On a lonely meadow, outside a little farming town, there sat an old chapel. It was lonely because the nearest neighboring building was a schoolhouse hidden behind a line of trees, and as many should know, trees are willing to talk only amongst themselves.
Inside the chapel, the air was stuffy with dust, so much so that one could trace the sun’s rays passing through the painted windows. A leak in the wooden ceiling lent itself to an occasional draft. Two parallel rows of unadorned pillars cut through the middle, thin streaks of cracks running up and down them like veins, their jagged surfaces smoothened by erosion. The pillars were six in total, much like the images in the windows. The hall was deserted, save for a pair of chairs; one missing a leg, the other its seat; and a mahogany lectern towards the back, covered in dust and cobweb.
And inside, silence reigned. A reign that was rather abruptly usurped from it.
The brazen double doors at the chapel’s entrance screeched as they were violently forced open. A pony, cloaked in a purple and teal rug, galloped inside and slammed the doors shut afterward. The cowl on their head shuffled as their ears rotated.
Only the pony’s ragged breathing echoed back from the walls, magnified until it seemed to fill the entire air.
The pony backed away from the door, stepping hesitantly as if trying not to alert the presence of the building itself. This, of course, was absolutely redundant. A smarter individual would have realized that the building had been well aware of their presence the moment they entered.
The pony froze once they reached the back. They looked up.
Taking up much of the back wall of the chapel was a painting. A mural, to be exact. It even had its own burgundy curtain, holed and torn, held up by a brass bar. White on blue, the sun and the moon. Two sisters and a thousand stars. Yet despite its age, it was still just as lively, maybe even more, as the flag which it represented.
The pony exhaled and slumped down onto their haunches. Their head drooped, but any purple that might have been showing underneath their peculiar attire was quickly covered and wrapped as if cold.
It would be some time before anything changed. Outside, songbirds twittered, the sounds of their merriment mixing in with the tittering of a filly.
*Crash
The pony was on their hooves in an instant. The hood on their head nearly flipped as they looked around for the source of the sound.
From one of the window holes, like tiny droplets that make up a cascade, a waterfall of glass rained down. The room was clearly lighter now, and a slight draft could be felt. Something bounced on the graystone, and the pony froze when it touched their fetlock. Something orange and round.
The pony had just enough time to mutter a sigh before the door’s hinges started creaking again. This time, the sound was joined by strained grunts and gasps. Something slipped inside.
The filly was a particularly small thing: her head wouldn’t even have reached over a fire hydrant. It made her lavender eyes look that much bigger in comparison. She didn’t seem to mind the lingering dust—her coat already had plenty of mud and dirt on it. As she trotted further in, the filly muttered to herself.
“Where is it? Where did it go?” Her tiny wings fluttered, thrashed, beat the air like they were swatting a swarm of flies, but she never gained any air. She roamed the hall, looking around the pillars and under the chairs, only weaving past the broken glass by sheer chance.
As she was about to round the corner on the last pillar on the left, there came a sudden hum: a crystal-like twinkling, but unceasing, resonant. The filly jolted back as the orange ball, for which she had been looking, levitated up from behind the pillar, and deposited itself right at her feet.
The filly looked around again, but there was nopony else there. Nothing but the pillars, the glass, and the mural.
A mare’s voice came from the outside, calling. The filly’s eyes widened. She mouthed a wordless ‘oh-ow.’
Immediately, the filly’s gaze was all over the dimly lit hall again, going from the walls to the unreachable ceiling, from the door to the painting in the back. In her eyes was panic, an image of hopeless desperation. She spotted the lectern just as the doors were beginning to creak open again.
If the chapel had been a living, breathing pony, who valued the sanctity of silence, she would’ve felt very much insulted for her demesne being trampled over so. Luckily, unlike trees, buildings were a patient lot.
A mauve mare entered and, much like the ponies before her, seemed to take in the room. “Recess is over, Scootaloo. This is not the time to play hide-and-seek.”
Nopony answered. The mare looked up at the window—the one now missing its painting—huffed something under her breath, and began trotting around all the broken glass. Much like the filly, she looked behind all the pillars.
Before the mauve mare had rounded the last pillar on the left, she seemed to catch sight of the lectern sitting at the back. She stepped over to it, instead.
The lectern was by no means anything out of the ordinary. Varnished mahogany, as had not been an uncommon practice in the days of the Everfree. Neither was it large, though it did have a cabinet with ample room for notations, papers, written speeches, or possibly an errant filly.
The mare spoke. “Scootaloo, it’s okay. I’m not mad. Come out.”
The wood didn’t respond. It was rather silly to think it would. Still, the mare waited while nothing continued to happen.
The mare sighed, then reached out and opened the cabinet doors. The insides were empty.
