking good fortune to gamble, there was no risk, only rewards. And how rewarding it was! My creative output those nights was magnificent, well-worth the teensy trade-off of a bleary-eyed daytime.

I confess I might have appreciated the bleary-eyed daytime as well.

Sleep deprivation numbs the senses - and the emotions.

My parents forbade my nocturnal practice, but I was fourteen, and they were my parents. What did they know, anyway? The best dresses from the bottomless depths of my imagination, the occasional lucid dream filled with foreign happiness, love, and freedom?

So what if it brought me years of dark circles under my eyes? ’Twas nothing a daily dose of concealer couldn’t fix.

And I do not just mean make-up.

Despite the oscillating turmoil of the years, as I grew older I grew happier, healthier, whole. Mostly. By the time I opened Carousel Boutique, I had all but quit my nighttime ritual; in recent years, my dream memory has regressed to infant levels. To tell the truth, the only dreams I remember these days are those which are truly unforgettable.

So why in Equestria can’t I forget my dreams of Princess Twilight Sparkle?

Yes, plural “dreams”, of none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle herself. As in, the Princess Twilight. Sparkle. As in, oh dresses, Twilight Sparkle Twilight Sparkle Twilight Sparkle!

My stars, I really am hopeless.

Even her name tastes sweeter than wedding cake.

There’s a thought. If I ever share… Celestia so help me.

Lost in myself, I brought my hoof to my face, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and rose from bed to waddle over to my calendar. Grabbing a pen in my telekinesis, I crossed off yesterday on the calendar. A smile unfolded upon my lips as I read the only item on the day’s schedule:

9 a.m. - 10 a.m.: Tea with Twilight, here

Cognizant of the sharp time constraints, I squealed and proceeded to spend a mere two-and-a-half hours trapped inside the overheating chamber formerly known as “Rarity’s washroom”, all alone with my dazzling collection of dozens of beauty products.

An unforgettable lesson of my youth is that there is a price to beauty. Perhaps it is free to wonders like Twilight, but for me, beauty requires sacrifice, for a beautiful lady must present herself to her caballero.

My past dream flashed in my mind’s eye, details fading but a sweet feminine lavender aroma infused in my memory, accompanying a tranquil warmth spreading through me. Infatuation flooding my sense, I giggled as I rubbed a layer of foundation across my face.

Correction: single or not, a beautiful lady must present herself for her princesa.

A few steamy hours later – no, do not look at me like that, I meant that literally – never mind, do over.

Hi, my name’s Rarity, enchantée.

After two and a half hours beautifying myself in the humid washroom, I emerged to the heart of Carousel Boutique looking perfectly feminine and perfectly beautiful, as I must be for myself – and, fine, for her. I trotted over to the kitchen, put a pot of water on the stove to boil, and picked out my finest tea – an herbal infusion imported from Manehattan.

When all was said in done, the day was still young. I must have beat my own record, finishing daily beautification with I glanced over the clock – five minutes to spare!

Five minutes? Oh, dear. Five minutes. As in, it was 8:55 a.m., and in five, four, three, two short minutes, there would be a rap rap at the door, and then there would be a certain someone at my door. My stomach backflipped. squeamish, in the stomach region. Not that I was anxious.

But why shouldn’t I be? Twilight Sparkle was coming.

Twilight Sparkle was late.

Twilight Sparkle was never late. Twilight Sparkle was meeting Rarity.

Twilight Sparkle was late meeting Rarity. Twilight Sparkle was never late meeting Rarity.

Twilight Sparkle must have a reason for being late to meet Rarity.

What in Equestria could I have done to upset her so?

Not that I’ve ever done anything to upset her so, except for that time with the rock, and that time with the– oh, dear, oh dears, I definitely must have done something to upset the poor mare.

Out of all the things I could have done, this was the worst! Possible! Thing!

Of course, I didn’t have the foggiest idea what I might have done, but if she was late by – one minute – there must have been a legitimate reason, and I must have been the culprit.

One minute. I trotted towards the door in anxious anticipation, but then perhaps that would be too forward? I would never want the poor mare to think I suffered any trepidation whatsoever induced by the minor hiccup in her scheduling. No, I was one-hundred percent fine with the situation, and I needed neither pity nor apology.

