I first knew there was an issue when we were lying in bed together.
It was a cool autumn night, the curtains drawn wide and the window open to let the air in. Rarity was under the covers with me, her face nestled into the crook of my neck while I kept one of my wings draped over her. I could feel the heat of her body, the beat of her heart and the slow, steady breaths escaping her nostrils. With my chin resting in her mane, I tried to sleep, but every breath I took felt strange. I knew she was asleep, and didn’t want to bother her about it, about such a small, minute detail. Her mane just smelled… different.
The shampoo she uses is so particular, with hints of lilac and lavender, but even so close, inches, fractions of inches away, it wasn’t the same. My mind drifted to possibilities: a new brand, a lesser amount or just a less thorough application. None of them exactly seemed to fit Rarity though. I knew I hadn’t seen a different bottle, and she swears by the kind she uses; as for the others, I feel like any change she made to her somehow limitless beautification rituals would have a more drastic effect, or she would have at least fished for compliments on it. As if she could improve upon perfection.
And so, the faint noises of night drifting into the castle, I just had an odd sensation I couldn’t place. Even as I fell asleep, I was left wondering and aching.
The next morning, having breakfast together, I was unsure how to broach my worry. Luckily, as I spent the time pushing around my food and thinking, Rarity was kind enough to speak up first. “Something bothering you, darling?”
I looked up, pulled away from thoughts of minutiae I couldn’t account for or confirm through memory alone. She was looking expectantly at me, a faint smile on her face. The glint in her eye, however, told me she was being more critical than she let on; it wouldn’t do to try and hide anything from her, it never did. “Just something from last night. It’s probably nothing,” I said, letting the dismissal hang for a moment, just enough to try and quiet the building bother in my head. “Did you do something with your hair?”
Her hoof reached up, flipping her mane. “Not that I’m aware of, no. Though I wouldn’t say no to some loquacious compliments in the morning, dear.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and I felt my cheeks heat up. I looked away, down to the tea sitting next to my plate. As the steam wafted up, the smell of honey and lemon filled my nostrils. Like her mane the night before, it was… different: lesser, muted, dull, reduced by fractions. Had she used less of either?
“It’s probably nothing then. It’s silly.” I forced out a laugh to convince myself, before taking a bite of toast as slowly as I could.
“Well, you certainly are when you cloister back up in your tome, bookworm. Do try not to get dusty in there.” Her tone was sweet, teasing and inviting, just enough to pry me open like a book: easily read with nothing to hide but subtext.
“You… well, it just smelled different,” I said in the plainest terms. I knew other ways to describe it fit the truth better—odd, unusual, concerning, peculiar—but they would only worry her. I made the mistake once before, commenting on a dress and calling it “funny”; she’d spent three days fretting and trying to find out what exactly I meant, with four extra dresses worth of fabric wasted on a hunch I could never explain.
All she gave in reply was a hum, before her gaze drifted up towards the ceiling. As she lifted a forkful of strawberries to her lips, she swayed her mane enough to drift it past her nostrils before sniffing, as if I wouldn’t notice.
“Rarity, really, it’s… not a bad thing. It was just strange, to me. Just to me,” I said, trying to assuage what little of her pride was slowly being pained by the thought. As I took a bite of an apple, it tasted less sweet. I wondered if Spike had ordered some from anywhere besides Sweet Apple Acres. Maybe he had if Applejack’s harvest was down this season, but she hadn’t said anything about that.
Rarity cleared her throat before eating the strawberries from her fork. “We shall perish the thought, then,” she said with a gentle tap of her hoof on the table. “I at least hope it didn’t keep you up all night.”
“Of course not. Just… a few dozen minutes.” I finished off the rest of the apple, too quickly to savor or critique the taste, as Rarity tried to stiffle a chipper, infectious giggle. The burning in my cheeks soon faded, as we talked about plans for the day.
A few days later, as I sat in the examination room at Ponyville General, I tried to keep calm. Of course, that wasn’t really possible; I could never seem to stop my wings from fidgeting every time I was worried in the months since I got them. It was like they were outside of my control, so new an appendage to my body. Ever since my conversation with Rarity, the mild concern hadn’t faded; instead, it grew, from worry to anxiety to trepidation and even dread, with every peculiarity I encountered.
