The Haunting of Carousel Boutique

Chapters

Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Epilogue
Part I
Part VI

Part II

If the plate had shattered, the pieces could have fit down the drain.

Applejack chewed her lip as she peered down in the sink once more, one eye closed, searching for hints of white ceramic against the dark pipe. If the plate had broken, it was entirely possible that all the pieces had been sucked down with the soapy water.

Rarity just happened to have one of the same plates.

Or, and perhaps more likely, Applejack had once left a plate at Rarity's. She'd probably brought over a slice of pie covered in cling-wrap and forgotten to take the plate home with her.

It made perfect sense.

And yet the hole in Applejack's stomach yawned wider.

"Lose somethin'?"

Applejack gasped, a hoof flying to her chest in surprise.

Big Macintosh stood in the doorway, a dim curiosity lurking in his weary eyes. He deftly flicked the straw in his mouth from one corner of his lips to the other with nothing but his tongue.

"For pony's sake," Applejack muttered. "Why is it that everypony likes sneakin' up on me so gotdang much?"

She turned away from the sink, taking a rag with her.

Golden shafts of sunlight poured over Applejack's shoulders as she set to work cleaning the kitchen table. Last night's canning session had proved a bit stickier than usual, as Applebloom tended to pour first and measure later. Applejack scrubbed at the hardened puddles of sugar and gelatin, the faint scent of apples and lemon juice seeping into the air as she worked.

Big Mac said nothing, which was hardly a surprise. He only leaned against the doorframe and slowly raised an eyebrow in Applejack's direction.

Applejack sighed. "No. I didn't lose nothin'."

The eyebrow climbed higher.

"It's a long story, Big Mac," Applejack continued. She whirled to face the table and slapped the damp rag down on its surface. "I don't feel much like getting into it just now."

Big Mac chewed thoughtfully on his straw. "Short version, then."

Applejack clenched and unclenched her teeth. "It's nothin'."

Mac only smacked his lips softly.

"It's nothin' that concerns you, that is." Applejack kicked a chair out of her way and scrubbed at a stubborn spot on the tabletop.

Mac shrugged. "It concerns you, don't it?"

Applejack paused in her scrubbing.

She wanted to snap back at her brother, but she knew what he meant.

If it concerns you, it concerns me.

Applejack threw down her rag with a wet plop. "For the love of…" she muttered to herself. "I dunno. Rarity's actin' funny."

Mac made a face.

"Funnier than usual," Applejack corrected firmly. "I mean… she's not herself. I stopped by yesterday mornin' and she just… I dunno."

Mac nodded slowly.

Applejack stared at the lumpy, gray rag in the center of the table. The story had felt a lot longer than that, but she supposed that was all there was when you got right down to it.

Rarity was acting funny.

Rarity wasn't herself.

Rarity wasn't really there right now.

The floorboards moaned as Big Mac stepped into the kitchen. He pulled a chair out from the table and eased himself into it, then looked up at Applejack in anticipation.

Applejack rolled her eyes. "It's no big deal."

"Until it is," Mac said.

"Ugh." Applejack swept her rag off to the side and flopped down into the seat across from her brother. "You're a real pill, you know that?"

"Eeyup."

Applejack scoffed. "I just-- I dunno what the right thing is," she said. "She doesn't seem to want me around. I don't wanna intrude."

Mac nodded.

"She's overworked. And I get it," Applejack continued. "But then I guess that's what's buggin' me; I feel like she should be able to talk to me about this-- heck, we've always talked about this sort of thing together. We're both workaholics. She said as much yesterday."

"Mm."

"This time, though…" Applejack drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. "Seems like there's more to it."

Mac cocked his head.

"That's the long story part."

Which was technically true. How long would it take to convince Mac of her anxieties about the plate? About her reflection? How much longer to talk him down from a trip to the head doctor?

Mac sighed heavily.

Applejack nodded. "It's a pickle, alright."

"Well," Mac said slowly. He paused, leaned far back in his chair, and let out another warm lungful of air through his nostrils. "You're friends, aren’cha?"

"What's that s'posed to mean?"

Mac smirked. "Friends need you around," he said. "Especially when they say they don't."

Applejack scoffed. "That's… terrible advice."

Mac's smirk only widened, and he tilted his head back to bark out a bout of deep laughter. At first, Applejack tried to suppress her own giggles, but they quickly bubbled out.

The high and tinkling, bell-like tones of Rarity's feminine giggles were missing.

Applejack's laughter faded.

"You know what I mean," Mac said.

She nodded. "I hate that I do."

Mac chuckled once more.

He got to his hooves, reached across the table, and tousled his little sister's mane affectionately. Applejack batted him away.

"I'll cover you," Mac said as he turned to go.

"Thanks," Applejack called after him. "I'll getcha back."

"No need," Mac added. "We're family. But we’re friends, too."

And, once again, Applejack was alone.

She took a small breath. For a flash of a moment, she felt good. A little smile spread over her face.

Then she caught sight of her reflection.

A shiny silver pitcher on the counter across the room. Her reflection bulged along the wide middle band of the pitcher, but she could still see the differences-- a blank expression. Glassy eyes. Utter exhaustion evident in the circles under her eyes, and yet an odd energy which hummed beneath the fur on her cheeks.

Cheeks tinted blue.

Applejack's own smile vanished in an instant.

She closed her eyes and wished the thing away, then pressed her hooves against her face and whispered it aloud:

"Go away," she hissed. "Go away. This is about Rarity, not me-- go away!"

Applejack opened her eyes.

Only her own tired face stared back.

Applejack took a steadying breath and reached for her rag, intending to clear her mind with a little more rigorous cleaning.

She tried not to panic when she found that the rag had vanished.

“You’re back.”

So small, so quiet and uncertain that Applejack could hardly hear it over the cacophony of insects and birdsong and lawnmowers.

Meek.

That was the word which sprung to mind as Rarity peered out from the crack in her door: Meek.

Applejack swallowed down her irrational concern. “Uh. Well, I said I would be, didn’t I?”

Rarity pulled the door all the way open.

She looked… well, ‘better’ was an oversimplification. She was certainly more put together than she had been yesterday, and keen on showing it off.

The dullness of her mane had been washed away, and a sheen carefully brushed into it. Her signature massive curls were missing, however, replaced by more delicate natural waves. She was wearing make-up, as well-- eye shadow and dark mascara that tried to tug her eyes further into the realm of the living, and yet abandoned them squarely in the uncanny valley.

She did her best to smile, and waved one hoof broadly into the now-lit entryway. “Come in, Applejack.”

Applejack tipped her hat to her friend and ducked into the building, murmuring a greeting as she did.

Lit though it was, the Boutique still seemed to suck the confidence out of Applejack. She felt a shudder run through her as she crossed the threshold, and did her best not to show it. A sense of lethargy came over her, as well; a pulling sensation, as if the squeezing around her barrel had turned to a weight tugging her down. Exhaustion that only comes from so very much work.

Applejack wondered if Rarity’s condition might be catching, but quickly put the thought out of her mind.

“I’m terribly sorry for the way I behaved yesterday,” Rarity said as she pushed the door closed. The bell over it tinkled, but only faintly. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten a bit, erm… in my own head as of late. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Uh… that’s alright,” Applejack murmured. “Y’know, we’re practically family, Rarity. You don’t need to get all dolled up for me.”

Rarity made a tight sound of disagreement, but said nothing.

Applejack wandered slowly through the front room, making eyeless contact with each and every ponnequin in the place. Oddly enough, none of them looked at her. She almost wished that they would-- it would give the pit in her stomach something of a reason to exist in the first place.

“I-I wasn’t… was I?” Rarity asked quickly, scampering to Applejack’s side.

“Wasn’t what?” Applejack asked.

Rarity looked down at the floor. “Rude.”

“You--” Applejack stammered for a moment, nothing but nonsense spilling from her lips as she tried to catch onto the right thing to say. “No way. Not a bit, Rarity.”

Rarity’s eyes remained glued to the floor.

“Hey.” Applejack reached forward and put a firm hoof on Rarity’s shoulder.

Something ran through Rarity. Not a shiver or a prickle, but some other wave of involuntary emotion which swept from hooves to head. Something which sparked that familiar glimmer in her eyes once more.

She looked up into Applejack’s face with a sense of great longing. She had felt the absence, too, it seemed.

“I get it, okay?” Applejack murmured. “Distant and rude ain’t the same thing.”

Rarity closed her eyes and nodded. Her lips pressed into a tight, thin line, and she sucked in a tiny breath, like the gasp of salty air above the tumultuous waters of the ocean.

Applejack forced a small and comforting smile, and rubbed a few small circles into Rarity’s shoulder before releasing her.

The sparkle in Rarity’s eyes flickered and died, and the eerie stillness of the Boutique overtook Applejack once more.

Applejack took a few more cautious steps into the Boutique, searching for anything amiss. She spotted nothing. Even so, the weight around her middle pulled her lower and lower, deeper and deeper… it was as if a tap had been affixed to her side, and energy was pouring out of her, pooling on the floor, seeping into the carpet, the floorboards, the--

“So!” Applejack exclaimed, shouting right over the anxious tape in her head. “How’s about we pick up where we left off and have some tea?”

Rarity painted on her own false grin. “That sounds lovely.”

Applejack nodded, and turned towards the kitchen.

And all the ponnequins were staring at her.

Applejack barely suppressed a yelp of surprise and pedaled backwards two clumsy steps.

She blinked.

None of them were looking at her.

Rarity was at her side in an instant. “Are you alright?” she asked quickly. “I mean did you-- what happened?”

Applejack fluttered her eyes, trying to oust the sudden murkiness of her vision. “I, uh…” She paused to shake her head. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Rarity asked. She reached out to touch Applejack, but drew her hoof back when she was only a hair away. “You don’t have to foalsit me, darling. Y-you can go home.”

Her tone was so strange.

Applejack tried to catch her gaze, but saw that Rarity was looking straight past her-- right below her jaw and clear across the room. Her eyes flicked up once, perhaps twice, but she seemed entirely preoccupied.

Immobilized, almost.

Applejack spared a small turn of her head in search of what had entranced Rarity so thoroughly. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I just went and spooked myself. Nothin’ for you to worry about.”

Rarity swallowed, and choked out a small “mm” in understanding.

“Come on, now,” Applejack encouraged. “Let’s make some tea.”

Rarity nodded and at last pulled her eyes up to meet Applejack’s. “After you,” she said, gesturing into the kitchen.

Applejack shook her head. “Nonsense. Ladies first.”

A weak chuckle spilled from Rarity’s lips. Her eyes slid down from Applejack’s, catching the thing across the room for a long moment, and finally moving on as she crossed into the kitchen.

Applejack waited patiently for the distance between her and her distressed friend to grow, then whipped her head around to look behind her.

Nothing but the mirrored alcove lurked in the shadows. The one which Applejack and her friends had been sheparded into many a time, always in some ridiculous getup as Rarity poked pins into every gather, every fold, every hemline she could lay hooves on. Rainbow Dash had taken to calling it ‘The Needle Dome’--despite it not, in fact, being dome-shaped--as she had a propensity for mucking about and getting herself pricked.

In the light, Applejack could see her reflection.

She glimmered a slight blue, edges undefined. Like a mirage, or perhaps like ink bled into water, she wavered and faded.

Strangest of all, though, was her fixed and steely gaze.

Applejack’s own mouth hung open slightly, and her eyebrows climbed slowly into her hairline.

The reflection, however, had set her jaw. She glared out of the mirror like a tiger in captivity, dreaming of the day it might maul its keeper and at last break free.

Applejack didn’t look long, though. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered her terror to herself, an endless beating rhythm of “no-no-no-no-no” that rolled on and on, faster and faster as Applejack willed that harsh gaze to leave her, to turn onto somepony else, anypony else, even--

“Applejack?”

A little gasp. Like a hiccup.

Applejack opened her eyes, and saw that her reflection had returned to normal. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m comin’.”

Guilted by the ghostly terror in her own eyes, Applejack turned and followed Rarity into the kitchen.

For all its bright and shining surfaces, the kitchen felt even more lifeless than the entryway. Applejack had the creeping feeling that Rarity had not cooked a meal for herself in this room in quite a while-- after all, not even Rarity could leave a kitchen without a trace of preparation. No dishes were stacked in the sink, no wrinkles or stains contaminated the dishcloths, and not even a hint of scent lingered in the air from a previous meal.

All the same, Rarity floated to the cabinets and began to gather all of her tea-making materials.

The soft clunk of mugs landing on the marble countertop brought Applejack back to the present.

"Er, let me get that, Rares," she said, weaseling in beside her friend and stretching up into the cabinet to retrieve a box of tea bags.

Rarity shied away from her friend. "You're the guest, Applejack," she said softly, without much fight.

Applejack could only let out a tense breath as she dropped a tea bag into each mug.

Without a thought, Applejack pulled open a cabinet beside the stove and withdrew the hidden kettle. She easily removed its lid and popped it into the sink.

"Really, darling," Rarity insisted. "I-I'm alright. Why don't you let-- erm, why don't you let me do this?"

Applejack huffed lightly. "I promise you, I can fill a kettle," she said.

She reached over to turn on the tap. Her hoof paused a hair away.

The rag.

Applejack drew her hoof back from the faucet. She cocked her head, eyeing the rag suspiciously; it couldn't possibly be the same rag she had lost track of that morning.

Could it?

No, no. Don't be stupid, Applejack.

"What is it?" Rarity asked, her voice strained.

Applejack pointed. "Where did you get that rag?" she asked, doing her best to remain calm and even.

Rarity raised her eyebrows and turned her gaze over to the rag. "Hm?" she wondered. "Oh, this?"

She reached over and plucked it from the faucet with a tendril of magic.

"Yeah. Where'd you get it?"

"Goodness. I'm not certain I remember," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it--" Applejack coughed. "It looks just like mine."

Rarity considered the rag, then made a small noncommittal sound. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. We do live in the same town, darling-- and one with limited retail options, at that." She giggled, trying to make that silver-bell Rarity sound bubble out, but falling just short. "I think it says more about me than it does about you. After all, do you really think this is my color?"

She held the thing out, almost offering it to Applejack.

It was gray. It was old and tattered. It was a little bit damp, and showed its weight in the way it hung off both sides of Rarity's hoof.

It also had a small swatch of colorful zap apple skin pressed into its fraying fibers.

Applejack tried to laugh as a cover, but found that the sound twisted up in her throat like a python. She coughed. Rarity withdrew the rag, laying it gently over the faucet once more.

"Sorry," Applejack said.

Rarity scoffed. "I've no idea what you're apologizing for."

"I-I dunno," Applejack said with a half-hearted shrug. "I think I've been a little overworked myself. I've been… tired."

"Mm." Rarity flicked the tap on, and water rushed into the kettle.

Applejack leaned into the counter and looked down at her friend. Rarity kept her eyes trained on the shiny surface of the kettle, a few tendrils of blue magic trailing their way around and around the handle. Fidgeting, at once idle and neurotic.

"You been sleepin' okay?" Applejack asked softly. She nudged Rarity gently, just to see the way the touch lit her up.

"Oh… fine, I suppose," Rarity breathed.

Applejack ran her hoof gently along Rarity's ribs. She couldn't quite say why-- perhaps she thought it was an expression of comfort, though the feeling made Rarity shudder.

She made a small sound and shuffled just out of Applejack's reach.

It was really too brief to interpret. But Applejack could have sworn she heard guilt.

Rarity made a small dismissive sound and pounded the tap off with a smack of her hoof.

That magical blue dance began again; the kettle was hoisted out of the sink and placed on a burner to the right, the knob was twisted and the tick-tick-tick-tick of a stove trying to light echoed through the room.

Then a whoosh as the flame caught.

Rarity kept her head tilted down. Her mane slipped out from behind her ear and cascaded towards the floor, little waves intertwining and sliding over one another in a shimmering dance.

One tendril of magic snaked up along her cheek and gently, lovingly, tucked a wispy lock of her mane back up behind her ear.

Rarity's face contorted into a look of near fear, and she let out the tiniest breath from between her pale lips. The tendril wound its way back down her cheek and over those pale lips, lingering a moment before dissipating into the stale air.

Applejack watched in analytical silence.

She tried to recall a time when she'd seen magic used this way. As an extension of one's body in ways beyond the utilitarian. To touch. To fidget. To wander.

She made a mental note to speak with Twilight about this later.

Rarity visibly relaxed as her magic sparkled away. Her head hung lower. She reached up a curious hoof and pressed it against her cheek, her lips, her chin… apparently as curious about the touch as Applejack was.

"You sure you're sleepin' okay?" Applejack asked again.

Rarity's eyes sprung open in surprise, and a pinkness bloomed in her face as she looked up at Applejack.

Applejack cocked her head.

"Well, I…" Rarity looked up at the ceiling. Her eyes flickered back and forth every so slightly, as if she were running some sort of calculation. "I suppose I've been having some… some rather vivid dreams."

Applejack knew that was a lie.

Not because it was difficult to believe, but because of the way Rarity's face contorted as she spoke. A nigh imperceptible twisting of her features, like a piece of paper being crumpled before it was chucked in a wastebasket. She tried to counteract it, to laugh and relax, but the twist had happened. Applejack had caught it, as she always did.

"Dreams," Applejack echoed.

Rarity shook her head, eked out another weak chuckle. "It's silly," she said. "I'm a grown mare. More than grown. I shouldn't be so--"

"Why don't you tell me about 'em?" Applejack offered.

Rarity paused.

Slowly, deliberately, she raised her head. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and rolled it slowly between her teeth. That glimmering, flickering motion returned to her eyes as she looked upon some unknown spectre before her.

Applejack sighed gently. "It's okay. Y-you don't have to," she said.

Rarity's nostrils flared as she snorted out a small breath of relief.

"I understand," Applejack continued. "It's easier'n you'd think to get yourself so worked up and sleep-deprived that you start… y'know, seein' things."

Rarity closed her eyes, as if cringing from the metaphorical blow this thought had dealt her.

"What's worse is it feels so strange to talk about 'em," Applejack continued. "Since you know they ain't real. And that's all anypony can say: 'you know they aren't real, right?' Of course you do. But it shakes you up either way."

"I-it's not…" Rarity trailed off. She huffed, roughly pulling her mane behind her ear and trying to steady herself. "I keep hearing things. Down here, while I'm trying to sleep."