I retreated to my work room. Play it cool, Rarity, play it cool. I sat down at the nearest desk and placed my hoof on the sewing machine for plausible deniability. If she barged in, I would be sewing and therefore clearly not worrying about her absence.

I blinked. Though I imitated, I lacked fabric or a design, a panicked charade.

9:02 a.m. Twilight was scheduled for 9 a.m., sharp. Indeed, Princess Twilight Sparkle was two minutes late, a phenomenon wholly incomprehensible to ponykind. Of course, the sharp wasn’t stated, but our meet-up was certainly not 9 a.m. flat. I suppose technically “flat” would be earlier than “sharp”. My fault for daring to use a metaphor.

9:03 a.m, sitting at an empty sewing machine, not spiraling in self-destructive thoughts.

9:04 a.m., and only a minute later it was – can you believe it? – 9:05 a.m. Who was there in Carousel Boutique? Absolutely nopony except for Rarity.

But there was nothing to panic about.

I was not panicking.

I was not anxious.

I was worried.

Worried for her sake, of course, because as her friend, I worried that she might not be okay.

But I could not be worried.

I was Lady Rarity, and ladies need not the company of others to be complete.

I might need a stallion, but this was not the time for internalized homophobia, Rarity!

No, you are Rarity Belle, and you need neither another lady nor a stallion, despite wishing for Twilight’s presence.

No, you are completely normal.

Because completely normal people have to assuage their own fears in the second person.

Dear princesses, dear Princess. 9:06 a.m., and nopony at the door.

I could not bear to sit. What would the poor dear think of me at a sewing machine with manescara down my cheek?

Six minutes late. Six minutes is no longer fashionably late; it is simply late.

Thus I paced, circling the floor to distract from the ticking minute hand. Yet bizarrely, I heard a ring.

I darted, paused to collect my breath, and swung open the door. I waved, first to her and then inside towards my living room, and nonchalantly exclaimed, “Oh, hi, Twilight! I wasn’t expecting you to come so early! What’s the special ocassion?”

Twilight looked at me like I was a hydra, bearing a warm grin. “What do you mean? I would never miss weekly tea with one of my best friends!”

“Oh!” I beamed. “Is that so?”

“Of course!” Twilight smiled, though a ray of concern flickered across her face.

“Right, of course!” Hollow reverberations of her words bounced off my inner walls. “Come in, tea should be ready.”

She obeyed, wearing a pure smile, concern washed away and replaced with her angelic – nevermind. “I’m glad to be here.”

“Ah?” I closed the door behind her. “I’m really glad you’re here too.” That was a perfectly normal declaration, something normal platonic friends say to normal platonic friends when they don’t have feelings for one another. “You’re a good friend,” I added automatically.

She smiled at me, that smile that melts my heart into rainbows. “You’re a goof friend too, Rarity.”

“A goof friend?” I humoured her.

“A good friend.” She corrected, and I giggled. “Equestrian is hard.”

“Sans blague!” I flashed a smile, and she giggled. Many ponies think falling in love is a totalizing obsession.

But no: it’s the little things that get you. The jokes. The giggles. The hugs.

The little raindrops of affection, dripping tap water into your stream of consciousness until you are pure.

I trotted into the kitchen, Twilight beside. “Tell me about your week.” Small talk served as a small distraction from the smell of Twilight Sparkle in the air. Perfume? Perhaps just her smell? Sweet lavender and the aura of kindness? Don’t ask what kindness smells like – spoiler: the answer is Twilight Sparkle.

“Hmm…” She trailed off awkwardly, contemplative. “I had an important meeting with Princess Luna yesterday morning. In a manner of speaking” She bit her lip.

“Ah? A meeting to discuss what?”

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Politics. The fate of Equestria. My friendship studies. Princess things.”

“Why, princess things? I never would have guessed!” Within the kitchen, I beckoned for Twilight to take a seat at the kitchen table, while I approached the stove top to pour two cups of water and some tea.