Flavors of food seemed blander and flatter, music didn’t sound as sharp and crisp, aromas felt lesser, like the sources were further off. Still, I stayed quiet, not a word of it to Rarity. I just felt like telling her would make it more than some temporary malady and affliction. Instead, it would become the fear of some permanent deformity; regardless, I couldn’t shake that growing dread.
Eventually, after reading the same three pamphlets on flu season, the importance of regular check-ups and high blood pressure at least a dozen times, the door opened.
Doctor Pulse walked in with a folder held at his side. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Princess,” he said, walking over to an illumination screen and opening the folder. As he clicked on the screen with his hoof, he lifted up the x-rays with his magic and arranged them in a row.
“Just Twilight is fine, Doctor,” I said, like I had at least three times to everypony in Ponyville by now. It never seemed to stick.
“Of course, Twilight,” he said after the x-rays were in place, and then turned to me. “Well, despite the wait, I have some good news. We weren’t able to find any sort of neurological abnormalities on the scans.” He lifted up a small pointing stick in his magic, the tip tapping at a few spots on the x-rays. “Perfectly healthy up in there. I also didn’t notice any pinched or damaged nerves leading to your senses, so I can’t really locate a physical cause for the issues you’re reporting. I could perform a biopsy as well, but given all of your senses seems a little affected, instead of just one, I have to assume it would have been an issue with your brain."
I’d already checked, double-checked and triple-checked the x-rays by the time he actually pointed to them. Everything looked normal, and that only made me fret more. “What could cause it then? I mean, I’m not… making it up.”
He took a seat next to the illuminator, waving a hoof at me. “No, no, I don’t mean to imply that. My expertise is obviously with the physical causes for things like this, that we can observe. With nothing on the scans, I’d have to default to the other possible causes. One, of course, is stress. I assume a princess gets quite a bit of that.”
My wings fidgeted again, joined by my hooves against the examination bed where I sat. There was always stress since I became a princess. Thinking of myself that way still felt odd, like filling horseshoes three sizes too large. Still, why would that stress lead to something now, months after this change in my life? I hadn’t even had a major breakdown in two, two-and-a-half months tops.
A cough grabbed my attention, and looking up I saw Doctor Pulse raising an eyebrow. I smiled sheepishly, my cheeks warming up slightly. “I—Yes, I have a fair bit of stress, but it’s been… a level amount?” A short laugh escaped my lips after the words. “I’m just not sure why this would start now, is all.”
“Well, Twilight, any amount of stress, no matter how level, is a danger.” He stood up, walking closer to me. “I’d recommend however much relaxation you can manage to get in your position. Doctor’s orders.” He scribbled a note down on a pad and then held it out to me. I took it, wondering how Princess Celestia would respond to a doctor’s note. My best guess was well, I hoped.
“How will I know if it’s helping?” I asked as I got up from the seat.
“It might take time. I often have to prescribe some stretches and the like for patients, and everypony seems to expect immediate results. Even if you remove the stress, it could take days or weeks until your senses recover, assuming it's the cause” He offered me a smile, as genuine as can be. “Regardless, don’t hesitate to come back if you’re worried, or if they degrade more. I can try to refer you to somepony else, or we can run some more tests.”
With no answers, I left, holding the paper next to my chest. It felt rough against my hoof.
A week later, I was restless. When Rarity and I weren’t together, I’d find myself searching as frantically as I could without drawing suspicion. When we were, I did my best to hide bits of surprise. The luster of her coat and mane seemed to fade a little every day, but I had to assume it’s only my perception; she certainly never brought it up while doing her make-up in front of the vanity mirror. When she was against my chest under the covers, I couldn’t feel the warmth of her breath, even though my spine shivered from the slight sensation.