Applejack's brows furrowed. "Oh. Right."

"The first few times, I thought it was Opal." Rarity laughed at that. "Can you imagine? Thinking my dead cat was wandering about in the night and being comforted by that. Just a… a reflex."

She looked up at Applejack.

In her eyes was a sort of desperation. Not a fear or even a sadness, simply a need. A need for comfort.

"Applejack," she said softly, "do you think that thoughts can be reflexive?"

Applejack furrowed her brows. "Uh… I'm not sure what you mean by that."

Rarity took a steadying breath. "What I mean is… well, do you think that, by thinking a thought so clearly and so often, the thought can… can think itself?"

"That's a mite philosophical for my taste, there, Rarity," Applejack muttered, pulling her hat down lower on her brow and trying to laugh it off. "I'm sure Twilight'd love to debate it with you, though."

"Right…" Rarity sighed. "All I mean is that I've gotten myself in the habit of hearing things in the Boutique. Even when it's quiet, I feel like I just… fill it in myself. Like I miss it."

She frowned, as if realizing this for the first time. It was the type of sleepy understanding that one has after waking up from a dream-- when the pieces make sense as a jumble of color and feeling in your mind, but fall apart as soon as they are spoken.

"Hm," she hummed to herself.

Then she looked up. Slowly. Afraid of what she might find.

The ceiling moaned.

As if something--

someone--

were standing on it.

Walking across the floors above.

Larger than a cat. Certainly larger and heavier, with plodding, deliberate steps.

It walked from one side of the kitchen ceiling to the other. Step by step. Stride by stride.

Then, it paused.

Just above the pair of ponies in the kitchen, who gazed up in terrified, pale-faced awe at the plain ceiling.

Applejack spat something, some private call to action, and took off across the kitchen towards the stairs.

"Wait!" Rarity cried, skittering after her friend.

But Applejack did not wait. She skidded around a corner and galloped up the stairs. They creaked and moaned under her own hooves, and she strained to hear the motions of the intruder over her own cacophonous steps.

"Applejack!" Rarity shouted, though without any clear instruction.

At the top of the stairs, Applejack paused.

Three doors.

The one to her right, surely.

She ran for it, one hoof extended, ready to throw open the--

And then, in a flash of blue, Rarity was between her and the door. "Stop!"

Applejack was barely able to halt herself, and collided gently with Rarity's form, pinning her against the door.

For a moment, she couldn't summon anything meaningful.

"Don't go in there," Rarity said.

"Land sakes, Rarity--" Applejack threw her head back in frustration. "There's somepony in there! I'll buck 'em to kingdom come, but you've got to let me--"

"No!" Rarity repeated.

Applejack set her jaw. She glared at Rarity and, for once, Rarity held her gaze.

She reached for the doorknob.

Rarity batted her away.

"Why can't I go in there?" Applejack demanded.

Rarity drew in a small breath. Her chest swelled into Applejack's. "It's… it's my bedroom, Applejack," she whispered. "It's private."

"Consarnit-- now ain't the time for manners!"

"You can look," Rarity said. "But you can't go inside."

Applejack sighed, tense and angry. "Rarity, I wanna understand--believe me--but if there's somepony in there--"

"Please," Rarity said softly.

She reached up, running her hoof through the fur on Applejack's chest and landing at its center. She pushed her friend away, firm and steady.

Applejack, confused as she was, dutifully stepped back.

Rarity hung her head, turned, and opened the door.

She peered inside, doing her best to fill the space and obscure Applejack's view. After scanning the room like a jackal for any sign of life, she pushed the door all the way open.

"There, now. You see?" Rarity said, gesturing to the room. "There's nopony here."

Applejack rushed forward. Rarity blocked her from crossing the threshold, but allowed her friend to look inside.

Even from here, Applejack could tell that the air in the room was stale, stuffy, and warmer than the rest of the house. The space was crowded, but crowded with discarded things: dressing gowns, slippers, even the odd hairbrush all scattered about Rarity's bed in a whirl of depressed mess.

And her bed. Unmade, blankets and pillows surrounding a hole where the sheets had taken on a yellowed hue. Applejack supposed that was from sweat.

But Rarity was correct: there was nopony there.

"Uh…" Applejack found that words failed her as she surveyed the space. ‘Un-Rarity’ didn't even begin to describe the state of it. "Y-yeah. Nopony there."

Rarity pulled the door shut.

The pair stood there, each of them staring silently at the floor, for a long moment. Applejack felt that an apology was necessary, and yet couldn’t find a way to give one without drawing yet more attention to the state of the room. Rarity, it seemed, couldn’t think of a convincing lie to tell to explain it.

“Is that what it sounds like downstairs?” Applejack finally asked. “While you’re asleep?”

Rarity hesitated, then nodded fervently.

“Okay.” Applejack set her jaw and tried to get control of her still-labored breathing. “Okay. I understand. I think I--”

A distant sound.

Shrieking.

Howling.

“The teakettle,” Rarity said, mostly to herself.

She slipped away from Applejack and headed to the stairs, on a mission to retrieve the whistling kettle.

Applejack remained.

She was tempted, of course. Part of her thought that, despite what she had already seen, the answer lay beyond that simple door. Some physical manifestation of the nightmares which had drained Rarity of her essence.

But she knew better.

Applejack turned away from the door. She passed the other two doors--one was nothing but a closet, and the other Sweetie’s old bedroom--and followed Rarity down the stairs.

“Rarity?” Applejack called into the kitchen.

The kettle’s whistling halted as Applejack turned the corner. Rarity leaned against the fridge, eyes closed, as the kettle hovered over each mug.

Applejack paused on the threshold. “Um. Rarity?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Mm?”

“I was thinkin’...” Applejack murmured, eyes skating over the floor, “I think I should stay the night.”

The kettle halted. The sound of liquid splashing into mugs was silenced.

Rarity reacted a moment later. “Why?” she asked, almost accusatory.

Applejack shrugged. “Well, I just think that… you said you’d worked yourself into a bad habit,” she said carefully. “Maybe if I stuck around, kept an eye out for any funny business, we could break it. Th-the habit, that is.”

The kettle clattered back down onto the stovetop.

“No,” Rarity said.

“No?” Applejack repeated. “‘No’ what?”

“I mean--” Rarity shook her head. “It’s… I don’t know. It seems like a lot to ask. Or, it doesn’t seem like-- it is. I couldn’t possibly--”

“It ain’t.”

Rarity’s mouth hung open, halfway through a thought she couldn’t finish.

Applejack sighed lightly and crossed the room. She held out one foreleg, beckoning Rarity to fall into the offered embrace. She didn’t say a word. Only stood there, open.

Rarity hesitated. But, after a moment she shuffled closer.

Her fur wasn’t nearly as silky as it once had been. Applejack wasn’t sure whether that owed to age or to neglect, but she certainly wasn’t going to say a word about it. Instead, she pulled her friend close, tucking her head under her own strong chin and giving her the most comforting squeeze she could muster.

Rarity’s horn curled up along Applejack’s jawbone, it’s tip hovering near Applejack’s ear as Rarity stiffly endured the embrace.

And it whispered to her.

Senseless murmuring. Hisses and pops.

On instinct, Applejack squeezed harder.

The whispers drew closer, all but grazing her ear with their silken tongue.

Applejack drew in a shaky breath, but she did not let go of Rarity.

Her horn whispered to her, sparkling and blue. Voiceless, and yet undeniably there. Wordless, and yet saying more than Applejack cared to hear.

Rarity exhaled softly. She relaxed into Applejack’s embrace ever so slightly, even as Applejack braced herself against the unseen whispers.

She only heard one word with absolute clarity:

Leave.

Part III

"You don't have to do this, Applejack," Rarity reminded her friend softly.

"Nonsense," Applejack said, shaking her head. "If my stayin' here gives you any peace of mind at all, it'll be worth it."

Rarity smiled to herself. "That's very sweet of you to say," she whispered. "But, really. It's too much."

"It ain't!" Applejack insisted. "Would you look? I'm gettin' into bed right now. Not a hardship."

To prove her point, Applejack tore back the covers of Sweetie's old bed, revealing soft, shell-pink sheets. The subtle scent of lavender rose from the bedding as she did so. While a bit stale, it still felt clean, and Applejack made a show of breathing it in.

Rarity rolled her eyes. "For goodness' sake…" she muttered.

Applejack looked back at Rarity, stuck out her tongue, and leapt into the bed with all four hooves.

The mattress catapulted her back into the air, along with one of the two pillows and the topmost blanket. Rarity made a sound of disgust--the most like herself she'd sounded all day--and pounded her hoof on the floor, but Applejack landed square in the center of the mattress, looking quite pleased with herself.

"Brute," Rarity commented snidely.

Applejack shimmied down further. "A comfy brute," she corrected, reaching down to tug the covers up to her chest.

"Well," Rarity huffed, with a theatrical toss of her mane. "Let's not test the springs any more than we already have, yes?"

"Ugh." Applejack pulled the blanket up to her chin. "Yes, ma'am."

Rarity smiled, though it was something of a grim thing. A sad thing. She looked down at Applejack, all snug in her sister's old bed, and she forced herself to smile.

Applejack suddenly felt like quite the intruder.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, to the protest of the bedsprings. "I just… want you to know I've got your back."

Rarity's smile dissolved. She stared at her friend, but didn't say a word-- only nodded ever so slightly, barely even noticeable.

"And, uh…" Applejack cleared her throat. "Y'know, however tonight goes… I believe you."

"Mm."

Rarity's face tensed, and her eyes slipped back down to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Applejack said. "Was that not--"

"No," Rarity said, shaking her head vigorously. She sniffed once, light and ladylike. "No, no."

She went silent.

Applejack looked down at her hooves, dark and old against the youthful patterning on Sweetie’s foalhood sheets. “I just mean… Even if this is somethin’ you’re imagining, for whatever reason, I’m happy to be here,” she said. “As a… a touchstone, I guess.”

Rarity pursed her lips and nodded her head. “Of course.”

“Not that I think you’re imagining things,” Applejack said quickly. “I think… maybe you think you’re imagining things,”

Rarity scoffed and rolled her eyes, glimmers of her old self in the way she jutted one hip out. “For pony’s sake, Applejack.”

“Well, I dunno where your head’s at, Rarity!” Applejack exclaimed, throwing her hooves in the air. “All this mindless chit-chat… I dunno what’s got you all twisted up in the first place.”

“I told you,” Rarity said, “I’m overworked.”

“Now, I know that ain’t it.” Applejack leaned forward a little further, resting her forehooves on the smooth bedding. “All due respect, sugar cube, but I know when you’re lyin’. Or when you ain’t tellin’ the whole truth.”

Rarity closed her eyes and set her jaw. Her face flashed with that special breed of exasperation reserved for the teachers of very young students, or perhaps those retail workers unfortunate enough to have an encounter with an overly privileged customer.

Applejack huffed softly. “Why don’t you come here,” she said, patting the mattress beside her, “and talk to me about it?”

“There simply isn’t anything to talk about,” Rarity murmured. She took a small step back from the mattress, head turned away from Applejack. “I’m just… I’m getting old, darling.”

Applejack furrowed her brows, but said nothing.

“I’m getting old, and I’m alone here day in, day out, and--” She cut herself off. Took a steadying breath. “It’s hard not to feel lonely.”

She glanced up at Applejack, no more than a moment. Then, without another word, she started for the door at a brisk walk.

Applejack leaned forward, intending to say more and not managing even a single word.

Rarity paused at the door, one hoof on the frame. "Thank you. This means more than you know," she said.

Then she pulled the door closed behind her.

And Applejack was alone.

She stayed upright longer than she had intended, poised just so, waiting for Rarity to return.

It was hard to understand. Sure, saying goodbye to friends and siblings as they departed from the tiny town of Ponyville was hard, but they were still there. Perhaps not right in front of her, or just down the road, but they were still out there. They would come home-- either in bits and pieces through letters and souvenirs, or all at once come the holidays.

That, plus the fact that Applejack was still just down the road from Rarity.

That she was here. Here instead of working. For two whole days.

And yet, Rarity still felt lonely.

It was hard not to feel at least the tiniest bit bitter about that, even though Applejack knew that wasn’t fair. She couldn’t exactly put into words why it wasn’t fair, but she knew better than to start getting petty with a pony so beaten down.

After a minute or two of silence, Applejack slipped back under the covers.

Being alone in another pony's home was always a strange feeling. Even in Rarity's home, which was very familiar to her, Applejack felt uncomfortably exposed.

She tugged the covers up as high as they would go and rolled onto her side.

Out the window, Applejack could see the bottom curve of the enormous full moon. It cast yellow light, sparkling and diffuse, down onto Sweetie Belle's carpet, illuminating the dust motes in-between. They floated peacefully and silently against the peeling violet wallpaper. They reminded Applejack of stars, even though stars didn't move.

Applejack twisted her hooves into the blankets and held still, gazing out the window into the night. Rarity had quite a nice view of the forest from here, after all. Picturesque.

And so quiet.

Applejack curled into herself and listened. Intently and astutely. She would uphold her end of the bargain most certainly, listening carefully for any sign of an intruder. Or… other assorted funny business.

The gentle expansion of the fluff in Sweetie's pillow crackled in Applejack's ears, her thrumming heart turning it to a pulse, as if somepony were walking through drifts of crisp autumn leaves. She was also keenly aware of her own breath, steady and soft as it was; the deep quiet of the Carousel Boutique made even the slightest wheeze of Applejack's dust-aggravated lungs sound like the whirring of an old electric fan.

There came a creak.

Just one long one. No rhythm to it. Applejack recognized it as Rarity's bedsprings, and figured that the mare had completed her bedtime mane routine and tucked herself in.

Though Applejack couldn't quite put her hoof on why, she felt a wave of relief as she realized that Rarity was under the covers. The logic of a young foal who thought blankets to be the ultimate shield against things which go bump in the night.

Of course, the blanket shield would do nothing against a real intruder. But it still felt safe, somehow.

Applejack took the moment to squirm into a more comfortable position before resuming her guardianship.

The house was still a deathly quiet.

Beyond the house's walls, Applejack could sense the steady hum of chirping crickets. Though each on its own was a manic little thing, they came together in a great wall of sound, like the roar of a crowd at a buckball match. Even so, the sound was muffled by the Boutique's walls, and instead came through like the rasp of a distant machine.

Applejack closed her eyes and tried to filter out the sound of the crickets. Without a sound inside to compare against, though, she found the task nearly impossible.

She began to hum, just little tuneless pops of sound to keep her grounded. The crickets started to fade away.

Then she heard it.

The sound was difficult to describe. Kind of a… kind of a whooshing, windy noise, but less tangible. You hear wind because it's rushing past or over something, but this seemed like somepony's crude approximation of wind, as if they were pronouncing a very literal onomatopoeia out of a comic book.

Whoosh.

Low and quick.

And then, much clearer, hoofsteps.

Somepony walking. Of that, Applejack was entirely certain: she knew the sound of her own hoofsteps on Rarity's floor quite well, and she recognized them now.

She held perfectly still.

The pillow moaned its low static into her ear.

Her heart thudded. Each squeeze a stab of fuzzy sound in her ear.

The hoofsteps downstairs were deliberate. They wasted no time in walking through the entryway, never pausing or hesitating, and beginning to climb the stairs.

Applejack gasped lightly and yanked the covers up over her head.

Impenetrable.

The hooves slowly climbed the stairs. Not hesitating, merely patient. Leisurely. Tired, almost.

While most of her adrenaline-flooded mind screamed at Applejack to get up, to run to the door, to do the thing she had agreed to do, she found herself frozen.

Paralyzed.

Under the covers, air getting hotter as she breathed more fervently, panic building in every desperate pant, heat building faster, blankets sucking around her snout. She felt as if she were choking, drowning, gasping and spluttering at a volume that would surely have her discovered.

The presence on the stairs was not deterred.

The hoofsteps drew closer.

Closer.

Approaching the door to Sweetie's room.

Applejack's breathing quickened ever more, and she reflexively jammed her hoof in her mouth to quiet it.

Closer.

Passing by.

Moving away, now.

And onto the next door.

Rarity, she thought, though less the word-- just the shape of her. A rubber stamp Rarity pounded against the inside of her skull.

As Applejack predicted, the steps stopped in front of Rarity's door. There came a gentle rattling, like the clumsy twisting of a doorknob, then the slow creak of a door swinging open.

Applejack couldn't make out any of the finer details over her panicked breathing, but she could have sworn Rarity moved or spoke or something. The hoofsteps wandered softly into the room, and the door clicked shut behind them.

Still paralyzed with fear, all Applejack could do was listen.

No.

Not paralyzed.

Not natural at all.

Held.

Held steady in place, like a shackled criminal or a patient in a straightjacket. Only not that at all-- everything. Every muscle held firm. Every joint locked in place.

The blanket over her.

Like a corpse.

She waited for shrieking and shouting. For guttural and gruesome sounds on the other side of the wall. For some sign that the intruder was having their way with Rarity, bloody as that way might be.

But the bedsprings creaked gently.

And all was quiet once again.

Applejack waited. She could do nothing else, only meditate in the sheer zen of total terror on what it might be like to be a dead body on a silver table. How one might still be able to gaze up through the sheet at the glaring fluorescent lights, umoving, unblinking, and yet undeniably there for every second of it.

Then, all at once, the pressure released.

Like a gentle exhale. A soft sigh. All the tension simply rushed away.

Applejack thrashed forward, her limbs pedaling through the blanket as she sucked in a lungful of cool air. Though her hooves were briefly tangled up in the covers, she fought valiantly through it and dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

This only knocked the wind out of her a second time, and she gasped on the carpet like a fish out of water for a terrible moment.

Without a second thought, she scrambled to her hooves and dove for the door.

She fell into it with one shoulder, hard and heavy, and tried desperately to get a proper grip on the smooth metallic doorknob. Her hooves slipped and slid against the surface like ice. The mechanism rattled under her, trying to obey, when she finally caught hold and--

Nothing.

Applejack froze a moment, staring down at the doorknob in dumbfounded confusion.

Once the realization set in, she began to shake it with all her might.

Locked.

Locked into Sweetie Belle’s foalhood bedroom as an intruder sat on the end of Rarity’s bed, doing Celestia-knows what to--

Applejack shook the knob harder.