Twilight sat. “Yup, princess things. With Princess Luna! Since we’re both princesses!”

I was scooping tea into Twilight’s cup when understanding hit. I turned to face her and deadpanned, “Twilight. Princess Luna.”

“Yes?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“…Yes?”

“Do you mean to tell me that you, Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, future monarch of Equestria slept in?”

Twilight blushed. “It was Friday, Rarity! I was up late on Thursday on a telepresence meeting on the treaty negotiations with Seaquestria. It was important business, and I had no choice but to stay up late!”

I smirked, poking fun. “Yeah? Because you were too busy reading the new Daring Do release?”

“Because of timezones, Rarity.” She sunk into her chair. “And also Daring Do.”

“Ah-ha!” I finished preparing tea and brought the pair of cups over to the table with my magic, placing one in front of my dearest and one in front of myself. “Case closed!”

Twilight groaned. “I couldn’t go to sleep without knowing whether Caballeron would–” I clinked my cup against hers with magic, bearing a sympathetic smile. “Never mind.”

“I rest my case.” I grinned. “I just like seeing you flustered.”

“Rarity!”

I giggled at her escalated volume. “As I stated, I rest my case.”

“Ugh,” Twilight rolled her eyes, glowing. She reached out a hoof – was she about to…? – and booped me on the snout.

Her warmth inundated me from muzzle to hoof.

Her.

Me.

..At least, her hoof and my nose.

I just. Twilight. I–

Oh dear.

No, oh dear.

I just–

I simply cannot take it anymore. All of these dreadful relationships dynamics, being private! professional! platonic! Inside me her smile rages, yet outside, there is neither affection nor love nor dream.

If only it weren’t so unladylike.

No. No, my Twilightian infatuation is stronger than dated norms. I’m in love with the princess, and I have a right to tell her.

I was fine before Twilight walked into my life. Forget the sleepless adolescent nights, the years of jeering, the therapy bringing me towards a light I never saw.

My troubles have nothing to do with Twilight.

The silver lining of rock bottom is that there’s only up.

Fidgeting with my tea cup, I asked, “Hey, Twilight?”

“Mm?”

“Could we… reverse roles? I need romantic help with someone who caught my eye.” I twirled a lock of my mane. “I was hoping you could listen and give some much-appreciated advice?”

Twilight creased her brow. “What do I know about romance? My only experience was dating a stallion I wasn’t even attracted to, just for the science.”

I blinked. “Twilight Sparkle 1, Rarity 0”.

“Right, yes, ahem…! I still don’t think I can help much,” she trailed off, opening her mouth as if to continue speaking but without any words coming out.

“Pleeeeeease…?”

She sighed. “I suppose I can do my best for one of my closest friends!” She reached out her hoof, and I gleefully took hold. She continued with a quick squeeze of my hoof, sending a jolt. “You know you can tell me anything, Rarity.”

I shivered. “It’s cold in here, hmm?” I mumbled in a lie even I wouldn’t believe, though Twilight shrugged. Shrugged adorably. I’m not saying naïveté is cute, but she certainly is.

I stared at the boutique floor. “I have a crush on…”

She giggled at me. “C’mon, who’s the lucky stallion?”

I clutched my chest in my hoof, bulging eyes and a look over complete exasperation masking my muzzle. “Stallion? Who said anything about a stallion?! My, my, Twilight, I thought so much better of you!” I struck my forehead with the back of my hoof, tilting back my head as I scoffed, “Assumptions about a pony’s orientation are simply out of mode, darling.”

Twilight rolled her eyes playfully. “I was not assuming! Every time we have ever talked about romance, it’s always been about Prince Charming!”

I lowered my hoof and let my exasperation fall into a teasing smirk. “I know.”

She clicked her tongue. “No theatrics necessary, huh?”

My eyebrows turned in on her, a vicious frown repeating, “No theatrics necessary? Who do you think I am, but Rareté Belle, la plus dramatique de toute Equestrie!” I allowed my frown to invert, creating a comic juxtaposition of a loving smile with evil eyes. Nothing less would suit me, for her.

She nodded, smiling. “Yeah, her! And it’s still Equestria in French, not Equestrie.”

