Rarity sat at her sewing machine, the dress she was working on illuminated only by the glint of moonlight off the sequins arranged across the fabric. Once, she might have preferred to go to bed, but these days she enjoyed working by moonlight. The way the light faded away at the edge of the room made the dress and her hooves feel more real. There was no deadline looming or customer waiting for this dress—she made it solely for the joy of making.
At least, that’s what she told herself. She pulled the fabric away from the machine, holding the dress up in her magic. The sequins sparkled in the moonlight like tiny stars, and she smiled. The sun would overpower them, and the dress would be functional but plain by its light. But at night, in the light of Luna’s moon… only then would it be truly resplendent. Twilight would love it, Rarity thought, placing it carefully on a mannequin. If only I could give it to her.
Sandbar was used to the strange qualities of the boutique. It was an old, old building, after all, and they were expected to have their quirks. After spending a lifetime there with Yona, it didn’t bother him unduly when he found the sewing machine out, despite being sure he put it away the previous night. Or when pieces of fabric moved in the night, or mannequins changed positions.
It was almost comforting, in a way. For a long time, Yona had kept the boutique active, kept the dresses being crafted. Not the same kinds of things that Rarity used to make, but her own unique twist on fashion. It never blew up the way Rarity’s prowess had, but it was enough to keep the boutique useful, functional. Now that she was gone, Sandbar couldn’t really blame the building for trying to keep that going. It wanted to feel useful, he supposed, and that didn’t seem so bad to him.
Rarity watched as Sandbar put the sewing machine away, and her eyes turned sad as he moved the mannequin back to its place in the back, his hooves passing right through the dress she’d made. She reached out to caress it softly, standing next to the oblivious pony next to her, before she turned to leave.
“I thought I would find you here,” a voice called to her.
Rarity smiled softly. “Ah, Fluttershy,” she murmured, turning to face the pegasus. “What brings you to my boutique?”
Fluttershy smiled sadly. “It’s not really yours anymore, don’t you think?” she asked.
Rarity hmphed. “It will always be mine, Fluttershy. No matter how much time passes.”
“Really?” Fluttershy murmured. “Don’t you think it might be time to move on?”
“I could say the same of you.”
Fluttershy blushed softly. “I… I suppose. But… well, I have Discord. He can even see me, sometimes. He’s… not ready to let go, just yet.” She cocked her head. “But I don’t know why you’re still here. Why you’re… still making things no one can see.” She gestured with one hoof to the dress.
Rarity shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand, darling. I have… I have a need to create. I can’t just stop.”
“Is that really it?” Fluttershy asked softly. “It seems like you could do that just fine in whatever comes next.”
Rarity scoffed, and turned away haughtily. “I am an artist, I don’t need a… a justification! Who’s to say anything would be the same on the other side?”
Fluttershy sighed. “Alright, Rarity,” she murmured. “If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.” With a soft bow of her wings, she vanished.
Twilight’s court was a predictable affair. Even beyond Twilight’s love of rules, all problems started to blend together once you had been listening to them long enough. And Twilight had the same process for every supplicant: She would listen, smile, ask them a question or two—which she invariably already knew the answers to—and then suggest the thing they probably should have done in the first place instead of coming to Canterlot to talk to the princess.
Rarity watched from her typical perch, an alcove on one side of the court that was always bare. It had held flowers once, but they had been neglected by their keepers as Rarity claimed the location for herself. Even if ponies couldn’t see her, they tended to avoid the places she frequented, despite not understanding why. Now it was hers, a place where she could watch Twilight whenever she was out in public.
The royal alicorn was as breathtaking as ever. In Rarity’s private opinion she was twice the ruler Celestia was, though she did admit that she probably wasn’t objective in that assessment. Celestia instilled awe in her subjects, and though she had made it clear she loved them all, it was a distant, impersonal kind of love. Twilight loved all her subjects personally, uniquely. They were all her friends, and she was theirs.
As court wrapped up for the day, Twilight watched the last supplicant leave, before turning to converse softly with her assistant, hidden out of sight behind the throne. Rarity slowly stepped up to the throne, taking her place in the center of the room, looking up at her Princess. Soon, she would return to the private areas of the castle, where Rarity dared not follow. Not just because it felt wrong to spy on Twilight when she thought she was alone, but also because the castle was warded with ancient magic, and some of its guardians could sense her presence even if Twilight could not.
It was as Rarity was carefully imagining Twilight wearing her latest dress, and how lovely it would look upon her, that the alicorn suddenly paused. Rarity held her breath as Twilight waved off her assistant’s concerns, and stepped off the dais towards where Rarity stood, a frown on her face.
She stopped mere feet away, and Rarity reached out a trembling hoof. “Twilight?” she whispered. “Can you… see me?”
Twilight didn’t respond. She looked straight through Rarity, before turning back as her assistant—a gray unicorn in a trim suit—stepped forward. “Your Highness?” he queried. “Is everything alright?”
Twilight blinked, and turned away. “Yes, everything is fine, Prim. I just thought I saw…” She shook her head. “Never mind. It’s silly.”
Rarity pulled her hoof back. “Oh, Twilight,” she whispered. “It’s not silly at all.”
Twilight turned away, and Rarity didn’t put her hoof down until she had stepped through the doors and they had closed behind her.
Rarity threw herself into her work, crafting another half dozen dresses. A whole line of them, built for an alicorn’s stature and patterned with stars and moons and colors that complimented Twilight’s coat. Something had happened, and crafting a dress for Twilight had triggered it, she was certain of it. She just had to make something… perfect. Something magical. Something Twilight could see.
Fluttershy came by again, radiating concern, but she didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand. She just gave that same sad, patronizing smile when Rarity tried to explain what had happened, why it had happened. Fluttershy wanted evidence. Rarity didn’t have any. It didn’t matter.
A week later, Rarity reappeared in Twilight’s court, breathless despite not needing to breathe. She had brought the whole line with her, and she set out displaying them as best she could. She didn’t have any mannequins with her—she’d found she could only move them when she wasn’t thinking about it, never by any conscious effort. But she made do, ignoring the shivers of ponies that she brushed by (or through).
Eventually, they were ready, and she turned back to Twilight’s throne, anxious. Court was winding down again, and Rarity took her place in the center of the room as soon as the last supplicant vacated it. “Please, Twilight,” she begged. “Please. You have to be able to see me.”
Again, Twilight paused in her consultation of her schedule, her ears perked up and her face confused. “What…” she murmured, standing up again.
“Your Highness?” Prim queried, but this time it was him who Twilight couldn’t seem to hear. She stepped down from the dais, looking around the empty hall slowly.
Rarity took a half step backwards as Twilight approached even closer than before, but then she steeled herself and held her ground.
Twilight hmmed, closed her eyes, lit her horn, and stepped forward. There was a shock of sudden cold, and she sent her magic out in a wave through the room, the pulse spreading out to the walls and then returning to her. When she opened her eyes, a line of dresses were laid out before her. They were hung haphazardly on whatever projections, chairs, and walls happened to be available. That did nothing to distract from their craftsponyship. “How…?” she whispered, looking at each of them in turn. The intricacies of the design reminded her immediately of a singular pony, but that couldn’t be right.
There was a soft sound from behind her, and slowly, carefully, she turned. Her eyes widened, and she let out a gasp. “...Rarity?”
The wispy image behind her nodded, eyes shining with tears. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“But… how?” Twilight whispered.
Rarity smiled and shook her head. She said something, but again Twilight couldn’t hear it. But then she simply stepped forward and wrapped her hooves carefully around Twilight’s barrel.
The shock of cold passed through the alicorn again. This time, she understood what it meant.