Why would Sweetie’s bedroom lock from the outside anyway?

Who would dare lock her into her room?

Certainly not Rarity.

Did it even--

Applejack released the knob.

She fell back one unsteady step, and her eyes scanned the smooth interior of the door for any sort of disruption. A latch, perhaps. A chain. Any sort of pregnant bulge from inside of the door, one which might be disguising a locking mechanism.

Doubting her eyes, she ran her hooves over the door.

No lock at all.

Barricaded.

Was that possible?

How?

Applejack didn’t care to figure it out.

She threw her shoulder into the door, and felt it miraculously absorb everything she had without even shaking on its hinges. Like a cinderblock wall.

She tried again.

Thud.

No motion whatsoever. No sense of motion, only a growing bruise about the size of a dinner plate under her peachy fur.

Applejack tried to cry out, but found that her voice was about as useful as the hinges on the door she’d just finished throwing herself into. Only a short, raspy, cough squeezed out as she tried to shout Rarity’s name.

Fine.

Brute force, then.

Applejack came away from the door and turned in a tight circle.

She crouched low.

Lined up her shot. Rear hooves at the ready, preparing to kick with all their might.

She didn’t notice it at first. At least, not in that way that caused her heart to stop.

As Applejack prepared to buck the door down, come hell or high water, she happened to look out of the window on the other side of the room. The one which had previously framed twinkling stars, and a beautifully peaceful swirl of violet through the night sky, friendly tufts of dark green trees peeking up from the forest beyond.

She saw that it was now pitch black.

But it took a moment for the fear to kick in.

She realized it mid-buck, and it caused her to falter-- though not before she gave the door half of a mighty kick. It sent an impact shock vibrating up her spine and very nearly sent her toppling over, had she not been so focused on that true darkness beyond the Carousel Boutique.

After shaking off the shock of the kick, Applejack crossed the room.

She likely should have hesitated.

But she crossed the room with no more trepidation than a foal watching a kite soar through the blue.

To her surprise, the latch on the window unhooked without any trouble at all.

She pushed the window out into the nightless night.

The word that came to her first was ‘empty’. And, perhaps, that was the only word which was needed; after all, if something is truly devoid of all light and sound and feeling, it shouldn’t need any other descriptors.

Applejack closed her eyes, shook her head, and reached slowly out the window with one uncertain hoof.

Not a whisper of a breeze.

Not the faintest whiff of fresh, night air.

Not a flicker of light or even the chirp of a single, lonely insect.

Just

nothing.

Applejack pulled her hoof back in as if from a hot stove. She stared out into the expanse, searching for even the tiniest imperfection she might be able to latch onto.

Nothing.

And yet

it seemed

to suck the air out of the room.

Applejack squeezed her eyes shut and, not daring to look down, pulled the window shut again.

The sounds of the Boutique rushed to meet her. She hadn’t realized they had receded.

She opened her eyes.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, eyes still locked onto that endless dark past the window. “Okay. You’re dreamin’. You’re dreamin’, AJ.”

She looked down at the floor and tried to force herself to laugh, though nothing managed to squeak out at all.

“The day you’ve had-- must be dreamin’,” she joked.

Nopony laughed.

She shook her head. “Just gotta wake up, then.”

Her voice did not echo in this tiny room. This tiny room for a tiny foal.

A tiny foal who didn’t live here anymore.

Applejack patted her cheek with one hoof. “Go on, now,” she encouraged. “Wake up.”

She swallowed hard, the lump of terror in her throat barely budging.

“Wake up, now,” Applejack hissed through clenched teeth. She kept hammering her hoof against her cheek, trying to send a strong enough jolt through her face that she might suddenly find herself bolt upright in Sweetie’s bed--or, hay, perhaps her own bed at home--drenched in sweat but undeniably safe. “Wake up. Wake up.”

She crossed the room, once more, working up a good pace.

Hooves pounding along the wood floor.

A familiar sound. A familiar rhythm.

“Wake up,” she spat, giving herself a smack just short of a punch. “Wake up!”

She grit her teeth.

She tried to focus on her breathing, to bring back any semblance of calm or collectedness which might have once existed.

“Consarnit, wake up!” she shouted, bringing her front hooves down on the floor in a thunderous sound.

Nothing.

She drew in a breath, and it wheezed against the lump in her throat.

No way out.

Sweetie’s room suddenly started to feel very small, indeed-- like a prison cell. Like that warm, dark place between a colt’s hooves where he holds a trapped insect, preparing to release it on an unsuspecting filly. Like the inside of some other being’s skull. Like--

Applejack made a sound, a powerful huff meant to dispel the claustrophobia bearing down on her.

She would have to do something more drastic.

Applejack surveyed the room for possible implements of destruction. This being a foal’s room, nothing easily capable of great harm was immediately obvious to her. Certainly nothing that could serve as an appropriate battering ram.

Although…

Applejack’s focus turned to the vanity tucked beside Sweetie’s bed. A little thing, meant for a small foal just learning to do her own mane. It had a mirror attached to its back, but Applejack could easily snap it off and use the remaining solid wood to push through the barricaded door.

Despite the obvious flaws in such a plan, Applejack approached the vanity.

She grasped one end with both hooves and gave it a hearty shake, testing its weight and solidity. It rattled a bit, the drawers within perhaps still filled with discarded hoof polish and tiny plastic manebrushes, all of which clattered together in an artificial symphony.

But it would have to do.

Applejack yanked on the end of the vanity, pulling it out from the wall at a diagonal. It moaned loudly and forlornly against the wood floor.

Then, she stepped back, intending to move to the other end.

Which is when she saw her.

Again.

Her reflection.

Applejack had never been the type to fret over her appearance, and so focusing upon her reflection was a strange and foreign thing to do. But the figure in the mirror caught her eye, and she paused to look at it more closely.

Such a tiny pause was more than enough.

While Applejack--the real Applejack--was feeling frantic, sweaty, and alarmed, her reflection was entirely calm. Not a peaceful calm, however; it was a stony, seething thing, the sort of calm that comes over somepony only when they are doing their best to hide a veritable storm of emotions lurking beneath the surface. It was a deathly calm. Like the eye of a storm.

Applejack froze.

Her reflection gazed at her with cold eyes. They expressed an icy fury that Applejack couldn’t fully comprehend, and yet knew well enough to fear. Like a bolt of freezing fire, that gaze shot straight to her heart and chilled her entire being.

That, and her eyes seemed to be blue.

Icy blue.

Glittering, powerful, crystalline blue, the kind one might glimpse if they stand on the thickest ice of the frozen north and gaze down into the depths below.

The whole reflection, in fact, was blue. As if all of Applejack’s color had been sucked right out of her, and she had been left to freeze to death on that same patch of thick, blue ice far North of the Crystal Empire.

And the whole reflection sparkled, too. Just like that nefarious glint in the eyes, there seemed to be an aura of wavering, mirage-like magic hugging Applejack’s reflection like a cloak.

Or perhaps like a cloud of insects.

Applejack looked down at her own chest, running a hoof through the peachy fur there, ensuring that she hadn’t turned blue herself.

The same as always. Tried and true, thick and orange.

She looked up at her reflection.

And her reflection was much closer than it had been before.

Applejack yelped and leapt back from the vanity, and her reflection remained rooted to the spot. Impossibly close to the glass. Peering into Applejack with cold, blue eyes.

“You should leave,” it whispered.

Right into Applejack’s ear.

As if it were standing beside her.

Applejack opened her mouth, and found that she could not speak.

“You’ll have to eventually,” it continued, frozen breath kissing the soft insides of Applejack's ear. “They always do.”

Applejack shook her head. “Have to… wh-what?” she breathed.

“They always do,” the reflection repeated.

Applejack swatted at the air beside her head, but her hooves passed meaninglessly through the empty air. She cried out, a tiny strangled sound, and scrambled to the side, trying to get away from the presence which whispered so deep into her own mind.

“I’ll still be here,” the reflection said. “But you’ll leave. And we can’t have that. You’ll break my poor old heart.”

The words seemed so empty and meaningless, drifting through Applejack’s mind like a chilly winter breeze through bare branches. She put one hoof over her ear, pressing it firmly into her skull, hoping for the voice to stop.

But it only drifted to her other side.

“You’ll break my heart, Applejack,” it hissed, though not with any sense of melancholy or loneliness. “My heart’s been broken so many times.”

Applejack shoved at the air, but to no avail.

“You should leave,” the voice continued. “Leave now before you’re stuck for good.”

Applejack wailed wordlessly as the voice wormed deeper into her mind, freezing and sharp.

She had to get out.

She had to get away from the mirror.

She had to break out of this tiny room. Of this cell. This warm, dark prison, this skull, this--

Without thinking, without planning, Applejack broke into a run towards the bedroom door. Full speed ahead. Barrelling, falling ever forwards, her hooves barely keeping up. Slipping on the hardwood.

She connected.

Shoulder first.

The pain spread through her, radiating like a drum head, the dinner-plate bruise already formed and now pained anew.

It gave way.

The door swung open. As if nothing had been holding it there in the first place.

And Applejack went tumbling through the air.

Her momentum could not be stopped, even as the door flew outwards and slammed against the wall with an explosive wham! She tripped, half-running, half-falling, all out of control, hooves scrambling, direction lost, directly into the rail over the stairs.

Into

and over.

Applejack clawed at the air, trying to find some small thing to hang onto, but she went careening over the top of the bannister and was suddenly falling.

Only, before she knew it, she’d hit the floor.

The wood floor of the entryway.

Wind knocked flat out of her lungs, stars swimming in the air above her head--is that where all the stars had gone? Were they flashing in her own mind?--pain numbing her spine to the point where her voice seemed entirely lost.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink. It seemed that, although she wanted to shout, to cry, to move even the smallest bit, she was frozen in place.

Was she frozen?

Trapped under thick, blue ice?

The images rocketed into her mind’s eye without hesitation. A figure standing over her, featureless through the wavering thickness of the ice, tinted blue and almost sparkling, as it peered down at her curiously. Passively. What an oddity, some poor, ancient sap trapped down there in the ice. Trying to move, bless her heart.

Then another wandered over. It only looked down at her, the same as the first. It seemed to wonder if something should be done, but could not decide. She isn’t alive, is she? Why, no-- she can’t be. Not stuck all the way down there. How many winters ago did she freeze?

A third. Emotionless. Utilitarian in its curiosity, as if Applejack might be good for some sort of salvage mission.

A fourth. Leaning down further than the others.

A fifth.

A sixth.

And, when Applejack finally managed to suck in a breath, she realized that the figures before her were not at all figments of her imagination.

Blue ponnequins. Surrounding her. Staring her down.

Closing in.

Soft hoofs shuffling, canvas on canvas. Boneless things which twisted and bent without regard for the anatomy of the creature they had disguised themselves as.

Applejack screamed.

Deep. Wordless. From deep in the chest.

Just one, singular shout, which seemed to send a jolt through the ponnequins hovering over her.

An electrified, angry jolt.

In one motion, all of the ponnequins--a dozen, she thought, from all across the room--whipped their heads towards Applejack and froze.

“You shouldn’t be here,” whispered the voice, still shockingly cold against her inner ear.

Another shout as Applejack, laying belly-up for her captors, clapped both hooves over her ears.

“Leave!” the voice called from the frozen depths of her mind.

And the ponnequin feeding frenzy began.

Applejack couldn’t quite tell what was going on from within the flurry of limbs and canvas and featureless faces, she only knew that the sound they made--the crunchy, rushing, gentleness of stuffing contracting and expanding--made her think of the pillow, made her wish, beg, plead that somewhere, somehow, her head was still on the infernal pillow.

She pedaled her limbs in the air, but to no avail. She shouted things, either wordless or so fever-stricken that they’ve left her mind entirely, as she tried to fend off her attackers.

One of them grabbed her rear hoof.

Then the other.

They gave her a mighty tug along the floor.

Towards the door.

And Applejack, fearing for her life, for what might lay beyond that lavender door that Rarity was oh-so proud of, kicked one in the face.

Right across the cheek.

It felt disgustingly equine as the head snapped to one side, taking the blow with some semblance of dignity.

Like a pony would.

Only, unlike a pony, this quick twist burst a seam in the neck. Stuffing exploded out of the wound, hanging there in the air like a grotesque fungus climbing the side of the creature.

It didn't quite stop. That would have been all too lucky.

But the creature did slow, as each motion only caused the hole to leak more forcefully, and every lost bit of fluff caused its head to droop on its poorly-supported neck.

Applejack grabbed at the nearest ponnequins and yanked as hard as she could on its foreleg to the same result. Stuffing spilling out like seafoam. A sense of deep confusion which contorted even this featureless face.

The weakness found, Applejack howled her success and redoubled her efforts. She pulled and twisted and clawed at the ponnequins which tried to drag her away, popping seams left and right, drowning in a mountain of stuffing which poured forth slowly, excruciatingly so, from these strange wounds.

At long last, the immense pressure on Applejack's body receded, and she found the strength and time to roll to her hooves and dart away.

To come to the stairs.

To fly

like a frightened bird

up those solid wooden steps.

Hoofsteps ringing loud and true throughout the household.

Heavy. Certain.

And yet terrified.

Applejack blew past Sweetie's bedroom, hooves barely keeping up with the rest of her along the perfectly polished hardwood floors. She skidded to a halt in front of Rarity's room, a maneuver which required as much physical strength as it did a lucky misstep into the bannister itself. Once again, Applejack felt that bruise on her shoulder being aggravated by the scraping sensation, like a piece of dirty clothing along a washboard, her skin twisting around her joints.

“Rarity!” she cried as her hooves came out from under her and her unbruised shoulder hit the floor with a solid wham! “Rarity!”

While Applejack by far made the most commotion in the building, there existed under her own clattering a certain… rustling sound.

Like leaves in the wind.

Like fabric on fabric, pulling and twisting and climbing, piling over itself.

From downstairs, the sound appeared to shuffle closer. Drawing towards the foot of the stairs and beginning to climb, all of the ponnequins in one great form. Like discarded weeds. Like a rat king. Even though Applejack couldn’t see it, she could hear the way they piled over and over and over each other, churning without a care for the wellbeing of their fellow monster, only trying to inch closer

to her.

Curiously enough, the sound seemed to come from behind Rarity’s door, as well.

Not so much churning. Only a constant, low rustling sound. Like curtains in the wind. Like-- like--

Applejack ignored it.

She threw herself against Rarity’s door, grabbed at the knob, and shook it violently.

“Rarity!” she shouted again. “Don’t you worry, now! I’m comin’ to getcha!”

The door only rattled back at her. Not budging in the least.

Applejack released the knob and instead began to pound on the wood of the door. A frantic thing, as she looked over her shoulder into the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. Waiting for the beast she had created to emerge from the shadows, clawing its way towards her.

“Rarity, open up!” Applejack shouted, her voice breaking with the effort. “For pony’s sake, Rarity! Open this door!”

Even as she said it, she knew chances were slim.

Something was in there.

With her.

Something had her.

A ponnequin? Leader of the pack?

Or something worse?

Applejack tried to push the memories of a hundred ghost stories out of her mind, all of them ending in death and guilt and despair and legends that rolled on and on and on, forever and ever.

Death everlasting.

Only the sound of the fabric to keep her company.

Only loneliness forever.

Rarity couldn’t survive like that.

It wouldn’t be Rarity anymore. Not really. It might take her shape, might use her voice, might even hold onto her memories by some cruel fate, but it wouldn’t be Rarity anymore.

Rarity would be gone.

And yet still here.

Applejack pounded harder. She felt the door pulse under her ceaseless barrage. Like a heart. “Whoever’s in there, you open this door right now!” she roared.

And the rustling stopped.

Applejack didn’t dare look back at the stairs. She stayed riveted straight ahead, chest heaving, still beating against the heavy wood door with powerful, rhythmic strikes.

And then

it opened.

And there stood Rarity

alive

her color intact

her eyes alive in the darkness.

Without a second thought, Applejack rushed into the room, all but scooping the tiny unicorn up and out of her way as she tried to close the door. Relief hardly registered in her face as she swooped in and set to work.

She kicked the door shut behind her, offered a sincere “stay here,” and went directly to Rarity’s bedside table. The drawer slid open and practically onto the floor, contents jangling about in a great tangle of coins, trinkets, and beauty supplies.

Applejack pawed through it, all while Rarity watched, and found a key.

She held it up.

Rarity nodded.

Applejack stalked to the bedroom door and locked it with a confident twist of the key. The bolt shot home, and Applejack tested the door with her full weight.

Not enough.

Applejack crossed the room, all business, and came to stand beside Rarity’s own vanity.

She didn’t dare look in the mirror.

One mighty tug separated it from the wall. Another pulled it a stride’s length across the floor, howling against the hardwood. Applejack moved it--deliberately but not at all carefully--across the room, one step at a time, until she at last shoved it into place against the bedroom door.

Rarity said nothing. She only watched quietly, one delicate hoof held to her chest in a show of surprise that did not seem to reach her own eyes.

“Applejack, I--”

“Sh-sh,” Applejack hushed her quickly.

She leaned in, pressing her ear against the wall beside the door.

Listening.

Waiting to hear that sound of fabric on fabric, like a sail billowed by a mighty wind-- no, a thousand sails. All tangled together. All fighting and biting at one another like wild dogs, trying to break free.

But the wind blew.

And the house moaned.

And nothing rustled.

Applejack hesitantly pulled away from the wall. She waited a moment longer, as if expecting the foe to throw themselves into the barricaded door, but no such intrusion came. Only silence and stillness lay beyond the door.

She turned to look at Rarity. “Somepony was in here, weren’t they?”

“No,” Rarity replied. Her eyes would not come up from the floor, instead wandering over the lines between boards. “At least… Well, I was asleep.”

A lie.

But a frightened one.

Applejack sighed heavily.

Moonlight poured in through the window. Back again, as if nothing had changed in the least.

Those yellowed shafts of light draped themselves over Rarity’s waiflike form, and Applejack saw that Rarity was not as she had been left.

Firstly--and Applejack was unsure how she missed such an important detail--evidence of a nosebleed was crusted beneath her right nostril, dark against the paleness of her fur. In fact, now that she looked, the bridge of her snout seemed to be a bit bruised, too. As if she’d been punched square in the center of her face.