Spike was a lot of help, and so were Rarity and the other girls. They were all so eager to lend a hoof or claw just to give me a few days of relaxation. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to actually tell Rarity why I needed this. That thought still lingered at the back of my mind: that if I told her, it would go from temporary to permenant. Connected to that was something else, more superficial, that I didn't need to dwell upon.
Everything I read about loss of senses, dulling of them, pointed to age or serious medical issues. I certainly hoped my wings didn’t add eighty or so years to my body in degradation so easily. Still, nothing else about me seemed affected. My energy was the same, I couldn’t feel any strain or issues moving and it wasn’t like my senses were gone. I wasn’t going blind, things just looked dull. I wasn’t going deaf, things just didn’t sound crisp and clear. It was like a knife worn out, in need of sharpening.
I found herbs in the Everfree that should have helped according to books, but they didn’t. I found spells in tomes and they did nothing. Every dead end felt like being backed into the only corner in a room: trapped to a conclusion that was always going to happen.
I had to ask Celestia.
The day I decided to go to Canterlot, I was relaxing in the study with Rarity, trying to read some novel that piqued our interest together. My pace was sluggish as she waited patiently for me to comment on something a few pages ahead. “I’m going to be going to Canterlot, for a day or two,” I said, cutting off any question on what was bothering me.
“Oh? Is it too urgent to take a break from?” Rarity asked, setting her copy of the book down on the table. In a moment she had crossed the short distance between the couches we were sitting on, and nestled into a spot next to me. I barely felt the bristle of her coat.
“Just… something I’d planned to do. I don’t want to push things back. It’s for Celestia.” I was thankful she couldn’t see my face, the slight signs of a performance, a lie, surely showing.
“Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to say no to some company, yes? I’ve heard about this wonderful opera playing this month, and I’d love to check up on Sas—”
“No, Rarity,” I cut her off, soft, but stern. “I don’t want to leave you alone if I drag you there, waiting for me outside of important meetings or while I’m doing some research.”
She moved a bit closer, if it was even possible, lifting a fore and back leg to straddle my haunches. “Oh, Twilight, just your company is enough. I promise I won’t be a bother.” Her face nuzzled the back of my neck, my hairs barely rising from the sensation.
“Not this time, Rarity.” I finally turned to look at her, and smiled as best as I could despite the desperation in my tone and eyes. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you. You were talking about going to that boutique and cafe in Trottingham together, right? We’ll go as soon as I get back.”
As she smiled wryly, like she won some grand prize for teasing me as always, I leaned close enough to graze her lips with mine. There was the faintest sensation as I puckered my lips and she hers. I felt tears welling in my eyes, and then lit my horn to grab her face gently, pushing my lips harder against her, and hers against mine, until I could finally feel every inch of them. It was a few seconds before I finally let go, and she pulled back with a gasp and a flutter of her eyes.
“If you're promising more of that, I think I can manage to wait,” she cooed, and then gave me a gentle peck on the lips and cheek. It felt like the faintest breeze caused by turning a page.
Celestia wasn’t free when I arrived. As such, I busied myself in the archives, doing more research to try and find anything I hadn't in Ponyville or my castle. Tomes from Starswirl’s wing held nothing about alicorns, except for the vast amounts of magic that they possessed. And yet, that had all been useless so far.
I didn’t have the time to put my useless leads back before I heard the gate creak open, and then the steady beat of golden horseshoes against the marble floor. “Twilight? You wanted to speak to me?”
All I could say was the question that I kept asking again and again with every dead end. “What’s wrong with me?” As I turned to look at her, I didn’t see the usual bright and cheery expression on her face. Instead her brows were lowered, her jaw held rigid and her gaze drifting down.
“How long has it been happening, Twilight?” she asked as she came closer, and then stood beside my seat.
“A few weeks. Two, three at the most. Maybe longer, I can’t tell. I can’t find anything about it in every book I read. The doctor couldn’t find anything. It just gets worse and worse, even when I wasn’t doing anything.” I rattled off everything but what it actually was, but I could tell that she knew when one of her wings draped around my withers and pulled me close to her body. I could faintly feel the warmth, but it was more like every ounce of heat in my body was drained out of it.