“Where in Equestria is that filly?” Again, in the corner of her eye—she must have had experience with errant youngsters—the mare caught a glimpse of motion by the last pillar on the left. “There you are!”
The mare galloped around the pillar and almost toppled over the pony, who was quite clearly an adult, or close to being one, hunkering down under a purple floor mat. A hint of lilac peeked from underneath the rim.
“Oh, excuse me,” the mauve mare said, “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m looking for one of my schoolchildren. A pegasus, ‘round this tall.” She raised her forehoof somewhat off the ground. “Have you seen her?”
The cloaked pony didn’t respond at first. The draft that had appeared with the broken window picked up. When the pony then opened her mouth, it was evident from her voice that she, too, was a mare. “No.”
“Are you sure? I saw her run in.”
The cloaked mare pointed her hoof at the window. Dust began to swirl about the air. “She’s a pegasus. Maybe she flew out.”
The mauve mare bit her lip. “No, I don’t think she did.”
Underneath the cowl, at eye level, there came a pulsing light. Both the rim of the cloaklike rug and the mare’s purple mane and tail billowed in the stormwind.
But just as quickly as it had come, the light faded, and the draft vanished.
The cloaked mare grunted and held a hoof to her forehead. “Kids can be so good at hiding, sometimes.”
“They sure can.” The other mare hadn’t seemingly noticed anything amiss. She turned towards the door. “Well, if you see her, please let me know. You’ll find me in the schoolhouse next door.”
The mauve mare left, and with her departure, silence braved to return.
Only relatively so, as tiny grunts and coughing soon came out from the rafters. From behind the sliver of ceremonial curtain that surrounded the painting, the little filly emerged somewhat dustier than before. She dropped down, using the curtain as rope, and landed on her belly just behind the lectern.
“Ugh,” she moaned, but despite the hard landing, it took her less than a second to scamper back up on all fours. Like the schoolmare before her, she then turned her head towards the very last pillar on the left. The hem of the rug disappeared out of sight just a moment too late.
The filly trotted closer to the pillar. In rhythm, something shuffled away on the other side.
The filly stopped. “Thanks.”
The pillar didn’t respond.
“For not ratting me out to Cheerilee, I mean.” The filly traipsed around the pillar. Suddenly, and without warning, she switched directions and ran around the other side.
And came face to face with a huddled mass of throw rug, with its ornamental purple star in the center.
“What are you doing?” the filly asked.
“Nothing!” The mare under the rug responded. “Can’t a pony enjoy a piece of Equestrian history in peace?”
“I don’t know. Ponies who come here usually don’t come just to play hide-and-seek behind the pillars. At least not adults.” The filly tried to get a look underneath the mare’s cowl. “What are you hiding from?”
“I’m not hiding! I’m resting. I’ve used up a lot of magic lately, and I’m too out of shape to run. Just leave me alone.” The mare took the mat off her head, and her teal eyes shimmered as she stared right into those of the filly. “You shouldn’t be near me.”
“Why? What did you do?” The filly asked. The mare looked down. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Kid, you don’t have the faintest idea what I’ve done. It’s a lot worse than breaking some old window.”
“What? You broke two windows?”
“I destroyed the world.”
The filly looked down at the pale stone tiles underneath her hooves. “Looks fine to me.”
“Don’t belittle me.”
The filly trotted around the mare, looking her over, or at least pretending to do so. “Well, you can’t be all bad. You helped me out when you didn’t have to. That’s gotta amount to something.”
“I think I’ve meddled enough.” A cyan light, warm and showy, built up around the mare’s horn before fizzling out like a broken lamp.
The mare breathed angrily again, her forehoof on her forehead. “I shouldn’t even be here with you. I’d just shown my face in town. If you go missing now, that mare is going to tell everypony that I kidnapped you... or worse.”
The filly gasped. “Cheerilee would never think that!”
“She will.” A little more bite crept into the mare’s voice. “Unless you go back and apologize right now!”
“Didn’t you just say that you’ve meddled in other ponies matters enough?”
The mare leered at her. She straightened herself up and towered over the cowering filly like a mountainous ursa.
“Well, aren’t you a clever little thing?”
The instant the words were out of her mouth, the mare squeezed her eyes shut. Her jaw tightened, and her breathing became controlled, sigh-like, until she managed to mangle out a semblance of a composed sentence.
“Go home.” The mare spun her back on the filly and sat down. “Maybe I’ll find some cave in the White-Tail where I can sequester myself from everypony.”
The filly waddled around and looked at the miserable mare. “Okay, so you did something bad. Have you talked to Twilight?”
“You could say that.”
“Then you know she’ll forgive you if you say you’re sorry.”