Everything else about her was only a feeling, but Applejack more than trusted her senses.

The way she breathed. Right on the verge of hyperventilation without actually tripping over into dangerous territory. A shallow wheezing which caused her head to bob backwards and forwards at an ever-increasing pace.

The way she stood, without that signature confidence and glamour that set her apart from the crowd. From any crowd. Instead, she curled into herself, hooves in a tight and uneven cluster beneath her.

The way her eyes seemed to glitter, but only for the way they flickered from subject to subject. Applejack, the door, the mirror, and back.

Applejack didn’t dare look in the mirror.

Rarity drew in a sharp little gasp, the sort of hiccup that means tears are on the way, and Applejack was broken of her robotic savior mindset.

She rushed in towards Rarity. Large and looming in all of the right ways, a presence that could wrap you up, surround you entirely, keep you safe from all directions at once.

Rarity stiffened at the touch.

Another hiccup.

And then the tears began to flow.

“I d-don’t--” she stuttered.

“Shh.” Applejack lifted a hoof and cupped it against the back of her head, holding her firm and tight. “It’s alright now. It’s okay.”

Rarity drew in a rattling gasp, and the tears came faster.

They rolled down her cheeks, along her jaw, spilling onto Applejack’s shoulder like tiny drops of dew flung from thick blades of grass. She sobbed openly, her chest wracked with the feeling, and fell ever further into Applejack.

Her legs turned to jelly.

And Applejack held her upright.

“I don’t understand,” Rarity forced out. “I don’t understand, Applejack! What’s going on?”

Applejack only shook her head, then rolled it gently over to rest her cheek atop Rarity’s mane. “Hush, now,” she whispered. “It’ll be alright.”

A lie.

But a necessary one.

Part IV

The early morning sunlight fell across Rarity’s body like the finest silk sheets.

She slept peacefully, her barrel rising and falling deeply, steadily, and without disruption. Applejack was forced to assume that this was the first peaceful sleep the mare had had in many moons, though she had no proof of that.

Her face was so soft.

She remembered that. From a misguided sleepover even more moons ago. More than she would care to count, if she were being honest.

Rarity’s features had this way of dissolving when she slept, like a lump of sugar in a hot cup of tea. All of the emotion, all of the over-the-top drama that she expressed only through those magnificent brows, those bright lips, those stunning eyes… it all just melted away. No longer a character, she was practically a classical painting. An elegance that few could ever hope to achieve.

A lock of her mane fell from its position and curled upwards, landing in just the right position to tickle the inside of Rarity’s ear.

She flicked it, and the tiniest wrinkles of consternation appeared on her face.

Only to melt once more.

But the lock fell again, and so she fluttered her perfect ear, trying to chase away the annoyance.

Applejack sighed lightly. She reached out and gently brushed away the troublesome lock of mane.

She had not slept.

Not at all.

She had, instead, laid beside Rarity as she cried and cried and cried, never managing more than a sentence or two before her crying was renewed. She had waited patiently, whispering soothing affirmations, stroking her mane, until she had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Applejack could only imagine how tired she really was.

She wanted to wrap her up again. To just hold her and let her be held, to keep her safe from the gaping emptiness of the Carousel Boutique. To help her feel as if somepony had her back-- perhaps quite literally.

But Applejack’s touch seemed to be as much a blessing and a curse for Rarity.

She sought it out, of course. Drawing closer, only to stiffen when Applejack tried to embrace her. Reaching out to grab at her friend herself, only to pull away when any of it was reciprocated.

Applejack tried not to take it to heart.

But she certainly couldn’t sleep.

Instead, in the long hours between midnight and sunrise, Applejack stewed.

She stewed on many things.

On the nature and direction of her friends' relationships to one another, many of them now scattered to the corners of Equestria and leaving Ponyville in their grateful wake.

On Rarity, who seemed to have changed more than Applejack could truly fathom. Or, perhaps, who had not changed at all, and was only becoming a bit looser with the way she was perceived.

And, of course, on the Boutique itself. On the strange visions it housed within its walls.

After many hours of stewing, Applejack reached an inconclusive conclusion: despite the visceral realness of what she had seen and felt the night before, Applejack could offer no proof that it was as real as it felt. She had no pieces of ponnequin to point to, no injuries that weren’t self-inflicted, and no witnesses to back her up on what she’d experienced.

Rarity sat in a very similar position. Nothing but vague questions about seeing things and feeling strange.

All of it could, in reality, be chalked up to a gas leak. Or spiked tap water (all that tea, she knew she’d made a mistake drinking all that tea). Or even the almighty power of suggestion and sleep deprivation.

It could all be in her head.

And, separately, in Rarity’s head.

Just two mares getting old and spooking the living daylights out of one another in a big, empty house.

It wasn’t unheard of.

In fact, the more Applejack considered the possibility, the more she felt herself believing it. She allowed the weight on her chest to lift, slowly but surely, and take a breath of fresh air.

And, as her confidence rose, she would consider looking over her shoulder and into the mirror on the vanity.

Proving to herself that it was all

just

in her head.

She was close a few times.

But she didn't look.

She told herself it was because of Rarity, because the poor mare was so close to her and such a light sleeper that any small disruption would surely wake her up.

And she almost believed that, too.

Funny how Applejack could only ever lie to herself.

Rarity stirred. Her face once again contorted into a look of frustration and of the deepest innocence, the kind only tiny fillies and sleepy grown mares can ever achieve, and she stretched her delicate forehooves out in front of her like a tired barn cat. She rolled her head to one side, the sunlight glittering on her dark lashes as if they were choppy ocean waves.

“Hey,” Applejack whispered. She wanted to reach out to touch Rarity, but she dutifully tucked her hooves under her forelegs. “Mornin’, sugar cube.”

Rarity let out a small groan as her stretch reached its zenith, then relaxed at all once.

Her eyes fluttered open. A brilliant yet delicate blue.

Brilliant yet delicate.

Just like her.

She caught sight of Applejack, and all of that sleepy-softness vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Oh!” She shot upright, her mane a striking arc of violet in the yellow light of the sunshine.

“Whoa, there,” Applejack said softly.

She rolled forward herself, her sweaty back sticking to the silk pillowcases in such a way that made her wince. Rarity kicked away, hind legs swung out to one side, struggling to grip against the sheets. She kept her eyes trained on Applejack's face as she tilted away. Wide with fear.

Applejack drew back. “Hey, now,” she murmured. “Just me. I promise.”

Rarity held a hoof to her chest and looked Applejack up and down. Scrutinizing. Searching for faults or chips in the facade.

“Just me,” Applejack repeated, holding her hooves up in the air. “Just me, Rares.”

Rarity made another small sound of fear and gave a final kick. “Applejack?” she whispered. “You… you stayed?”

“Uh…” A pang of doubt hit Applejack square in the chest. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I guess I… didn’t exactly ask permission.”

“And you’re alright?” Rarity asked, pulling her puffy mane away from her face. “I mean-- well, are you?”

Applejack scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Rarity dropped her hoof back down to the bed. Her eyes flicked over to the mirror, an obvious guilt in the way she tried to hide it behind her own dismissive sound. “Of course. Of course, right,” she said, her tone light and airy. “Just… nightmares. I always have nightmares when I sleep in a new place. And it’s been an awfully long time since you spent the night here, hasn’t it?”

Applejack didn’t really respond to that. Just made a low grunt without any meaning in particular.

The sheets rushed under Rarity’s hooves as she rearranged herself into a more ladylike position. “Be a dear, Applejack, and get my brush out from the bedside table?” she asked softly. “I feel like a teddy bear with a split seam.”

Or a ponnequin.

Applejack pushed the thought out of her mind and rolled onto her side. She pulled the bedside table drawer out, glancing over the key she had used to frantically lock the door just hours earlier, and gently lifted the wire manebrush.

She passed it to her friend, who took it in one uncertain hoof. “Thank you.”

Rarity stared down at the object for a moment longer than Applejack expected, then lifted it to pull it tentatively through the very end of her mane.

It caught.

It pulled, lopsided and angry, through those beautiful violet waves.

“You’re not usin’ your magic?” Applejack observed.

“Mm.” Rarity tore through the remainder of her mane. “Headaches, you know.”

Applejack said nothing to that, only furrowed her brows a little closer together and watched as her friend struggled to do what she had done every day, her entire life. It was a truly vulnerable sort of helplessness, Applejack thought. Not just to be without, but to have something taken away.

“Hey,” Applejack said, tapping Rarity on the shoulder.

Rarity’s shoulders flew up to her ears.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Applejack shook her head. “Why don’t you let me? I did Applebloom’s mane for years. I promise I’m gentle.”

She held out her hoof for the brush.

At first, Rarity drew the brush closer to her chest. She looked at Applejack’s offered hoof with apprehension, bordering on fear.

“It’s no big deal,” Applejack said. “I just wanna help out.”

Slowly, hesitatingly, Rarity presented the brush to her friend. Applejack took it gently.

“There y’are,” she murmured. “I can’t promise it’ll look as good as it usually does, but it’ll be a heck of a lot more comfortable.”

Rarity laughed softly. A sparkling sound, like moonlight in a puddle of rainwater.

“Spin ‘round,” Applejack instructed, twirling the brush in a circle.

Rarity obliged.

In truth, it had been many years since Applejack had done Applebloom’s mane. More than she would care to count. But the memory of the motion was still there, that easy pull of the brush, always willing to pause at the tangles and pick through them rather than tear the knots away. Pulling lovingly through those thick ruby waves and tugging them back into a pigtail, tied with a ribbon.

These waves, however, were silkier. An impressive volume made up of the tiniest hairs, like spider silk, which floated of their own accord. They didn’t have their usual fancy perfume scent, nor did they have that brilliant shine from that lengthy care routine, but they were beautiful nonetheless.

They smelled like Rarity, in the truest sense. Not the smell which Rarity wished to associate herself with, not the one she bought in a bottle and drenched herself with, but that most natural of musks that wafted from each wispy hair on her head.

And they looked like Rarity, too. Rarity as she existed when nopony was looking-- or, rather, how she dared to be when the right pony was looking.

Applejack pawed through her friend’s mane with one wide hoof, following the smooth train of the brush. It was like water. Like cream, even. A smoothness which clung to her as she trailed her hoof along its surface.

Rarity stayed silent.

She closed her eyes and allowed her head to be drawn in the direction of Applejack’s gentle strokes. Though Applejack couldn’t see her face, she imagined that the battered unicorn was smiling.

Which is why the equally-battered earth pony held her tongue so long.

There was a peacefulness at last in the Carousel Boutique, and to disrupt that felt like a sin.

But it couldn’t last.

And perhaps now, when Rarity’s mind was clear and her heart was calm, might be the best time.

“I think we oughta talk about what happened,” Applejack said at last.

Rarity stiffened. “Um… about last night?” she suggested.

“About… everything,” Applejack admitted. She pulled the brush through again, slow and deliberate. “I’ve just got the feeling there’s some things you haven’t told me.”

“Well, I--”

“And if it ain’t my business, it ain’t my business,” Applejack said quickly. “But I wanna help you, sugar cube. I don’t want you to feel alone in… whatever it is you’re going through.”

Rarity tensed even more. “That’s… that’s very kind of you, Applejack.”

Applejack shook her head. “Ain’t all that. Friends are s’posed to be there for one another.”

“Twilight would be proud,” Rarity commented, half-sarcastic, half-serious.

“So… that mean you’re gonna talk to me about what’s goin’ on?” Applejack asked. “Because I know somethin’ is.”

“Ah, yes.” Rarity cast a glance over her shoulder at her friend. “Applejack, the equine lie detector. Even the whitest, sweetest, most harmless little things can’t sneak by you, can they?”

Applejack snorted. “If you’re referring to you, you get plenty by me,” she said. “But only ‘cause I letcha.”

“Oh, you’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Rarity grumbled.

“If you’re referrin’ to white lies, on the other hoof--” Applejack paused, reaching forward to cup her hoof under Rarity’s chin and gently turning her to look over her own shoulder. “--this ain’t what I call harmless.”

Applejack had, the previous night, mopped away the dried blood dripping from beneath Rarity’s nostril. It had taken some doing, too, as she’d been blubbering and sobbing for the entire process. Despite her clean fur, though, the bridge of Rarity’s snout was still stained a blotchy brown-green by the bruise forming on her perfect skin.

Rarity looked into Applejack’s eyes for only a moment, then pulled out of her grasp. “Applejack, please, I told you--”

“A lie,” Applejack said simply. “You told me a lie. Now, I ain’t mad about it. I’m certain you had a good reason-- or at least what felt like a good reason at the time.”

Rarity sighed and hung her head.

“But I’m askin’ you now,” Applejack said softly, her hoof drifting to land on Rarity’s withers, “to tell me the truth. The whole truth.”

Rarity remained motionless.

As much as Applejack wanted to speak, to reassure Rarity, to take back her demand for proof… she held her tongue. She waited patiently for Rarity to center herself, and to quickly and desperately fill the silence with her own outburst.

“Oh, Applejack…” she hummed, almost condescending. She sniffled and ran a hoof under one eye. “Can we just go back to the banter? That was so much more fun.”

Applejack sighed. She didn’t say anything.

“Look, I--” Rarity paused, then spun around to face her friend. “It’s not that I don’t want your help. Or your support. Believe me when I say that it’s… it’s the only thing I want.”

Her eyes drifted

over Applejack’s shoulder

and back to the mirror.

She swallowed hard, her skin tight around her throat.

Then she flicked back. “I don’t want you to think differently of me,” she whispered, barely audible. “I haven’t… I haven’t been myself of late. And I’d hate to think that the price I pay for your support includes my dignity.”

Applejack cocked her head. “I don’t--”

“I know you’ve seen me through a lot, darling,” Rarity continued, hanging her head, “but I have to be honest with you: I’ve never… what I mean is, I don’t…”

Her head drooped even lower, and Applejack could hear the beginnings of another crying jag sputtering up in her chest.

“I’ve never lost sight of myself like this, Applejack,” she squeaked out.

And the crying began again.

This was lesser, if only because Rarity must have been so utterly and completely dehydrated that there were few places from which she could squeeze another tear. She shuddered like an autumn leaf caught in a winter wind, her mane slipping down from her shoulders and hanging in great violet curtains on either side of her head. Like blinders.

“Hey, now.” Applejack reached out with one tentative hoof and tucked Rarity’s mane back behind her ear. Rarity cringed at the touch, but Applejack held steady. “That don’t mean she’s gone.”

Rarity sniffled and wiped at her snout with one hoof. “Who?” she asked.

“You,” Applejack said. She ran her hoof down Rarity’s jaw, stopping under her chin. Rarity anticipated, and Applejack found that she hardly had to lift at all until Rarity was looking her in the eye. “You said you lost sight of yourself. Lost ain’t the same as gone.”

For a moment, the mares held that fragile eye contact, staring into one another deeply and powerfully. Rarity’s eyes shimmered with tears cried and uncried, and Applejack did her best to look past the sadness to the mare within.

Terrified though she was, the real Rarity was still there. She had to be.

She scoffed lightly, pushing away Applejack’s hoof. “Oh, what do you know?” she muttered. Not nearly as accusatory as it was helpless.

“I know plenty,” Applejack said. She retained a honey warmth in her voice even now, as her friend batted her away at every turn. “And the first thing I know is that you’ve got to talk things through. ‘Specially when they’re bad.”

Rarity sniffled again.

“I understand if it’s been confusion’ lately, but I need you to try to talk to me,” Applejack said sternly. “Because, like it or not, there’s somethin’ goin’ on in this house. I dunno if it’s stress, or… or ghosts, or a curse, or what have you, but it is dangerous, and I need to understand where it came from.”

Silence, still.

Rarity kept her head hung low, staring down at her own hooves, guarded thoroughly from Applejack’s knowing gaze. She withdrew into her own mane in a way that reminded Applejack of their dear friend Fluttershy, though she hadn’t even seen Fluttershy behave this way in years.

Applejack let out a tense sigh. She pulled back from Rarity entirely, putting a good amount of space between the two of them and leaning away at a wide angle.

“Look,” she said. “Normally this kinda thing would be a… y’know, a group effort. I’d call up Twilight and have her magic things up, or we’d have Rainbow Dash kick down doors and beat the livin’ daylights out of whatever was hidin’ in here. But right now it’s you and me. And we need to work together.”

Rarity sighed. “I know.”

Applejack was taken aback, though she hid it well. She waited quietly for Rarity to continue.

Rarity, ever the showmare, flipped her mane over her shoulder with a deft flick of her head. Her face was exposed to the early morning sunlight pouring in the window as she wiped away the last of the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“You know how I tend to draw a crowd, Applejack,” she began, fluttering her eyes to clear away the remaining tears. “I’ve always found myself at the center of attention. Ever since I was a foal.”

Applejack nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“I don’t resent it in the least, if that’s what that face is for,” Rarity scolded.

Applejack found that she had, in fact, been making a face. “Sorry. Can’t imagine livin’ like that myself, t’be honest. Sounds like my worst nightmare.”

“It is what it is,” Rarity said, with a practiced shrug. “The only problem with being surrounded with attention is that… Well, eventually attention runs out. And loneliness becomes much harder to deal with when you’ve never even been alone.”

She said it quickly. Breathily. As if she found it difficult, even now, to admit to being lonely.

Applejack couldn’t quite understand her resistance to sharing. It wasn’t like it hadn’t been obvious from the start. Hay, she was right now sitting at the center of her sweat-stained depression sheets.

But Applejack only nodded. “I can see where that would be, uh… challenging.”

Rarity cocked an eyebrow in Applejack’s direction. “Darling, if you’re going to keep me company, you may as well act like yourself.”

That made Applejack smirk, just the tiniest bit. “Sorry.”

“What I’m trying to say is that… well, first the girls trickled out one by one,” Rarity said, waving her hoof in the air. “Then Opal died. Then Sweetie Belle moved out to school with her friends. It hasn’t been good for me. I… I haven’t handled it well.”

She made a strange face.

She shuffled her hooves, fidgeted with them like a grade-school foal caught doing something wrong.

“Okay…” Applejack said, looking her friend up and down. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Rarity paused.

She looked down at the mattress, running her hoof in a circle over the yellowed sheets, watching it ripple behind her touch. Pressing harder, hard enough until a wake formed in the path of her hoof.

Thinking.