Absorbed in the grave I dug for myself, I lamented, “Alas, who said anything about Equestria? No, I am the most dramatique mare in Equestrie.” I nodded curtly, evidently proud of the fact. “I am, of course, the only mare in Equestrie.”

“Uh-huh.” Twilight shook her head warmly. “So… your crush…?”

“Ah!” I exclaimed, a little too loudly. Play it cool. “Yes, well, she is a truly exquisite mare and an incredible friend.” I lost myself into eyes interlocked with my beloved. “She is kind beyond all recognition, caring even about total strangers and with an almost magical loyalty to her friends. She’s crazy smart, but it’s not in an uncomfortable way. Intelligence aside, she is a wonderful pony and wonderful friend; every day, she makes me want to be a better mare, for me, for her, for the world. She always inspires me, artistically and intrinsically, a muse I’m blessed beyond measure to have in my life. And most of all…” I found a grin tucking at my lips with a hint of a flush overtaking my cheeks. “She always manages to make me smile. I confess sometimes our conversations can become rather strange, but she has an uncanny knack to bring me joy unparalleled even by favourite romance novels.”

Throughout my unsolicited spiel about the most wonderful mare I had ever known who by the way was sitting right across from me and held my hoof literally minutes ago, Twilight nodded, flashing the ocassional smile of affirmation. As I finished my monologue, she clapped her hooves, vicariously excited for my mysterious love interest du jour. “Aww, Rarity, she sounds wonderful! Really, I’m happy for you.”

Then in an emotional turn I will never forget until the day I die, Twilight turned downcast, I tell you, that I had a crush. There were only two possible explanations, and one of them hinged on Twilight being an undercover changeling feeding on my love for her.

The other is that my feelings were… reciprocated? At least, a little bit?

Or – oh, no. She clearly knew I was talking about her, and if her feelings were reciprocated, she ought to be delighted! That she knew I was talking about her of all ponies, yet she still looked downcast – oh, no, this could not end well.

She mumbled, “Thank you for telling me.”

“What’s the matter?” I prodded.

“Nothing.” Short. Clipped. Evasive. Now Twilight, that sort of response might work on other ponies, but it shan’t work on moi, for I am the master of drama, and you are my puppet– too far? Okay.

I frowned. “I don’t mean to pry” – I did – “but really, what’s up?”

Twilight squirmed around. “I don’t know. I’m really happy for you, Rarity. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Just, I don’t know.” She sighed, frowning, head turned towards the floor. Quietly, she continued, “I’m not one to give advice, but you should definitely ask out Pinkie Pie.”

Pinkie Pie, of all ponies? Pinkie Pie?

Dear Princesses.

She turned her head up back to face me, a little pain straining her smile, but nevertheless proceeded warmly. “I’m really happy for you,” she repeated. “I’m sure Pinkie feels the same about you too. If she makes you that happy, it’s worth it to tell her.” She collected her wisdom. “Even if she doesn’t feel the same about you, it’s still worth it.” Weakly, she told me, with an uptilt in her voice as if she were asking me, “There’s never anything wrong with complimenting your friends or reminding me them you care about them?”

“Sure, um, right, yeah, um, okay.” I unleashed a torrent of empty interjections, no more substance to the words than remained speaking them in my heart. “Pinkie Pie.”

December silence filled the room, chilling the ambiance and freezing my heart.

At once, I coughed. “So…” I mumbled, eager to rekindle the flame lest the rose of my affection became a frosted flower. I allowed her words to settle into my soul, however off the mark they proved to be. Pinkie Pie, huh? A wonderful friend, impossibly intelligent, loyal and kind to the core, and above all someone who makes me smile?

Pinkie Pie. I do concede those attributes could multiple of my friends – some images of one particular friend popped into mind. Am I really so subtle that… Pinkie Pie?

Very well. If I didn’t find it so adorable, I might frown at her cluelessness.

“Mm…” Twilight mumbled.

Well. If asking indirectly won’t work, strategy #2.

“Really, darling, what ever is the matter? I’m positively worried!” I sighed. “Please, Twilight, tell me what you’re thinking about. I promise I won’t judge; I just need to know.”