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s not really her that I’m afraid of.” The mare looked up at the mural again. “I saw her earlier today. She told me to wait outside while she talks to some of her friends…”
“And?”
“I ran away.”
“What?! Why?”
The mare stayed quiet for some time. Then she barked a sad laugh. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t just sit there and wait while Twilight argued everyone else into giving me another shot. I don’t want one. I don’t deserve one.”
The filly straightened up. “That’s loser talk,” she recited, “you just have to get up and fly right. Otherwise, you never win.”
“Then thank Celestia I lost.”
The filly harrumphed. She trotted right in front of the mare, turned her back on her, and sat down.
When the filly looked over her shoulder, she noticed the mare had turned her gaze away. The filly moved to where the mare was looking and sat down again. The entire time she kept her forehooves crossed, her chin up, and her back turned.
“Kid, what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? I’m pouting.”
“What for?”
“Because I broke the window.” The filly pointed at the missing glass painting.
Nothing was left of the masterpiece of the gone ages. It would have brought tears to the eyes of anypony, but seemingly not these heartless creatures.
The mare took several measured breaths and spoke levelly. “Kid, go home. It’s a stupid window. It means nothing. They’ll forgive you.”
The filly harrumphed again. “Well, you don’t get to decide that!”
“Oh, for the love of—” The crystally hum sounded out again, loud.
The wind billowed angrily, throwing the ponies’ manes astray. As the filly watched, the pieces of painted glass began floating up in a whirlwind of colors and dust. One by one, the pieces landed in the window hole, each in their original designated places, with the precision of the greatest of surgeons. The mare gritted her teeth until the last of the shards was in place, at which point the pieces melded into one, any previous cracks vanishing without a trace.
The glass painting was made whole again. All five other images could only look on in envy as the very visage of Mistmane was restored to her youth, to the way it had looked when it was first painted over a millennium ago.
It would have brought tears even to the eyes of those with hearts made of stone.
“There,” the mare said, “now nopony needs to know. Happy?”
The filly got up. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You said you were too tired to cast magic.”
“A pony’s magic is affected by their emotions…” The mare struggled to get the words out. “Look, it’s complicated. Can you please leave me alone?”
“Not until you promise to go see Twilight.”
“Not this again,” the mare sighed. “Don’t you understand? I almost destroyed the world! I’m as bad as Tirek, or Discord, or Nightmare Moon. You can’t just let creatures like that run free. They need to be locked away!”
Something in her own words seemed to strike the mare deep. Her posture shifted, stiffening, freezing. Her blinking got slower, and she seemed to be staring into nothing but a vision. “In Tartarus. Locked away for good.”
“Discord and Nightmare Moon weren’t locked in Tartarus,” the filly objected.
“And look what happened.”
“Yeah, they changed. Nightmare Moon turned back to Princess Luna, and Discord’s good now.”
“And Tirek? Tirek would destroy the world if he was free.”
“Tirek would. Would you?”
The mare was quiet for a long time. “Maybe I would. I don’t know. Maybe it’d be best for me to be locked away too.”
“And Princess Twilight?”
“...Come again?”
Every word inside the little filly seemed to gush out at once. “One time, before she became an alicorn, Twilight made the entire town go bonkers over a doll. It was some unicorn magic that I never really understood. All I know is she promised not to do it again, and she hasn’t. Would you put her away?”
The mare went quiet, staring into her own thoughts. When she next spoke, her voice was almost too soft to be heard.
“No. If Twilight had not been there to stop me, the world would have been destroyed. All would have been lost.”
The filly reached out and patted the mare on her shoulder. “I think you should go talk to Twilight.”
“Yeah,” the mare agreed, “and you with your teacher.”
“Aww.”
The two got up, the mare discarding the throw rug and then teleporting it away. She looked at her horn, gently brushed the skin underneath, and smiled. The two exited, but not before the mare could levitate the filly’s forgotten ball back to her.
Outside, the birches had had their bark and leaves gain an additional layer of orange. As had the ground. The sun had some time ago reached its apex and started its descent.
“When’d it get so late?” The filly asked. She started out at a trot, which would have meant only a comfortable jog for the mare, but only managed a couple of steps before she was stopped.
“What’s the rush?” the mare asked, “why don’t we go grab some ice cream before we turn ourselves in?”
The filly looked at the sun, sinking low towards the horizon. “It’s getting kinda late. We should go.”
The mare’s eyes glimmered. This time, when her horn lit up, it was a spectacle. “Did I forget to mention that I know time-magic?”
Then, in the blink of an eye, both the mare and filly were gone. And while their disappearing act did go wholly unseen by equine eyes, no-one would’ve begrudged them holding hooves, even if it hadn’t.
Author's Note
Thank you for reading