She made a small sound, something exasperated and scared and relieved, and tucked her hoof back in amongst her others.

Rarity opened her mouth

and a loud sound--

WHAM!

--cut her off.

Coming from the bedroom door.

Like a bowling ball against the wood of it.

The mares flew apart from one another in terror, heads turned towards the door.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Did you hear that?

Am I imagining things?

Are we just spooking each other?

Could it be--

WHAM!

Rarity screamed, shaky hooves flying to her mouth. It was difficult to tell when Rarity went pale, being as light as a china doll, but Applejack could see the life drain from her eyes as the creamy tone of her skin left her face.

She was looking into the mirror.

The mirror which, having endured the blows from the monster on the other side, stuck out at an odd angle. Hung forward a bit from its anchor point on the vanity.

It was angled away from Applejack.

Against her better judgement, she scrambled across the mattress towards Rarity, placing herself between the intruder and her friend.

In the mirror.

Herself

clutching Rarity

to her chest

like a bear defending its kill.

The Applejack in the mirror looked blue. Blue from deep under the ice. And she had an intensity in her eyes that was so strong, so utterly cold and baleful and malicious, that Applejack

the real Applejack

was paralyzed.

They stared into one another.

Rarity quaked, unable to make a sound.

And then

slowly

both Applejacks rolled their heads back.

The Applejack in the mirror did so silently, maintaining eye contact with her double until it was no longer possible.

The real Applejack found that her head tipped back through a force all its own. She couldn't even fight it, couldn't tip it back forwards, could only cry out in fear and confusion as her eyes danced over the ceiling tiles, trying to glimpse Rarity, trying to regain control.

"A-Applejack?" Rarity breathed.

She grabbed her friend's leg and shook it.

Applejack made a wordless sound, like the babble of a small foal.

Her head rolled back.

"Applejack, stop it!" Rarity ordered, the fear in her voice turning it to a shrill and fractured scream. "Stop it, you're scaring me! Stop it!"

She stopped.

They stopped.

Paused.

Frozen.

And then, like a singular battering ram, like a machine, like a puppet, like a little marionette on greased metal hinges

they swung their heads forward--

WHAM!

--into the door.

Applejack swore. She let loose all of her breath in one single syllable.

Rarity screamed.

A real scream.

Beyond bad horror movies, beyond excited fans, beyond even the howl of a sorrowful widow.

A sound which unzipped Applejack's soul, even as unimaginable pain bloomed in her head.

As blood dripped down her forehead.

As she saw stars explode in the fringes of her vision.

Applejack wobbled and collapsed to her side, leaning heavily into Rarity’s shoulder with almost her full weight. Though she could feel Rarity struggling to squirm out from under her, even sense the ragged sharpness of her breath, she could not lift herself.

Her head drew back once more.

Fast.

She murmured something--something incoherent, even to herself--before her head snapped forward again and--

WHAM!

Applejack fought to open her eyes, and saw that her reflection’s head was pressed against the inside of the glass, a web of cracks radiating out from the place where she pressed forward.

Cracks on the mirror.

Cracks in her skin.

Split. Breaking open. Bleeding out.

Bleeding--

Again her head snapped back, then forward into the--

WHAM!

This time, the whiplash hurt the worst. Her head was going numb.

The vanity wobbled and swayed, and Rarity was saying something. Or maybe she was just making noise. And heaving.

With all her strength, she was shoving Applejack off of her. And yelling. Wordlessly. Only sound. Broken sound, breaking sound, bleeding sound--

Applejack flopped over

like a doll

like a ponnequin

like a corpse

and then she was being pulled, even as--

WHAM!

--even as the barrage continued, even as Applejack--

as the Applejacks

--pounded to get in.

To get out.

To get--

WHAM!

To get.

Applejack felt a cold blanket surround her. Something which tingled and bubbled and fizzed like soda, like champagne, like the needles of freezing cold water pricking her along her entire body. She was certain that this was the ice at last, that she was going to die, that she was somehow haunting and hunting and hurting herself all along.

Was that possible?

Rarity shouting again.

Rhythmically, as Applejack was tugged across the floor.

And suddenly she was on the high seas--the freezing, terrible high seas--and Rarity and the mares were shouting HEAVE! and the ship was pitching and tossing and her neck and her head and--

WHAM!

--and the wood of the deck creaked and groaned, and she felt so sick, so seasick, like she was going to vomit, like she was going to stumble right over the edge and into the deep icy blue-black blue-white blue of the churning ocean below and--

WHAM!

--and above her a goddess. A siren, perhaps. A merpony, a maiden from the sea, dragging her to shore.

A screaming goddess.

Her eyes screwed shut. Her horn aflare, her mouth agape, her face contorted in concentration and in terror and in anger, such anger! Such righteous fury from the ocean goddess!

Applejack tried to see her.

She felt that her own mouth was hanging open, and yet couldn’t close it of her own accord.

It was coming back, now.

No ocean. Only the sparkling waters of Rarity’s magic.

No ship. Only the howling of the vanity across the wood floor.

No siren.

Only Rarity.

Applejack’s own blood stained her white coat. Her perfect white coat, now a coppery brown. And she bellowed her frustration into Applejack’s own chest, gifting the blood back, spreading the stain.

The pain was lessening.

Applejack felt a twinge at the back of her neck. A twitch, as if it wished to snap backwards.

But she could fight it, now.

“I’m sorry!”

That’s what Rarity was saying.

Blubbering. Barely understood at her pitch and her volume and with the foam gathering in her mouth and the mucus gobbing up her throat.

Over and over.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept saying, rubbing her face deeper into Applejack’s chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Applejack made a sound. A little sound, like the strangled breath of a sick foal.

Rarity gasped and pulled away from her friend. Her face was streaked with everything from blood to tears to snot, and yet she seemed more like herself than Applejack had seen her these past few days combined.

Few days.

Applejack made another sound, just as meaningless, and tried to hold Rarity’s gaze in her own.

She was fuzzy, though. Like a mirage, or a bad photo.

“We have to go,” Rarity said firmly.

And Applejack was whisked off the floor. Like it was nothing.

Placed over Rarity’s back like cargo, supported entirely by that strong, blue cloud.

“Don’t move,” she ordered.

And Applejack couldn’t help but oblige her.

Her eyes drifted closed, and she was back on the ship. Jostled by the tide, splashed by the spray, pushing through tight crowds of crew members who felt so…

Soft was the wrong word.

They had give. Like marionettes wearing clothes, nothing between the fabric and the skeleton.

And they didn’t move for her.

They just stood there, stiffly watching as the ship was taken down in a storm.

And then she was descending.

Down to the hold.

It was colder here. Darker. Musty-smelling and muffled.

The hold.

With the cargo. With the stowaways. With the prisoners in the brig.

Rarity placed her friend on the stone floor of her basement.

She did so with as much care as she could muster, though her magic was weak and clumsy.

Distracted, one might say.

But here, in the cool and quiet darkness, Rarity found her focus returning to her. Even as she gazed down upon her friend, limp and nearly lifeless, bleeding profusely without a wound in sight… she found her focus.

She closed her eyes and shut out Applejack’s labored breaths.

She focused on the web.

On the thoughts that think themselves.

And here, in her basement, with all of her willpower, she was finally able to cast them out.

Like the flick of a switch, Applejack roared back to life.

She breathed in loudly, harshly and deeply, as if she’d been held underwater and finally granted a lungful of fresh air. Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilating wildly to adjust to the sudden darkness. Though blood still trickled down her forehead, it seemed to come from nowhere at all.

Applejack’s eyes landed on Rarity.

And Rarity, wasting no time, dove in to embrace her friend tightly and completely around her middle.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m sorry!”

Applejack, still looking a bit dazed, took a moment to return the hug.

Rarity buried her face in the soft fur on Applejack’s chest. “I’m so sorry. Oh, Applejack, I’m so sorry.”

Words said so quickly they had already lost their meaning.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for,” Applejack whispered. “This is just some-- well, I dunno what it is, but we’re gonna fix it, y’hear?”

“I’m sorry,” Rarity whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“You listenin’?” Applejack asked, pulling Rarity’s mane away from her face. “I said it ain’t your fault, so quit it with the sorries.”

Rarity looked up at her friend.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Only stared up into Applejack’s face--her kind, strong face, covered in a beautiful spray of freckles and somehow still gentle with blood trickling through her fur--with wide eyes. Memorizing. Taking in every detail.

“What?” Applejack asked softly.

“Applejack…” Rarity murmured. “It… it’s my fault.”

And Applejack, honest Applejack, knew that was the truth.

Part V

Rarity sat down at her kitchen table, a stack of mail held in her glittering magic. She knew precisely what she was looking for as she leafed through the towering pile of uninteresting nonsense: postcards and fancy envelopes.

She happened upon the postcard first; a beautiful photograph of the Crystal Empire’s Institute for Future Educators, glittering in the midday sun. She could practically picture Sweetie and her friends there, smiling and waving from within the old dorms, looking brighter and smarter every day.

Rarity hummed to herself as she turned the postcard over.

Rarity -

Just finished unpacking! Applebloom won the coin toss which means Scoots and I are sharing a bunk. I’ve already hung up the twinkly lights you gave me! They look great!

Hope you can visit soon!

Sweetie <3

Rarity smiled. Sweetie’s penmanship was looking more and more like her own; a silly thing, but something she found herself proud of regardless.

She put the postcard aside. She had sworn to herself that any postcards sent to her by her dear sister would be placed on their own wall, separate from the collage of photos and letters and other assorted paraphernalia she had received from her friends.

Satisfied, Rarity returned to her work, sifting through the mail for any news on her applications.

As luck would have it, a rather small but delightfully thick envelope presented itself from the center of the stack. Rarity silently thanked Celestia that Ditzy had managed to get this one to the right place, and tore open the top.

Hello Rarity:

Congratulations! We at Cutting Edge Fashion are pleased to inform you that your work has been accepted to our latest exhibition, “Troubled Waters”.

We ask that each of our designers submit five pieces, three of which must be original works not before released to the public in any way, shape, or form. All of these pieces must relate to our exhibition theme, and must be tailored to the five models you have been assigned (details, contact information, and measurements enclosed within your packet).

Please contact us to let us know you have received this communication, and confirm your place at the exhibition. Your submissions are due ON LOCATION (NOT POSTMARKED) by August 20th. Shipping guidelines are enclosed.

Thank you, and congratulations!

Cutting Edge Fashion Management Team

Rarity sighed.

A happy sigh.

Because there shouldn’t really be any other sort.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Rarity muttered to herself, shaking her head vehemently in the direction of her own work. “No, no. This won’t work at all, will it, Opal?”

She looked up, searching for her cat for a few innocent moments before the memory hit her.

This time, she managed to hold back the mistiness and merely hung her head in shame.

The pieces were… well, they were fine. They were coming together fine. They looked, as far as Rarity could tell, perfectly fine.

Only ‘fine’ wouldn’t exactly cut it for this particular occasion.

The thing which gnawed continuously on Rarity, no matter how much she slaved away adding strategic glimmers of metallic thread or pops of color, was that she had absolutely no idea how such a piece looked when it was moving. It was entirely critical that her pieces look lovely as they strutted down the catwalk, in this show even more so than others.

Those stupid words kept bouncing about in her brain.

“Troubled Waters.”

When she thought them, she thought of deep blue oceans, almost black, sparkling in the sunlight. Of the motion of waters that churned and rippled and rushed over rocks. “Troubled Waters” was motion. It was sparkle. It was dazzle. It was shine.

And yet she could test none of it.

Her friends gone. Her sister gone. Even her little Spikey-wikey, always willing to lend a claw or two, had left.

She thought of Applejack once or twice.

But she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

For a lot of reasons.

Reasons she had been keeping to herself more and more lately.

Nopony left to gossip to.

Nopony to listen as she babbled on about nothing.

And that was fine! That was all fine, she could handle all of it. She was handling all of it. Quite well, in fact.

She just needed somepony to walk about in these stupid dresses.

Rarity used her magic to send a meek breeze over the ponnequin posed before her, watching as the fabric fluttered about its artificial limbs. Close, but… far too quick and erratic. A model’s practiced stride would offer something more rhythmic and smooth. Hopefully graceful and flowing like the waters Rarity so desperately wished to suggest.

She grit her teeth and stepped back. Though she had done so many times, Rarity once again eyed up her creation, bobbing her head in unpredictable directions as if this might bring the piece to life. She only stopped when she felt herself nearly topple over.

With a tendril of blue magic, Rarity reached out and tugged on the hem of the gown, giving it a little bit of a wave motion.

That was closer.

Rarity continued to pull and tug and flap the hem of the gown, hypnotized by the way the satin moved at her touch.

And it was about then that Rarity had the idea.

An innocent one, as so many tremendous ideas begin. A moment of necessity bringing the gift of invention.

She withdrew her magic from the gown and held it up to her face. While she used her magic quite frequently in her work, it had been a long time since she really considered it. Perhaps she was afraid of the yips.

The thin wisp of magic wavered slightly of its own accord, dancing like the flame of a candle in the air before Rarity’s face.

With one hesitant hoof, she reached up and poked it.

Solid.

As she had suspected.

Rarity did not allow an early success to distract her, however. She ran her hoof over every glittering surface of the immaterial--and yet, so strangely material--thing before her. It reacted to her touch, not unlike molasses in the way it allowed some small passage, and floated about like some mysterious sea creature. Some mindless clump of matter which, distant as it was from equine life, still maintained itself in this world.

Still existed. All on its own.

Rarity closed her eyes. She kept her mind focused on that shimmering creature and, in her imagination, allowed it to expand. More than a thin, twig-like tentacle. Something closer to a hoof. A leg, even. Thicker and weightier and just as solid.

She dug her hooves into the hardwood and called forth more magic, as much as she could muster. Her mind wandered momentarily to Twilight, to her inarguable prowess and uncanny ability to summon magic without physical or mental effort.

But it did not linger.

She focused herself on the shape, the form, the solidity of the thing in the air.

Connected to her, and yet not.

Real, and yet not.

Living, and yet not.

She opened her eyes.

There, before her, floated a leg.

Or something close to a leg, at least. At most, it was an approximation; the right shape, the right size. Very little detail to speak of, and an uncertainty in its edges that put Rarity in mind of a mirage. All an effervescent blue, as if she had stuck her own forehoof into a freezing stream and was gazing at it through the rushing waters on the surface.

It took most of her concentration to keep it there. But it was there. Hanging in the air, shimmering and sparkling and--

She reached out to touch it.

--and oh so solid.

Rarity’s eyes lit up. She could only imagine what Twilight might say if she had seen such a feat-- and from Rarity, of all ponies. Her jaw would drop. She would ask a thousand questions. She would be so proud of her.

Wasting no more time, Rarity trotted back up to the gown, the leg hanging dumbly in the air before her. She gently, slowly slipped it under the gown with a fair bit of concentration and effort-- it seemed to fade in and out of existence as Rarity's concentration shifted from form to motion.

Nevertheless, she felt it lock with the ponnequin. Almost clicking into place, right where the joint was meant to be.

She felt a rush of certainty.

She gave it a kick.

The gown fluttered around it, shimmering like the surface of a lake. Tiny flecks of white and yellow and cyan caught the light and sparked like stuck matches, all against the many shifting layers of deep blue tulle and satin which composed the skirt.

Rarity let out a gasp of surprise and excitement, and her own eyes sparkled in reply.

And the leg dissipated. Just like that-- a little excitement, a little distraction, and poof. Gone.

The gown settled. Like a ripple, the effect of the artificial limb seemed to echo, then fade, and finally disappear.

But that was okay.

Rarity would practice.

She would get better.

She had the solution.

The limbs were useful for many things, Rarity found.

She had to develop all of them. Forelegs, hindlegs, wings… she even worked out a neck to adjust collars and a head to carry tiaras and veils. Simple things, really. No more alive than sculpted clay or carved marionettes dancing on strings.

Despite the increasing certainty of their form and function, Rarity found that the limbs often drained her of her energy quite thoroughly. She was beginning to understand the 24-hour bite-sized comas that Twilight often fell into after her more experimental spells.

But she practiced. She practiced while she ate her breakfast, while she waited for the kettle to whistle, while she counted away the minutes before her curlers came out.

And they were good for the things she designed them to handle.

But they were good for other things, as well.

The first thing she tried, funnily enough, was washing the dishes. She hated plunging her hooves into that grimy water, but she’d never been able to get much scrubbing power behind her wispy magic. The hooves, though, were large enough and strong enough to make quick work of it.

After that, Rarity started using the limbs for a great many household tasks. Everything from dusting to mopping to preparing food was made twice as easy with the help of her magical doppelganger. The more things she practiced, the more her ability to multitask skyrocketed-- soon enough, she was preparing tea while reading the morning paper at her kitchen table, not lifting a hoof of her own or even looking in the direction of the blue limbs.

From the kitchen, it was an easy enough transition to working on her pieces with the artificial limbs. Sewing two dresses at once, measuring while she cut, pinning and hemming and trimming and stitching all in one great dance, one great swirl of fabric and creativity.

It spiraled out from there, as one might imagine.

Rarity began to use the limbs for everything. Just to try it out. Just to stretch her muscles and get better. She used them in her mane care routine, to scrub her own back in the shower, to work out the knots in her neck from hunching over the sewing machine.

She was abuzz with activity.

With productivity.

A one-mare team.

A one-mare army, in fact.

Of course, the magic was not without its price. While Rarity found herself getting more and more done during the day, she could hardly manage to get herself to bed before collapsing. Her eyelids drooped as the sun went down. She often found herself fighting off headaches.

Nothing she couldn't handle, of course.

This was Rarity! Smart, hard-working, always keeping her chin up.

Or so she told herself.

Rarity practiced for hours upon hours.

She heard tales from her sister at school, learning to be an educator. Preparing for a career.

And she stayed here, in Ponyville, practicing.

Days turned to weeks.

Fluttershy was engaged to Discord. Rarity attended the wedding, all of her focus on her horn, keeping those limbs from wandering about the venue of their own accord.

And she went home to Ponyville. To practice.

Weeks turned to months.

Pinkie Pie was pregnant with her first foal. Hard to believe, perhaps, that she was the first to become a mother, but Rarity made homemade blankets and hats and booties and jumpers for the baby shower anyway.

To practice.