“I didn’t think it would happen this soon, Twilight. I’m terribly sorry for not telling you. It was two, three hundred years for Luna and I. Food losing flavor, colors losing their luster, colds feeling warmer and warmth feeling colder. It was like losing all the range of every sense we had. We had to lie, an awful lot.”
That explained why I couldn’t find anything about it, but my mind was left wandering. Would this happen to Cadance? Had it? Why hadn't she told me if it had. I couldn’t force the words out. I at least asked one thing. “How long?”
“Twilight, it’s… I don’t know how it will affect you. Luna was a little younger than you, I was a little older.” She took a steady breath, her wing holding me closer. “Fifty years, sixty. It was so long ago, but it did come back, Twilight. It was like a knife oversharpened, made dull in the process. It just needed more time to fix it. It will fix it.”
“Is it just—” I opened and closed my mouth a few times, barely feeling the dryness of them, of my throat, “—taste? Sound? Smell?” A worse worry, building in silence in the back of my mind, finally spilled out. “Will I stop feeling anything?”
Her feathers moved faintly across my back, up and down slowly. “Luna and I didn’t. We still felt love and joy and sadness, even if we couldn’t feel reality about us as well. It will all be okay.”
I was left feeling numb, within and without.
On the train ride back to Ponyville, I sat quietly and did my best to read, to keep my attention off the truth. It didn’t work. I couldn’t help but think of what I could not shake away. How would I tell Rarity? I couldn’t possibly consider hiding it, not from her. I couldn't keep it from the girls or Spike either, but from her? No, she’d have to be the first. And the doubt built in my heart, where I could still feel the pangs of worry. Would she believe and accept what Celestia told me?
Could somepony that can’t taste her wonderful, perfectly brewed tea take joy in it? Could somepony that can’t feel the fabric of her dresses or see their vibrant colors appreciate them? Could somepony that can’t enjoy the mixture of tenor and soprano at the opera feel the emotions they tried to convey, have their heart stirred and strummed by it?
If I still didn’t believe her, how could Rarity?
When I finally returned to Ponyville, I went straight back to the castle. The sun was setting, a dull orange light painting the exterior. I found her in the dining room with Spike. They both smiled wide and welcomed me back home.
“Did your trip go well, dear?” Rarity asked, planting a peck on my cheek.
“Alright. I… can we talk?” I whispered, looking askew to Spike.
“I'll get out of your manes, don’t worry,” Spike said, walking up to me and giving my leg a gentle hug that looked much harder. He wandered off, and we were left alone.
I took a seat, and Rarity offered me a cup of tea from a kettle at the table. I declined to drink it, worried more bitter and bland tastes would taint my memory. “I needed a break for a bit, you know that, but I didn’t say why.” I started to rub my hooves together, and Rarity put one of hers over them. It was enough to make me stop, and to quiet my barely fidgeting wings. “I’ve slowly been losing feeling. Things feel dull and lifeless, weaker. Tastes blander. Sounds flatter. Celestia said it… can happen to alicorns, temporarily.”
She looked calm as I explained, and despite the glimmer in her eyes seeming duller, I knew that it was there. I could remember it was there.
“It can take a while, though, to… come back to normal.” I let the words hang there, as if several years, dozens of years, would be gone in the blink of an eye. Even if it was temporary, it didn’t feel it. Then the pain and the worry started to overflow, the feeling fading as the words left my throat. “I can’t taste your wonderful tea or… or feel your breath against my chest, or see how vibrant your eyes are supposed to be. It’s like a haze, a filter over everything and… and I hate it. I just want it to be what I remember, what I know it is.”
Another hoof joined with her first, and then I could feel her horn grazing against mine before our foreheads touched. “Darling, it’s alright.” Even though I could make out the sincerity in her tone, just slightly, it felt artificial. I knew that it wasn’t, but it did.
I could remember everything I should have felt. The warmth of her fur, the feeling of her breath, the soothing touch of her hoof, and then the feeling of her lips against mine a moment later. Even if I couldn’t feel it, I could remember. The thought was soothing, as I sunk into her embrace that should have felt warm.