“No…” she frowned, looking a little spacey.

“Please?”

“Um…”

“Tell me”

Twilight bit her lip, staring off then closing her eyes. “I don’t know. It just is so weird to me that you’re dating, you know?” As the gravity of her words sunk in, she quickly interjected, “Not that it’s weird that you’re dating! Nothing wrong with dating, of course. Or you doing it…” I noticed a trace of a blush as she recomposed herself.

Her words echoed my thoughts the day she and Hooves became an item. I felt a strange chill run inside me.

But dating? “I’m not dating.”

“Yeah,” Twilight nodded, then exclaimed with enthusiasm, “But it sounds like you’re about to be!” She raised her eyebrows either in excitement or seduction – I honestly couldn’t tell.

Slowly her overeager countenance drooped and she confessed, “I don’t know why that’s weird to me.” A moment’s pause. Her eyes sprung open, and even with distance, I could see the throbbing of her blood pulsing through her veins – anxiety in its rawest form. To see her in that state at all broke my heart once. To realize I was unintentionally the culprit broke it twice. Panicked, she unleashed a torrent as heartbreaking for me to hear as it was painful for her to say. “Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! Ponyfeathers! Princesses above! No!”

“Twilight…”

“Just, ponyfeathers, no, that’s terrible, stop it, brain–”

“Twilight, what’s going on?” I interrupted. Watching her spiral in pain was agonizing. What came next, perhaps, was worse.

“Rarity, what if I subconsciously have issue about you being t–”

There it was. The magic t-word. The five letters that have single-hoofedly terminated my love life and dominated my existence for years. I shushed her before she could pronounce it – yes, I realize my issues with myself stem far deeper than I am willing to admit to in therapy. I’m fine.

Well, no, I’m not fine. But I don’t really care.

“Twilight Sparkle, do you have issues with me being trans?”

She was visibly taken aback by the question. “What? Of course not. That’s insane; you’re my best friend!”

A warm breeze overtook me from within, bringing forth a soft smile. “I thought not.” Her words sunk into my soul. Of course not. Best friend.

Best friend.

“Did you say best friend?” I asked calmly, a trace of desperation straggling in my voice laced by an almost friendly accusation.

“…Yes. You’re my best friend.”

Awkward silence filled the space.

Awkward silence I broke with an awkward question. “If I may note, darling, you seemed uncomfortable with the idea of me dating.” I let her mull over information with which we were well-acquainted by this point in the awkwardness, an awkwardness I only magnified with the question filling each of our minds. “Pardon the blunt question, but what is the matter?”

Twilight shifted awkwardly in her chair, shrugging. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and I wasn’t sure if I should believe her.

Yet she was a scientist. If I asked, she would have me “prove from axioms” – whatever that means – or experiment!

I racked my brain for snippets from her scientific lectures, though usually when she spoke, I was more focused on the chemistry than the physics. Nevertheless, her tangents on the scientific method could prove romantically useful.

As if I needed more reasons to be wholly smitten with the mare.

Pressing on. Step 1, hypothesis: Twilight reciprocates my feelings for her.

Step 2, 3, 4, I’m afraid I might have been a little too focused on Twilight to absorb the details of the lecture.

Thus, let us proceed to step 5: experiment!

I covered my mouth with my hoof to stifle a cough. “Hmm, could I ask a hypothetical question?”

“Sure.”

“What if I told you, hypothetically, the pony I had a crush on… was you?”

Twilight curled her lip inwards ever so slightly into her tooth, her cheeks subtly ruddying. “Umm…” She mumbled – I do have that effect on ponies. “I’d… I’m not sure. Time Turner asked me out rather bluntly, so I’ve never had anyone tell me that before.” I watched her intently as she gathered her thoughts, her eyes drifting in disparate directions, the look of a mare lost on the streets of a foreign metropolis, despite sitting immobile in my familiar presence.

At once, she clapped her hooves. “Oh! I’m sure I have a book somewhere with advice on what I would do then!” She set down her tea cup on the table, grabbing her saddle bag and rising. “To the library!”