And so it went. Her friends long gone, entrenched in lives and loves and homes beyond Ponyville. Rarity stayed, too busy for love, too tired to visit, too afraid to move.

The night things changed wasn't unlike all of the nights that came before it.

It was quiet.

It was still.

It was lonely.

Rarity drug herself up the stairs to her room, her hooves like hunks of lead in burlap sacks. The house was quiet enough that, even over the creaking of the stairs, she could hear the constant drone of summer insects behind the curved walls.

It was hardly even late. Perhaps seven or eight o'clock at night, the sun having only just dipped below the horizon. And yet Rarity felt as if she'd made it well past midnight. She could hardly even keep her eyes open as she rounded the corner and wandered slowly to her bedroom, relying entirely on muscle memory to take her there.

She sighed, gentle and mournful, as she eased herself down to her mattress. The sheets were cold. It should have been satisfying, a chill before her own warmth began to soak into them, but Rarity hardly found comfort between those sheets these days. She tried not to think about the way their color had turned from a crisp, pure white to a murky yellow. She tried not to think about the musty smell which rose from them as they settled around her.

But it was impossible.

She was alone.

More than that, she was lonely.

Rarity twisted her hooves into the sheets and pulled them up to her chin. Not satisfied, she pawed at her pillow, trying to get one into her grasp which might remind her of her beloved cat. Or her sister, when she was tiny and hated sleeping alone.

Or anypony, really.

Frustrated, mane tangled, Rarity called upon her magical limbs to help her dislodge the pillow from under her head. With one tug, the pillow popped free, and Rarity opened her legs wide to accept it.

The limbs dropped it into her waiting grasp, and hovered above her a moment. Like a ghost. Or, rather, like pieces of a ghost.

Rarity clutched the pillow tight to her chest with all four hooves. She rubbed her cheek against it lovingly, as if it were something alive and wanting affection.

All the while, though, she stared up at the limbs above her.

They looked down at her almost quizzically. Rarity could see the head fighting to appear, fizzling in and out of existence as Rarity's focus wandered. They floated on little clouds of blue fog, all of it humming and sparkling gently, just like the insects outside.

It reminded her of those old illustrations in A Hearth's Warming Tail. The ghosts which floated about, mysterious and transparent and fading off into the ether.

Rarity hugged the pillow tighter.

The head, which had no eyes and yet seemed to be looking at her, cocked curiously to one side.

Rarity wanted to look away. But she couldn't.

She stared up at it for a long time, as the thing became more and more corporeal. A neck curving down from the back of the head, the hooves climbing upwards like tree trunks, desperate to join one another in a strong barrel.

It was about then, with the thing gazing down at her, featureless yet frowning, that Rarity had the idea.

She started by closing her eyes.

Not in fear, but in trust. A gentle thing which relaxed her face. The whole of her form, really.

Rarity, concentrating hard on her sense of control, began to draw the limbs in towards her. As if for a gentle embrace, a calming, comforting thing. As if to hold her creation and whisper softly in its ear that everything would be alright. That they were not alone. That they had each other.

One limb brushes against her side.

It sparkled against her skin. Not in look, but in feel-- in the way it fizzed, warm and magical as sunlight glinting off snow. It pressed into her shoulder with the strength of a songbird. Nothing more than a tiny creature perched delicately on her, fluffing itself up, gazing into her sleeping face.

Rarity let out a small sigh. It reminded her of Opal. The way her beloved cat would climb up onto her bed, press her front paws into Rarity's side, and mew forlornly until she was given a nuzzle and a kiss.

As Rarity's body relaxed, the being moved in closer.

Its chest--wide and strong and warm with the glimmering--pressed against her back. Its legs wrapped around her barrel and squeezed ever so gently, so that Rarity only had the sensation of somepony there.

Her mind flashed back to a dozen one-night stands. Nights of short-lived ecstasy which culminated in this: a misguided ownership, a certainty in her temporary partner that this was the beginning, and not the end. Each time those hooves wrapped around her, drew her close, tried to savor the scent of her mane and the feel of her fur.

Rarity always turned away.

How she wished she hadn't.

How she longed for permanence in partnership, even if it was imperfect.

A fair few had nuzzled her, right along her jaw, and whispered into her ear:

I love you, Rarity.

And, in the sparkling figure which curled about her now, Rarity heard the echoes of all these long-abandoned flings. All these voices which, hidden in their sleepy coos, held a certainty that they would dine with Rarity in the morning. That they would share tea and muffins and smile coyly across the table at one another in the morning light.

The being pulled Rarity in closer, and she felt the way its solidity increased as it tugged her over the sheets. She could feel its touch run up along her neck, light and gentle and sparkling, and land safely beside her ear.

I love you, it whispered, in the voices of loves long gone. I love you, Rarity.

Rarity burrowed into her pillow. The being followed her lead, keeping close.

I'll protect you, it said. I'll keep you safe. I love you.

It twisted her up.

In her stomach. The very pit of it. Something twisted, boring a great, lead screw into her, making her feel heavy and confused and flushed and guilty.

But the being embraced her.

And she wasn't quite so lonely anymore.

And so, despite the way her stomach clenched, Rarity smiled into her pillow. She allowed the being to draw in closer, tighter, and relished in the effervescent feeling which popped along her skin.

That night, Rarity fell asleep wrapped in her own tight embrace.

Alone.

But not lonely.

Practice makes perfect.

Rarity knew this, and yet she practiced a great many things she hadn't intended to be perfect at.

The limbs evolved, as rogue thoughts are wont to do. What had begun as a utilitarian invention had taken on more and more frivolous characteristics: a sturdy barrel, a defined snout, more precise shapes and tapers and motion practically learning itself.

Rarity quickly took to calling the being 'love' in her own mind. Occasionally out loud. She could never quite figure out when it went from an 'it' to a 'love', but the pet name felt good on her tongue.

What had begun as a faceless thing began to develop what might be called a personality. A sense of humor. Through its body language and the small contortions of its minimal facial features, Rarity found that Love could communicate concern, warmth, distress, and even a sort of cheekiness which might be called humor. Not unlike when a pet seems to master nonverbal comedic timing, Love would trot itself about the room while Rarity working, peeking in at inopportune times, looking for attention and ways to help its creator.

Rarity did her best to ignore the thing most of the time. During the day, Love was nothing more than a silent assistant, fetching her things from other rooms and acting as a shelf for the things Rarity couldn't find a more suitable surface. She felt justified in ignoring Love, because Love was made to be ignored.

Except, of course, at night. When Rarity would climb under the covers, toss and turn in futility for an hour or two, only to summon Love to hold her until she drifted off to sleep. In these times, Rarity could think of little else. The feel of her magical partner, of her ghost, filled every corner of her mind.

And yet, the screw turned deeper into her gut.

Rarity convinced herself that it was harmless. Her own thoughts run amok, projected back to her in a form that was easy to understand. A way to cope, to comfort herself in times of need, to feel less lonely.

A mirror, if you will. A reflection of the feelings she herself didn't know how to express.

Rarity kept practicing.

She didn't think of it as practicing, but it was.

She was practicing being two things at once. Breaking off a hunk of her subconscious and puppeting it about the room. Those parts of herself that had not seen the light of day in many moons--her humor, her happiness, her passion, her creativity--were all placed into that sparkling vessel.

And Rarity was left with nothing.

Empty.

A shell.

A husk.

And she was getting very good at it.

Rarity sat at the kitchen table alone.

Love bustled about behind her, fixing a meal and tea and scrubbing up the dishes without a fuss.

The sun was coming up. Great, wide rays of jovial orange exploding from behind the tower of city hall, illuminating Rarity's kitchen in the warm glow of morning. She watched as the sunlight, peachy and soft, reached out into the violet remains of night, grasping in vain at those final wisps of shimmering indigo and flecks of stars.

It was then that the thought first occurred to Rarity:

When was the last time I visited Applejack?

Applejack, of course, had stayed in Ponyville. Oh, she'd done a brief stint as a traveling salespony, selling jams and jellies on the road, but she had always settled back at Sweet Apple Acres. That was her home, the place she always circled.

Like a homing pigeon.

Like water around the drain.

And, despite knowing with a great certainty that Applejack was here, Rarity could not recall the last time she had visited.

The last time the two had been alone together at all, in fact.

Rarity frowned as dawn gave way to morning. She wondered how she could have forgotten such a simple thing. How she could have neglected the one friend who stayed so close.

She wondered, quite briefly, if her loneliness might be self-inflicted.

But there came a sudden and mighty splash, the sound of water splattering across the kitchen tile, and the stumbling hoofsteps of Love.

Rarity whirled about.

Love stood in the middle of the kitchen. It was holding a plate and staring at it, head cocked quizzically to one side.

"What in Equestria is…" Rarity muttered, climbing out of her chair.

She knew immediately that the plate wasn't hers. It was far too thick and heavy, made not for looks but for strength. Made to be dropped and bashed about, handled without an ounce of care or even a spare thought. It was also an ugly, off-white--one which Rarity never would have chosen for herself--with a forest green band around the outer edge.

The band gave it away.

Applejack’s.

She recognized it from one of many meals in the Apple family kitchen-- heavy dinerware, built to last, all with that band of forest green.

As clear as the memory was, Rarity could never recall those dishes passing through her own kitchen. She certainly couldn’t think of a place one may have been lurking these past few months.

Or was it years?

Weeks?

“Where did you get this?” Rarity asked.

Love said nothing.

“This is Applejack’s, isn’t it?” Rarity pressed. “How did you get this?”

Love remained perfectly still. Perfectly silent. Only tinkling like the music of distant wind chimes.

Rarity pulled the plate out of Love’s hooves without much of a fight. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she stared down at it, wondering how such a thing might have gotten here and, more pressingly, what she might say if she were caught with it.

Finding no answers, Rarity scuttled over to the dish rack and placed the plate upon it to dry. She would make up some lie later-- something about a potluck or a picnic and an abandoned side dish. Surely Applejack didn’t keep count of her plates.

Surely there was a reason she had this. An innocent one.

Rarity pushed the guilt out of her mind and returned to the kitchen table, feeling drained before her day had even begun. “Enough dishwashing, Love,” she murmured, one hoof to her head. “Could you just bring me some food?”

Love did not reply, but Rarity heard the wet sucking sound of the stopper being pulled out from the drain, and the long rushing of water spinning down it.

Water circling the drain.

Rarity felt her eyes droop shut as Love got back to work. She held her head propped up on one hoof, watching Ponyville come to life through narrow cracks between her eyelids.

She felt herself take one long blink.

Eyes closed. Consciousness fading.

There came a sound, something soft and yet insistent. A rapping at the door which jolted Rarity awake, if only for an instant.

She thought about going to answer it, but her eyes slipped shut once more.

She thought about the steps to the door.

About the way she might peer through the windows at her visitor as she lifted her hoof to--

“Wait!” Rarity said, though the power of it was sucked out by her drowsiness.

Love stood by the door. Hoof raised. Looking out at whomever must be standing on her front steps.

Rarity leapt out of her chair and stumbled to the door, her hooves clattering over the kitchen tile in a confused dance-- or perhaps a lengthy fall. Love, to its credit, did not move an inch more, and allowed Rarity to push it out of the way as she reached for the handle.

The door opened with a hiss-pop, and the fresh air of the summer flowed over Rarity. She squinted and shielded her eyes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of her visitor.

“Rarity! By Celestia, how long has it been?”

That voice.

Like honey dripping off a spoon, like the warm hum of cicadas in the summer breeze, like the soft crooning of a hound dog from the porch--

“Applejack?” Rarity whispered.

The sun glinted over her shoulder, illuminating her entire form in a golden glow that seemed to radiate out from her very core. Though many of the mare’s finer details--the freckles like a spray of stars across her cheeks, the crinkles at the corners of her friendly green eyes, the way the fur on her chest faded to a delicate eggshell white--were lost to the light of the sun, Rarity could still see the warm smile and the uneven dimples which graced her dear friend’s face.

In that moment, Rarity wanted nothing more than to leap into Applejack’s embrace and be carried away from this lonely place.

She pulled the door open a little more, and poked her head out into the sunlight.

Applejack’s face crumpled a bit. Almost invisibly. But that tightening of her brow, the weakening of her grin, and the sudden change in her eyes spoke volumes.

“Eeyup!” she replied, without a dip in cheer. “I was just thinkin': it's been a while since you and I had some quality time together.”

But Rarity hardly heard it. She only felt the sudden weight of her own magic on her back. Bearing down in a manner that bordered on the aggressive. She cocked her head to one side, intending to look over her shoulder at Love, but stopped herself before she made a move that could not be explained.

"Y'know…" Applejack continued, her enthusiasm waning. "Just us two?"

“Oh,” Rarity said. “Of course.”

The weight did not press down any harder, merely shifted slightly. Reminding her it was there.

"Yeah. Well, anyway, I…" she trailed off. Looked down at the ground. Rarity seized the opportunity to shake her Love off, but to no avail. "I dunno. I thought you might wanna have tea together. This is when you usually have tea, isn't it?"

Rarity nearly answered, before the implication of the question really reached her.

Applejack wanted to come in.

But she couldn’t. Of course she couldn’t! Not before Rarity had had a chance to explain--

The weight eased.

Love seemed to lift off her and slink back to the kitchen, though Rarity could hardly guess as to why.

Thankful for the reprieve, Rarity straightened up. "Oh. Goodness, I, erm…" She paused and looked back over her shoulder, searching for any sign of her companion. "I'm sorry, Applejack, I don't think now is a very good time."

Applejack's brow furrowed in concern. "No offense, Rarity, but if this is about you bein' in your… dressing gown, or what have you, I think I've seen more than my fair share of you un-made-up," she said, forcing her way through the thought as quickly as she could muster. "You don't gotta pretty yourself up. It's just me."

"Oh, I don't know…" Rarity hummed, her gaze once again drifting over her shoulder. Searching for Love.

Where had it gone?

What was it up to?

Then, from around the bend in the wall, Love showed itself.

It looked quite different. Still blue, still sparkling, and still hardly solid-- but with so much more detail. And quite specific detail, as well.

It had a mane, now. Rarity had never given it a mane, but here it stood in her kitchen with a long, straight pigtail tied in a simple band. It had bangs, as well-- simple ones which swooped out from under a familiar stetson rocked back on its head.

Though its eyes were not green, Rarity recognized them instantly. The shrewdness behind them, however, was eerily unfamiliar.

Rarity watched as Love grabbed hold of a chair and tipped it over. It landed with a clatter on the tile.

"Uh… that Opal messin' around in there?" Applejack asked, taking a small step forward and peering over Rarity's head.

Rarity practically jumped out of her skin and pushed the door closed slightly. "Erm-- Opal! It certainly did sound like Opal, didn't it?" she blurted. "Would you, um-- I'll be with you in a moment."

And she slammed the door shut in Applejack's face.

Rarity galloped into the kitchen and skidded to a halt before Love. “Just what do you think you’re doing?!” she demanded.

“She’s going to leave,” Love replied, not in Applejack’s voice but in the voices of a hundred discarded suitors.

“What?” Rarity shook her head. “I… I don’t understand what you--”

“She’s going to leave,” Love repeated. “They always do.”

Rarity’s mouth hung open, though she found nothing to say.

Love stared into her with Applejack’s eyes. “I’ll still be here,” it said. “But she’ll leave. And we can’t have that. She’ll break my poor old heart.”

It drove into Rarity like an icepick, eclipsing the lead screw which still pierced her innards. She couldn’t even put her hoof on why, exactly-- she only knew that the feeling in her stomach soon boiled over into anger. Into rage. Into--

“Get out!” Rarity shouted, pointing harshly out of the kitchen. “Out! I don’t want you in here anymore!”

“She’ll break my heart, Rarity,” it whispered. “My heart’s been broken so many times.”

“Out!” Rarity shrieked. She screwed her eyes shut and willed the thing away, shouting all the while: “Out! Out! Out!”

There is an old thought experiment, the details of which escaped Rarity, though she remembered Twilight tormenting her with its lengthy theory long ago: when trying to suppress a certain thought, one might instead find the thought even more likely to surface.

In other words, when instructed not to think of a pink elephant, it will be hard to think of anything else.

The trick, of course, isn’t in any amount of rigorous mental training. If one does not wish to think of a pink elephant, one must instead think of a red balloon.

Perhaps even many red balloons. Enough to blot out the pink elephant in a sea of shiny rubber.

Rarity kept on shouting, kept on trying to oust the pink elephant from her mind. But it only burrowed deeper, became clearer in her mind’s eye than it ever had before.

And so, being the bright mare that she is, Rarity thought of a red balloon.

Applejack.

Not only Applejack in the kitchen, but Applejack in the entryway. Applejack in every ponnequin. Applejack guarding the stairs. Applejack in her bedroom. Applejack cradling her as she fell to sleep.

She practiced.

She practiced thinking about Applejack.

When Rarity opened her eyes, Love was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen stood empty, without so much as a trace of her misdoings. And she felt a sense of calm and control come over her that she had not felt in a long time.

Rarity sighed in relief and moved to set the chair back up.

She did her best to ignore the face which flashed in her drinking glass.

There are many who deny the pain of loneliness.

Those who do, however, often possess an incomplete understanding of the concept. If one denies the pain of loneliness, it is often because one has never truly been isolated, never been embittered by the very thought of warmth and companionship, and is understandably hopeful that they might go unaffected.

But loneliness is more than being alone. In fact, one could argue that being alone and being lonely are separate concepts that only incidentally overlap, though that is an argument for another time.

Loneliness is betrayal. It is loss. It is obsession, devotion, and anger.

Loneliness is love.

The absence of it.

Because love notices absences. And sometimes, when times are dark, the only way we know we have loved someone is to feel the ache of their departure.

Rarity loved Applejack. That much is true.

But she also loved herself, once upon a time.

She had loved and lost two.

And she was truly alone.

Epilogue

Three months later

There are many who deny the power of love.

But Rarity and Applejack could no longer be counted among them.

It was different. That was, of course, an understatement, but it was the only way it could really be described. Different. Not better, not more, not brighter or louder or more important.

Only different.

A few things had changed measurably.

One of the more obvious things was Rarity's residence. As far as Applejack could tell, the happenings in the Boutique had ended, but crossing the threshold still made Rarity's knees knock. And so, quite unceremoniously, Rarity moved into the farmhouse on Sweet Apple Acres.