“No, no, no, no!” I blurted. A beat, and I softened it. “That’s quite alright, darling.” I did have an idea on how to proceed, but was it too forward? Too risqué? Too dramatic?

Ah, yes, no, and no such thing respectively. “Twilight.” I hesitated. “What if hypothetically, I took your advice to ask out the lucky mare? That is, what if I asked you out?”

A magic incantation if I’ve ever cast one, for she was my enchanted princess. Stars, if she wasn’t blushing before, you’d have to shut your eyes not to notice now. Meekly, embarassed even, she replied. “I’d say yes.”

Isn’t that progress? I daresay that is evidence in favour of my hypothesis. Subject #1, affirmative.

I may or may not have slipped the teensiest giggle, and I may or may not have smirked ever so slightly. “Well, then,” I declared. “Twilight Sparkle, you are my best friend in all of Equestria. You are certainly the most wonderful pony I have ever had the pleasure of making an acquaintenance. I am thoroughly enamored by you, and to tell you the truth, I believe I have been for many moons now. Everything I said about my best friend a few minutes ago? Every sentence, every word, every syllable is about you, ma chère. For as much as I love hours spent on romance novels by Greyscale Quill… there is no minute so magical as one by your side.”

I smiled awkwardly, hesitating. But my conformance to heteronormative Canterlot society was already violated; I had nothing to lose, did I? “So, Princess Twilight Sparkle, would you like to go on a date with me?”

Oh, the thousands of bits I would pay for a picture of the look on her muzzle! The joy, the fear, the wonder.

Suddenly preoccupied with the intricasies of the Carousel Boutique’s contemporary architecture, her eyes gazing at literally every part of the room except for moi, she mumbled – whispered even. “Um… Hypothetically… Wow, Rarity… I… Wow, thank you. I… Huh.”

Progress? Progress, I dare say.

Pushing my luck, I prodded, “Well?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. She hesitated, trepidation evident, but after a moment of peace to collect herself, she whispered the magic word. “…Yeah.”

She said yes?

She said yes!

Oh my princesses, the princess said yes!

I could have sworn I heard chirping bells of Hearth’s Warming Eve sounding within me, rubies and sapphires glistening in the sunlight of my heart. There were yelps and squees and honey and bees. A perfect moment with a perfect mare.

But such emotional displays were unbecoming of a lady, heterosexual or otherwise. And I choose otherwise.

Squeeing within, stoicism ruled my countenace. I threw a curt nod in Twilight’s direction, a passive agreement, and that would be all.

Unfortunately, Twilight did snap back to reality. “Wait. Is this still hypothetical?” Clearly alarmed, she grumbled, “Mierda! I was right about Pinkie Pie, wasn’t I?” I didn’t have the heart to respond, even non-verbally, so I did nought but stoically stare. Not that I enjoyed seeing her flustered – I did – but still.

She rubbed her eye with her hoof. A bit spacey, in a placated but dejected tone, she said, “I’m really happy for you and Pinkie. You deserve her.”

Oh. Oh my. She seriously thought there could be another mare in Equestria who could replace her golden hold on my heart. As if my hints large enough to crush cities weren’t enough to get the message through? Faced with the evidence, I reached a conclusion, and proceeded according to the only coarse of action known to rational ponykind:

I facehoofed.

I facehoofed, three times, in succession, acutely aware that Twilight flinched on each beat, yet nevertheless continuing lest my meaning be lost.

“You really don’t know, do you?” I quipped.

“Know what?” Twilight furrowed her brow, though I believe I caught a glimmer of hope streaking her eyes. Or perhaps that was my own hope, with my Declaration of Enamoration flying in the open air. “Oh.”

“Oh” was all she said. “Oh” was that one single syllable that consumed my existence. It could have been an “Oh, you’re such a drama queen, Rarity”, or “Oh, you really did mean Pinkie Pie all along”, or “Oh, you must have been talking about Fluttershy”.

Or it could have been an “Oh, you were talking about me.”

And I was, Twilight Sparkle.

I pinkie-promise I was.

Epilogue

Dearest Princess Twilight,

I write to inform you of a high crime committed against me: grand theft of a priceless payload. A thief, I insist, stole my heart. If you seek further proof, I have painstakingly enumerated the evidence against this deranged criminal.

First, the suspect: a young alicorn mare with a heart-melting smile, dreamy giggle, and a phenomenal taste in friends. This mystery mare entered my life the better part of a decade ago – no doubt plotting her crime from our friendship’s inception – and a few weeks ago delivered a kiss on my lips in my own home.

I did nothing to warrant such a kiss, but coming from lips like that, I burned to kiss her back – evidence that her amorous corruption of my sense of judgement had completed. Thus I add corruption and conspiracy to the charges I press against her. Preferably in bed, speaking of what I would like to press against her.

Truly, this mare must be punished for daring to interrupt my single life of self-loathing, sexual repression, and romance novels. I managed just fine before she had the audacity to question my internalized bigotry and the allure to force me to answer.

Indeed, this cunning, beautiful, intelligent, adorable, and frankly magical mare is now convinced she is my marefriend, mostly because I told her as much after kissing her right before we made love. She deserves to punished for a crime so heinous, ideally with a fine of no fewer than five dozen kisses, which I am willing to administer per my civic duty.

I also humbly request that she bring me hoof-in-hoof to the snootiest Canterlot socialite ball she can find, if only to ensure her punishment serves as a deterrent to the population, a warning that no matter how much disdain they might feel towards ponies of different inclinations, self-acceptance is beautiful and love will prevail. Ideally – to ensure the punishment is maximized – she would be put in the humiliating position of telling my former idols that the Princess of Friendship is bisexual and dating a mare.

Do make sure you really enunciate the “mare”, really get some m’s in there. Then you can mention I’m trans, and if they have problem with trans ponies, they’ll have to deal with you.

I mean her, of course.

I contend this mare is one of the finest I have ever laid eyes on, and one of the warmest I’ve had the privilege to befriend, not to mention the prettiest I’ve dated. Also the only one, but none of those scoundrels need to know that.

In fact, she is such a charmer that you may feel ill-equipped to punish her adequately. If so, I insist the matter be escalated to Princess Cadence – neigh, the Royal Sisters themselves must intervene to catch this bandit. Preferably by sending embarrassing photos from her fillyhood. (My return label is attached for your convenience.)

I implore you to rectify this situation at once, Princess. I have every confidence in your success.

Love,

Rarity Belle ~~Sparkle~~

P.S. I bought handcuffs like you asked, darling. Are we still on for 9pm at my place?

Prologue

A perfect lady cares for her friends, sharing affections, crying shoulders, and kindness. By morning, she listens; by noon, she speaks; by evening, she loves. A perfect lady never indulges in half-truths or white lies, never bites her tongue or mumbles. She is kind to many, loyal to few, harmful to none. A lady is the paragon of femininity and her friends the essence of harmony.

A perfect lady cares for her stallion, her dreamy caballero holding her heart in his hooves. A perfect stallion cares for his lady, the flower of his dreams and the honeybee of hers. A lady meets her prince under the Canterlot moonlight, in an art museum, at the Grand Galloping Gala. They lay eyes from afar and swoon at first sight; they approach and speak softly, sparking amorous bonfire. They brush lips and blush, crossing stars and sealing fates with fluttering eyelashes, faint smiles. Overjoyed and enamored, he buys her a ring and proposes, and she gifts lifelong vows. He works the upper echelons of the noble sphere; she cares for their beautiful foals, a kind-hearted filly and a soft-spoken colt. She lives for him and he for her, and as the calendar flies by, they share their final rests, hoof-in-hoof and heart-in-heart.

And indeed, a perfect lady’s friends are perfect ladies with perfect stallions. Thus a lady cares for her friends in want of a stallion, side-by-side their stallions, mourning the break-up or passing of their stallions. A lady serves her husband first and friends second, but for none else would she matchmake, listen, advise, even love. She knows romance and friendship, reserving a destined stallion for one, many wonderful mares for the other. Ever cautious, ever quaint, a perfect lady’s friendship survives and thrives.

My name is Rarity, and I am no perfect lady.