Over the course of a few days, Applejack hauled Rarity's studio across town to the farm. One sewing machine, ponnequin, chest of drawers, or bolt of fabric at a time. Going into the Boutique still gave her a little shiver, but she had long since covered all of the mirrors, and found the task easy to bear with a little bit of whistling and a lot of sunshine.

Rarity would have helped, but another one of her changes left her a little out of sorts: no magic.

And not just under her own power-- Applejack had gone out of her way to fetch a potion from Zecora that would make magic impossible. Just a daily thing, like a vitamin. Rarity took it in her tea.

And so, on this morning, like so many others, Applejack fixed Rarity a cup of tea.

It was quiet work. Only that hitching whistle of the kettle on the stovetop, then the sputtering sound as she poured it carefully into a china teacup. The gentle clinking of the spoon against its surface. The smell of cherries and rose petals rising about her head in a cloud of steam as she stirred. Applejack wasn't quite sure if that was the smell of the potion, or just something special Zecora added to it for Rarity's sake, but the smell was now almost permanently intertwined with the sight of the rising sun.

Applejack considered making herself a cup, as well, but she never finished it. She didn't really like drinking tea, anyway. It had only ever been for Rarity. A little thing they did together.

The thought made her smile to herself, and she decided to join Rarity in a cup after all.

Before Applejack could finish preparing the tea, she heard the familiar creak of her bedroom door swinging open. Long and low and forlorn. Like a howling wolf.

Applejack cast a glance over her shoulder in time to glimpse Rarity padding softly into the kitchen.

"You're up early," Applejack commented.

Rarity sighed. "I'm not sure what came over me. Practically rose with the sun."

"Let's not rewrite history, sugar cube," Applejack said snidely. "I rose with the sun. You were still snoozin' like a cat on the sill when I got outta bed."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to, darling," Rarity muttered, lowering herself into the wooden chair she'd taken a shine to.

Applejack smirked at her.

Rarity smiled back.

Her smile had been getting better lately. Perhaps it was a silly thing to track, but it was filling up her eyes more and more. It was impossible not to notice something like that, Applejack thought.

She returned to her work, flipped teabags into the sink and stirring in milk and sugar. Applejack took hers black, but Rarity liked a little pizzazz. That was to be expected, of course. Anypony who knew Rarity well could have predicted it.

Anypony who knew her well.

Thoughts like that still gave Applejack a bit of a twinge. Nothing serious, just a little twist in her chest. A reminder of what she should have known, and yet didn't.

Applejack turned and delivered the teacups to the kitchen table. Rarity smiled gratefully up at Applejack as she did, and accepted the cup graciously. Like it was a true gift, and not a simple little breakfast.

"Thank you," she murmured, wrapping her hooves around the mug.

Applejack nodded. "Somethin' on your mind?"

Rarity looked down into her tea. That, in and of itself, was enough of an answer for Applejack, but she waited patiently for Rarity to think it through.

"I was thinking," Rarity said. "Perhaps it's rather silly to make such a big deal of it, but… I'd like to do my own mane today."

Applejack tried to keep her reaction reined in. "Okay. Meanin'..."

"Meaning I'd like to use a mirror," she said. "Not my magic, of course. I'm not quite ready for that yet."

Rarity was braver than most ponies gave her credit for. And that wasn't just a matter of facing monsters-- it was a stoicism that often went unnoticed. Rarity sure knew when to kick up a fuss, but she also knew when to stay quiet. When to bear things silently.

The look she gave Applejack was just that: a look of silent bravery.

"I-if," Rarity stuttered, "that is, if you'll sit with me. I'd rather not do it alone."

Applejack set her jaw. She said nothing for another long moment, just watching as Rarity turned her own words over and over in her mind.

"I know it's silly," Rarity said, looking down. "I just--"

"That ain't why I'm quiet, sugar cube," Applejack said. "I just wanna know if this is the right thing. You only just got into a good sleeping schedule, stopped havin' nightmares… and I'd hate to see you--"

"I can't avoid it forever." Rarity squeezed her eyes shut, holding back the years which so obviously brimmed there. "I need this to be the right thing, Applejack. I need to move on."

Stoic.

Firm.

Rarity.

Applejack nodded. "I understand."

Rarity perked up. "So you will, then?" she asked. "Sit with me?"

"Of course I will," Applejack said, as nonchalant as she could manage. "I've been through all this with you, and you think I'm about to draw the line at watchin' you comb your mane? You must be outta your mind."

"This isn't just about me," Rarity murmured. "I know you have some… I know you might have reasons to avoid mirrors, as well."

Her guilt was implicit.

And Applejack did have a bit of trepidation. Memories of blue reflections staring back, of mirrors cracking under her skull, of angry accusations hissed at her from behind the glass.

But she'd be damned if she let that stop Rarity.

"I never said I didn't," Applejack said simply. "But you're right. We can't avoid it forever."

Rarity smiled. This one was not as good as her others, for it didn't quite reach her eyes, but Applejack figured that was only fair.

"Finish up your tea, and we'll do your mane in the bedroom," Applejack said.

"Mhm."

The pair sipped slowly at their teacups, wanting simultaneously to get this over with as quickly as possible and hopefully delay it as long as they could. An impossible balance to maintain, of course. They finished their tea in just a few minutes, and quietly placed their teacups in the sink.

The pair hovered there a moment. Perhaps rethinking their plan, perhaps waiting for somepony to make the first move towards the bedroom. Either way, they were stuck in place until a feeling struck the both of them--a true bolt from the blue--and they turned to meander slowly down the hall together.

The vanity opposite Applejack's bed had been covered with a sheet for three long months. At first, Applejack had doubted she would miss it, but the lack of a proper reflection did begin to wear on her.

It wasn't something she could easily put into words. It was a curiosity she didn't know how to manage.

She knew she likely looked quite the same as she had before. But there was a nagging feeling that, when all of her insides had changed, her outsides had, as well.

"You ready?" Applejack asked.

Rarity closed her eyes. "I believe so."

"You sure?"

Rarity hesitated. "Yes."

"Positive?"

"Applejack!" Rarity whined.

"Alright, alright…"

And, just like that, it was no big deal. Something wonderful, even. Something to celebrate, and to laugh about.

Applejack reached up and tugged the sheet off the mirror. The motion gave rise to a not insignificant amount of dust, but the pair almost didn't seem to notice.

They were taking in the image which sat before them.

The same.

But different.

Two ponies who thought themselves unworthy of company for one reason or another. Who thought their lives were ending even as others' seemed to be just starting. Who had seen the power of magic and love and the absence of it.

Applejack and Rarity sat very close to one another.

That was new.

But they looked quite the same as they always had. As old as they had been the last they looked. Perhaps a little tired. A little wiser. A little hardened. Whatever it is that happens to you when you see the things that they had seen.

They were both in vibrant color. None of the blue creeping over them. None of the ice sealing them in.

Rarity blinked.

She looked into her own eyes for the first time in a long time, and perhaps saw somepony different there. Somepony different than she had expected.

And maybe that was a good thing.

Applejack looked over herself, wondering if the things she noticed now were changes or things which had been there all along. She had such a sea of freckles. She knew she'd had freckles, but goodness. They were wonderful. Like stars. And her chest, so wide and soft and welcoming. The perfect place to land for a bear hug that would squeeze away all the pain.

And her eyes.

She had old eyes now.

That was probably new.

But she rather liked it.

Rarity drew in a small breath.

"You alright?" Applejack asked softly, prying her eyes away from her reflection to look down at Rarity.

Rarity, too, looked away from the mares in the mirror and up at her friend. "Yes. I think I am," she said breathlessly. "I didn't think I would be."

"I know," Applejack cooed. "I'm proud of you."

Rarity blushed. "Nothing to be proud of."

"Not true," Applejack said, shaking her head. "This is everything worth bein' proud of."

Rarity looked back in the mirror.

She smiled.

And she looked at her smile.

And she smiled more.

"You know," Rarity said softly. "I suppose I should have brought this up earlier, but… aren't you curious?"

Applejack furrowed her brows. "About what?"

"About why it was, um… you," Rarity murmured.

Applejack was somewhat taken aback. "Uh. I thought it was just 'cause… I dunno," she stuttered. "Proximity?"

Rarity still looked into the mirror, but her eyes slid up to meet Applejack's reflection. Still smiling. Weaker than it had been before, but stronger in spite of everything.

"Um." Applejack felt her face flushing, and averted her eyes. "Are you sayin' it's… 'cause of somethin' else?"

Rarity sighed. "All I know is that all of this was borne out of some… some emotional knot that I'm still trying to untangle," she said, quite matter-of-fact. "And I know you're tied up in it all. And I thought you'd like to truly acknowledge that. Head-on. Honestly."

Applejack looked back to her friend. "Th-thank you."

"It's nothing," Rarity replied. "I just know it's been on your mind. It's certainly been on my mind."

"Sure."

"And I just don't want you thinking that I--"

"I love you," Applejack said.

Rarity stopped.

She was frozen for a moment, unsure what to do or how to respond. Just stuck. Her gears caught on some invisible monkey wrench.

"Sorry," Applejack quickly added. "I'm sure there were better ways to handle this. I just like the direct way best, I guess."

Rarity let out one breathy chuckle, though still seemed to be paralyzed for the most part.

"I just love you," Applejack repeated. "I always have. At least a little bit. And I think all this just finally made me realize that love isn't what I always thought it was."

Rarity blinked. "And… what did you think it was?"

Applejack shrugged. "I dunno. Princesses and knights in shining armor. Butterflies in your stomach," she said. "I guess I thought it was somethin' totally different from friendship, but I don't think it is. Not always, anyway. I don't think it's the big, loud thing they all said it was. I think it's just… quiet. And comfortable. And it's not butterflies, it's taking the butterflies away."

Rarity stared up at Applejack in dumbfounded silence.

"If that makes any sense, I guess," Applejack quickly added. "I dunno. You got me ramblin'."

Rarity didn't waste another second.

She dove in towards Applejack, embracing her tightly around her middle. "It makes perfect sense," she whispered into her chest. "And I love you, too."

Applejack hesitated a moment, but quickly wrapped Rarity up in her own forelegs and held her tight.

It felt for a moment that they could not be close enough to one another. That they could never be close enough. That they would have to keep burrowing closer and closer until they were one thing, one perfect thing which was warm and cozy and safe.

But they pulled away.

And the warmth and the safety was still there.

And, as they looked into each other's eyes, they saw that the warmth and the safety always would be there. However far away they were. However thoroughly separated.

There are many who deny the power of love.

But those who are lucky enough to find it, the truest and deepest kind, will never be lonely again.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! This is easily a favorite piece of mine - I'm so happy I finally got to share it with you all!

Part I

There are many who deny the power of love.

Those who do, however, often possess an incomplete understanding of the concept. If one denies the power of love, it is often because one has never felt romantic love for another, and is understandably bitter with the importance placed on romance in modern society.

But love is more than romance. In fact, one could argue that romance and love are separate concepts that only incidentally overlap, though that is an argument for another time.

Love is friendship. Love is family. Love is passion, devotion, and trust.

Love can be kind.

Love can be cruel.

Love asks for nothing, and yet love consumes like nothing else.

Most of all, though, love notices absences. Sometimes the only way to recognize love is by the hole it leaves behind, and the desperate need to fill that void once more.

And so it came as no surprise to Applejack when her heart began to ache for Rarity.

She first noticed the ache standing over the sink. She was washing dishes from that morning's breakfast, drawing her rag in slow circles over the surface of the plate, and staring blankly out the window which overlooked the farm. Her hoof slowed the longer she gazed out at the sunrise and eventually came to a stop. Soapy water cut canyons through her fur as she tried to catch hold of the colors which rose from the horizon.

A strand of bold violet peeked out over the trees, bringing with it a band of peachy orange-pink that washed the kitchen in a warm glow.

It was then that the thought first occurred to Applejack:

When was the last time I visited Rarity?

"Applejack?"

The dish fell against the edge of the sink with a clatter before slipping into the dingy depths.

Applejack sighed.

Her younger sister--though not quite as young as Applejack would have liked--shrank away, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to spook ya."

"Y'didn't spook me," Applejack corrected. She looked down into the water, and saw only her reflection staring back up at her.

The pony in the water wavered as it gazed back at her, tinged blue by the dish soap and sparkling with effervescent suds.

She made another small sound of disgust, and plunged her hoof into the water. "What'sa matter, Bloom?"

"Well, I was gonna have the girls over for lunch today," Applebloom explained.

Applejack grimaced. She forced her hoof in deeper, groping blindly for any sign of the dish. "Don’t see what that has to do with me…” she muttered.

"I figured it was only polite,” Applebloom said. “Seein’ as I don’t exactly live here anymore.”

"Don’t y’all have better places to be than some old farmhouse?" Applejack asked, tossing a suspicious look over her shoulder.

The dirty water splashed up against Applejack's chest as she fished deeper still. She brushed up against a mug, a fork, and what felt like a forgotten dish rag, but still couldn't seem to catch the plate she'd dropped.

"Consarnit…" she muttered, stretching up taller and forcing her hoof in further.

Applebloom chewed her lip. "Well… it’s, uh…” She reached up to scratch at the back of her head.

Applejack stretched up higher. The water lapped at her shoulder. “Spit it out, Bloom.”

"Th-the specifics don’t matter," Applebloom announced, chopping at the air authoritatively. "The point is, we'll be comin' by for lunch today. That's alright with you, right sis?"

"This make me an accessory or somethin’?" Applejack asked, straining as she balanced on one hoof.

Applebloom clucked her tongue. "It's not a--" She grit her teeth and sighed. “Our dorm’s bein’ fumigated, Scootaloo’s parents are in town which is always a mess, and Sweetie’s parents are on vacation up North.”

“Doesn’t Sweetie have a key?”

“O-only to her sister’s place,” Applebloom murmured.

“Well, why don’t y’all go down to Rarity’s?” Applejack suggested. “I can all but guarantee she’s got better food. I could come with, if y’don’t mind me tagging along. Been a while since we chatted.”

Applebloom made a small, uncertain sound. She backed away from Applejack a bit, grimacing at a random spot in the air, trying to form a thought with her mouth hanging open.

Applejack grimaced, as well, and withdrew her hoof from the water. “What’s the face?”

“Uh…” Applebloom cleared her throat. “Rarity’s been a little… I mean, she’s awful busy.”

“Uh-huh.” Applejack cocked her head. “And?”

“She’s gotten sorta… recluse-y?” Applebloom suggested, cringing through the thought. “That sounded bad. I just mean-- well, she’s been keepin’ to herself, lately. Sweetie seemed to think we’d be puttin’ her out by visiting.”

Applejack scoffed. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, reaching back into the sink. “That mare loves to entertain. I bet she’d be thankful for a little bit of--”

Something wrapped around her hoof.

A tendril.

Thin, cold, and somehow heavy in the water.

Applejack yelped and yanked her hoof out of the water with all the force she could muster.

Her rear hoof slipped in the puddle which had gathered under the sink, and she felt herself tumbling backwards. She cringed in anticipation and felt the air rush out of her lungs as she landed flat on her back.

Applebloom, to her credit, scrambled against the wet tile to come to Applejack's aid. She may have shouted something, but it sounded like gibberish to Applejack's pain-clouded mind.

"Applejack, I-- are you alright?!"

The sink made a long, low sucking sound, like a monster slurping up gelatin through a massive straw.

Applejack managed to gasp in a desperate breath.

Applebloom helplessly shook her from side to side. "Do I need to do CPR? I don't think I remember how!"

She lifted her hoof and rolled her head to the side, a small spike of terror still coursing through her system.

The plug.

A simple rubber stopper, made easy to remove by a simple metal chain.

The sink continued to make its terrible sucking sound, now underscored by the metallic echo of rushing water rattling the pipes beneath the sink. It finished with a quick glug-glug-glug-glug, like a jug turned upside down.

Applejack sighed wearily and dropped her hoof back to her side. "No, I don't need CPR," she wheezed.

Applebloom deflated with relief. "Oh, thank goodness!" she exclaimed. "I really thought-- I mean, you looked like you'd seen a ghost!"

"Nah, I just… I just went and spooked myself," Applejack said, pushing herself into an upright position. "I'm fine. I promise."

Applebloom wasted no time in diving towards her big sister and squeezing her around her midsection in a tight embrace. Applejack wheezed again.

After catching her breath a second time, Applejack wiggled one hoof free to give her sister a sudsy pat on the head. "Alright, now. I'm fine, I'm fine."

Applebloom gave one more enthusiastic squeeze before releasing her sister. "Don't do that again, okay?" she ordered. Then, a little softer, she added, "or at least save it for when Big Mac's around."

"I'll do my best," Applejack said with a roll of her eyes. "You’re welcome to have the girls over-- if you promise to do the dishes after lunch."

"Deal!" Applebloom cried, springing to her hooves. "Thanks, sis!"

Applejack hardly had a chance to breathe before her sister vanished out the front door.

"You're welcome," she mumbled regardless.

The screen door slapped once, twice, three times against its frame before at last clicking shut. Applejack remained on the floor as it did, still staring up at the window over the sink, watching as orange chased violet across the sky.

She frowned.

Rarity was many things, but ‘reclusive’ had never been one of them.

Still, she shrugged the thought off. Rarity’s fashion empire was expanding faster than Applejack could keep up with. And it wasn’t like Applejack was a stranger to being overworked-- it sure could make you hard to be around. Maybe Sweetie Belle just wasn’t in the mood to put up with her sister’s inevitable drama.

Applejack sighed and shook her head.

Today was as good a day as any to catch up with a friend, reclusive though she might be.

Applejack slowly got to her hooves, a few grumbles and joint clicks along the way. She scooped up the rubber stopper by its chain and set it in its place beside the sink.

She peered down to the bottom of the porcelain basin.

No dish.

"Huh," Applejack remarked softly.

She looked to one side of the sink, then the other. She even briefly checked the floor and the table behind her, but to no avail.

Applejack's grimace deepened as she counted the plates already sitting in the drying rack. "Now, how in the hay could…" she muttered, the thought losing itself along the way.

A thought occurred to her.

She shuffled forward, slowly and quietly as she could muster, and leaned over the sink.

With one eye squeezed shut, Applejack could see straight to the u-bend in the pipe.

No sign of the plate.

She let out a sigh as she rocked back onto her rear hooves.

You're losin' your dang mind already, she thought to herself. You ain’t even old.

Then she thought, I oughta go see Rarity.

It was the sort of summer heat you could hear. Had been for quite some time now. Though the sun surely did the heavy-lifting, the work of droning cicadas, rapid fire crickets, and windless trees made doubly sure that nopony could forget about the oppressive temperatures and humidity.

Applejack pulled her hat off and wiped at her brow, though the sweat seemed to seep out again only moments later.

Sisyphean, Twilight called it. Though Applejack couldn't recall just what that meant.

Even as she tried to keep the sheen of sweat off her face, Applejack could feel the other side effects beginning to work their way out. The hair under her hat had formed something of a salty helmet, the especially stubborn little wisps ready to explode into a halo of frizz around her head. The heat also caused her face to blotch red and pink quite terribly, though this was hardly noticeable to the observer-- merely another uncomfortable feeling which sent her mind pinging off in another, fuzzier direction.

Applejack secured her hat back on her head. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped that Rarity wouldn't notice.

Rarity fussed about those sorts of things.

But, in all honesty, she never fussed about those things on anypony but herself. She wouldn't dare shame another pony for their looks-- that went against everything Rarity stood for.

As Applejack trotted up the walk to Rarity's Boutique, she silently amended her wish. She hoped instead that Rarity was cool and comfortable enough not to fuss.

The awning over the door offered a bit of a reprieve from the harsh sunlight as Applejack knocked on the door. She thought about announcing herself, but couldn't quite decide on how to do it, and so allowed the knocks to speak for themselves.

There came a light shuffling sound from somewhere deeper in the boutique.

Satisfied, Applejack stepped back from the door to wait.

The cicadas kept on with that ever-changing swell and fade, ebb and flow. A light breeze rolled through and carried with it even warmer air from outside this small patch of shade.

Applejack willed herself not to sweat any harder.

She looked at the door. Rarity had been very proud of this door-- her design, of course. A diamond-shaped window to reflect her own cutie mark and to let in the natural light. A lovely purple to match her own mane (which she knew even then she'd never dye). And, to top it all off, Opal's own special door at the bottom. Opal's own special window.

It took a different kind of love to make something like that for an animal you'd most certainly outlive, Applejack thought.

It was nice. Not Applejack's style, but nice nonetheless.

She noticed, perhaps for the first time, that the glass in the windows was stained a very subtle blue. As she stared into the window, a blue-tinted reflection of herself stared back.

Then she noticed something else: the room beyond the reflection was dark. Not one light on.

Before Applejack could do the math on what time it must be by now, the door hiss-popped open, though not more than a crack.

Applejack perked up immediately and rushed forward, a grin spreading uncontrollably over her face. "Rarity! By Celestia, how long has it been?"

A single dazzling blue eye slid into the crack in the door. It started from the ground, slowly working its way up until--

"Applejack?"

The door pulled open a little further, allowing the unicorn within to poke her head out.

She seemed stunned. Not upset or angry or happy at all-- only muted surprise, perhaps with a dash of confusion.

Despite it all, Applejack beamed brightly. "Eeyup!" she agreed. "I was just thinkin': it's been a while since you and I had some quality time together."

Rarity cocked her head to one side. Her mane lay a little flatter than usual today, not quite cascading down the side of her head as it was… hanging. All the smaller motions lost to the mass which grew from her scalp.

"Y'know…" Applejack continued, her enthusiasm waning. "Just us two?"

Rarity blinked. "Oh," she said, surprise still expertly suppressed. "Of course."

She tried to smile, though the sparkle didn't quite reach her eyes.

Applejack's own sparkle faded entirely. "Yeah. Well, anyway, I…" she trailed off. "I dunno. I thought you might wanna have tea together. This is when you usually have tea, isn't it?"

For whatever reason, that seemed to get her attention. The alarm truly kicked in at last, and Rarity straightened up to try to match Applejack's height. "Oh. Goodness, I, erm…" She paused and looked back over her shoulder, though hardly for a moment. "I'm sorry, Applejack, I don't think now is a very good time."

She laughed as she said it, as if she were trying to laugh it off.

"Oh, I don't know…" Rarity hummed, her gaze once again drifting over her shoulder.

This time, there came a clattering sound, and Rarity visibly stiffened, her eyes fixed on something beyond Applejack's view.

"Uh… that Opal messin' around in there?" Applejack asked, taking a small step forward and peering over Rarity's head.

Rarity practically jumped out of her skin and pushed the door closed slightly. "Erm-- Opal! It certainly did sound like Opal, didn't it?" she blurted. "Would you, um-- I'll be with you in a moment."

And the door slammed shut in Applejack's face.

It took Applejack a moment to process what had happened. When she had, she stepped back from the door and wandered over to her right, searching for a window she might be able to spy through.

More clattering sounds rang out, followed by the muffled shouts of Rarity scolding her cat. Applejack followed the sounds with a curious ear pricked in their direction. Though she managed to track the sounds around one side of the boutique, it seemed that all of the lights inside were switched out, and Applejack could only see the glare from the mid-morning sun bouncing off the enormous windows.

Applejack gave up with a frustrated sigh and trotted back over to the front door. After a moment, it popped open again. This time , the door swung open wide, and an out-of-breath Rarity greeted her friend with a tense smile.

"Sorry about that!" she said. "Why don't you come in?"

"Y'know, I can always…" The offer to come back another time died in Applejack's throat as she held her gaze with Rarity.

"Hm?" Rarity prompted sweetly.

"Uh. Nevermind," Applejack said with a shake of her head.

Rarity gave her friend a dismissive, forgiving little shrug, and turned back into the boutique.

Applejack hesitated at the threshold. The boutique was still dark-- not a single light on that Applejack could see from here. Though the sun was strong, it didn't quite hit the right angle to illuminate the first room just yet.

Instead, beyond that small rectangle of light which fell in from the open door, Rarity's army of ponnequins lurked in the shadows.

Rarity did not seem to notice her friend's apprehension, instead wandering slowly through the dark alone.

Applejack took a deep breath and plunged into the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

It wasn't that she was afraid of ponnequins. Not a real fear, anyway. It was more of a dream-like fear, the sort that haunts the corner of your eye and makes your spine creep with dread. Irrational and directionless. The stillness made her fear motion, the pony likenesses made her fear something utterly inequine lurking beneath the canvas.

Still, Applejack hurried through the room, and did her best not to imagine the eyeless faces of the ponnequins following her every move.

Applejack caught up to Rarity as she crossed into her kitchen, and her fear began to dissipate.

For one thing, the sun lit up the room through the enormous circular window over Rarity's breakfast nook. For another, the kitchen was already alive with motion.

Applejack watched in awestruck silence as the kitchen danced around her. Cupboards opening and closing, tea bags ripped from their envelopes, mugs drawn down from cabinets, kettle filled, stovetop lit-- all as Rarity shuffled over to the table under the window and eased herself down into a chair, eyes closed.

"Wow," Applejack remarked. "You been practicing or somethin'?"

Rarity's expression flickered, but did not change. "Or something."

Applejack almost laughed, but found that she couldn't.

The kettle settled itself onto the burner, blue flames licking at its underside. It started to rumble.

"Sit," Rarity said simply, gesturing to the empty chair across from her.

Applejack nodded slightly, though Rarity had yet to open her eyes, and scuttled over to the open seat. It squeaked against the floor as Applejack flopped down into it.

Rarity deflated a little more.

To say it was odd would have been an understatement. Applejack had known Rarity for many years now, and she liked to think she knew her pretty well.

Rarity was a drama queen, but only because she liked the attention. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing-- she knew she needed that boost from her friends and family to get through whatever was bugging her. She was the type to rant about her issues, and a good sounding board (even a silent one) was absolutely crucial.

To see a mare so often in search of support so quiet… to watch Rarity endure whatever hardship had landed on her shoulders alone… well, it was enough to render Applejack speechless.

She gave Rarity a good, long look, willing her to start in on what was bothering her, or to say anything at all, or even to open her eyes.

But she only sat, her cheek resting heavily on her hoof, breathing slowly and softly.

Applejack cleared her throat. "So, uh… how long has it been, d'ya think?"

Rarity sighed lightly. "A while, certainly," she said.

"You remember what it was we did?" Applejack asked. "I think it was… well, I think you were tryna teach me to mend my own hat. So I didn't have to keep bringin' it to you."

"Hm." Rarity opened her eyes, but looked only at the floor. "I don't remember that."

Applejack furrowed her brows. "You… don't?" She frowned. "I mean… it wasn't all that long ago. Within the year, for sure."

Rarity leaned back in her chair. Her eyes drifted to a spot of wall over Applejack's shoulder. "It sounds like something we would do," she admitted. "I'm sorry, Applejack, my memory's a little… you know."

"I'm afraid I don't," Applejack said. She did her best to suppress the accusatory tone, though it may have slipped in anyway. "Are you alright, Rarity? You seem…"

Words escaped her.

Rarity blinked a long, slow blink, and rolled her eyes over to meet Applejack's.

What was it?

Tired?

Depressed?

Distant?

Fractured?

"You don't seem a bit like yourself," Applejack said.

Rarity was still for a few seconds, only staring back into Applejack's eyes without a trace of emotion.

Then, as if she hadn't paused at all, she nickered and waved her hoof dismissively in Applejack's direction. "Oh, please. We're cut from the same cloth, darling: overworked and underpaid," she said. "I've just been a bit tired lately. I've never been much of a multitasker, but I'm being pulled in so many directions that I've had to develop some new skills."

Applejack knit her brows. "Oh. I see."

"It's just been rather draining…" Rarity continued. "But I'm alright. I have a good support network."

Even as she said it, her glassy-eyed gaze drifted off of Applejack and onto another distant corner of the room. She didn't appear to be looking at anything in particular, but she still stiffened minutely, as if bracing herself for an expected impact.

Applejack followed Rarity's gaze to the nook on the opposite side of the room. Nothing there but a china cabinet with a pair of glass doors. Rarity's reflected blank stare landed on Applejack's face.

It gave Applejack a chill she could hardly explain. Rarity looked through her as if she were nothing more than a scrap of wax paper.

The kettle sputtered and quickly began to whistle.

Rarity did not react, but Applejack watched as her reflection stood, turned and headed towards the stove to--

She blinked.

No, of course not.

Her reflection remained in the chair.

The kettle continued to whistle.

Applejack closed her eyes and shook her head to clear away the ghostly hallucination. "Rarity, do you need me to--"

The whistling faded.

Applejack spun back around to watch as the kettle hovered over the set of mugs, held aloft by a tendril of blue magic, and quietly filled them with water. "... Get that," she mumbled uselessly.

Rarity made a face adjacent to a smile, but landing firmly as an emotionless grimace.

Applejack let out a tense sigh. "I can appreciate what you're sayin', Rares, but-- well, we're meant to be your support network," Applejack said. She lifted a hoof to rub mindlessly at her forehead. "Especially me. Bein' cut from the same cloth and all. And you haven't reached out to me once."

Rarity's lips tightened into a thin line. "I know," she said. "I meant-- why, you're here, aren't you?"

"But you didn't call for me, Rarity! I came over because I haven't heard from you in--" Applejack cut herself off before she could say anything she might regret. She took a steadying breath, then said, "no. No, you're right. I'm here. I s'pose you… you don't really need to call for me, do you?"

Rarity let out a small sigh of relief. She closed her eyes and tilted her head down towards the floor, though no other trace of feeling crossed her features.

"You know you can, right?" Applejack said softly. "Call for me, that is? I know you and I are a mite busy most of the time, but I'll always be just up the road."

"I know, I know," Rarity said, waving a dismissive hoof. Her eyes wandered from the tabletop over to a nearby potted plant. "I just-- well, you are busy, darling. I'd hate to be a bother."

"Tsk." Applejack leaned back in her chair. "Now, that ain't the Rarity I know. I'm the one who can't stand askin' for help, remember?"

Rarity forced out one breathy chuckle.

Behind her, a swirl of blue magic pulled out each tea bag by the string, tossing them into the sink to be dealt with later.

Which is when Applejack saw it.

The plate.

The one from this morning. The one she'd dropped into the soapy water and somehow lost entirely-- it was there, sitting on Rarity's drying rack in line with all her other dishes.

Applejack screwed her eyes shut and willed the dish to revert, just like her reflection.

But it remained.

She looked across the table at Rarity, who only stared down at her own dull hooves.

Unblinking.

A spoon clinked gently against the insides of the mugs, stirring in lumps of sugar which quickly dissolved in the heat.

The spoon fell to the counter.

Applejack watched as the pair of mugs floated over to the table, rising and falling ever so slightly, as if with breath.

"Uh…" Applejack swallowed hard as the mugs were placed on the table before her. "W-why don't I swing by tomorrow?"

Rarity looked up. "Hm?"

"It's just, I--" Applejack stood up, chair and table squealing away from her. "Well, I didn't know you were so-- or I never woulda shown up like this, y'know?"

Rarity said nothing. Her eyebrows came together, taut on her forehead, a picture of worry without a clear source.

"Sorry," Applejack said. She started to back away from the table, eyes flicking between the dish and Rarity, Rarity and the dish. "Sorry, Rares. Dunno what I was thinkin'."

Rarity's hooves dropped into her lap. "It's alright."

"I need to be home for lunch, anyway," Applejack added. "Since the girls are coming over."

Rarity cocked her head. "Who…?"

Applejack paused at the threshold. "Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo," she said. "They’re in town. Dorm’s being fumigated. I figured you knew."

"Um…" Rarity's face contorted in concentration. "You know, Sweetie hasn't been around lately. I think my parents are away, so she… she probably…"

She didn't bother finishing the thought.

Rarity stared ahead, unmoving, for a moment longer. She then reached out and slowly lifted her mug of tea to her lips.

She did not sip at it. Only held it there.

Applejack remained caught on the threshold.

She mostly wanted to bolt. The heat, the plate, the reflection, the consuming silence, the blankness of Rarity's eyes-- it felt like a belt pulled tight around her chest. Like a weight from all directions.

Part of her wanted to stay. Deep down, she knew Rarity needed someone--anyone--to be by her side.

She could see that Rarity was missing something.

Love notices absences.

But fear does, too.

Applejack forced out a hasty farewell, the exact words unclear even to her, and ducked out of the room. Rarity may have replied, but Applejack certainly didn't hear it as she rushed out of the building.

In a blink, Applejack was back outside. The door hissed shut behind her. She was wrapped back up in the comforting hum of summer insects.

Applejack sucked in a labored breath. The blisteringly hot mid-morning air filled her lungs up like balloons, and for a moment she wished she would float away.

Her blue reflection watched silently from the window.

Part VI

“I’m sorry,” Rarity said again, her voice hitching as she tried to suppress her sobs. “I didn’t know that-- I-I thought that--”

She couldn’t finish her thought.

Perhaps even she didn't know where it was going.

Applejack looked at her silently. Though the truth of her injuries was dubious at best, the murky feeling in the earth pony’s mind was all too real. A great cloud of confusion and shock and a blending of pain both physical and emotional.

She tried to focus on the details. To process Rarity's story--one told in brief, emotional sentences and interjected with explosive bouts of tears--over the soft thudding of ponnequins against the door. She tried to recall her experiences these past few days, to piece them together into a narrative that worked perfectly, a story with ends tied in bows and all accounted for.

Some things made sense.

Rarity's sudden magical prowess, followed by an equally sudden aversion to casting even simple spells.

Her need to distance herself from Applejack, and yet her obvious desire to draw closer.

Her defensiveness of increasingly private spaces.

The way the Boutique seemed to hold her there, trap her there-- even though it seemed to want her gone just the same.

But so much still seemed blurry. And perhaps that was how things like this went; in all the campfire stories Applejack had heard and told, in all the urban legends whispered around lunch tables and passed in hushed tones from foal to foal, none of them had ever accounted for the illogicality of magic. Of monsters. Of love, even.

Here sat Rarity, crumpled in a puddle on her cold basement floor, a slave to her own loneliness and terror. Her own mind had been weaponized against her. Everything torn out of her control, her basest instincts and emotions laid to bare. And she showed it-- she showed it in the way she curled into herself, disguising her face as she suppressed her tears. She showed it in the scraggly mess of her beautiful mane, in the short hiccups which escaped her cracked lips, and in the way she pushed away from Applejack.

Even now.

Still trying to get away.

Applejack didn't know what to do, and so she only looked blankly at Rarity, trying to figure a way out. Her mind gnawed hopelessly on these grand epiphanies which had been gifted to her, and yet she came to no conclusions.

She only watched as Rarity tried to escape her.

To put it simply, Applejack's heart ached. It ached because, for the first time in many years, she felt entirely helpless.

Applejack swallowed, and tasted the metallic tang of blood on the back of her tongue. "How long ago, again?"

Rarity sniffled. "H-how long ago… what?"

"How long ago did… I dunno, really." Applejack sighed. "How long have you been so lonely, Rarity?"

A whisper.

Rarity opened her mouth, and a tiny squeak escaped, but no words. No tone.

"I just… all this time, all this-- this stuff," Applejack continued, not daring to specify. "I was just down the road all along. Why didn't you come to-- why didn't you ask for help?”

She choked and stuttered on her words. Strangled by grief and guilt.

“Why didn’t I know?” Applejack went on. “How could-- how could I let this happen to you? You were just down the road all along, all this time just a short walk down the road… and I just let you be alone like that!”

Applejack wanted to scream.

She wanted to pound her hooves on the stone floor with all of her might, wanted to bellow in anger at herself, at the world, at anything that might take the blame. She wanted to find the thing that did this and destroy it. Cause it to vanish utterly and completely off the face of the earth.

She wanted to get her hooves on that thing waiting outside the door. Wanted to choke it. Wanted to beat its brains out against the wall and watch it shrivel up and die.

But that thing

was Rarity.

A piece of her.

And an important one.

And so she couldn’t.

Rarity lifted her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ that,” Applejack barked. “This ain’t your fault.”

Rarity scoffed.

“No,” Applejack said simply. “Rarity, it’s not. You know that, right? You know it’s not your fault?”

Rarity bit her lip.

She looked down at the floor, and the darkness of the basement seemed to swallow her up. As if it were greeting her. Embracing her. Holding her tightly and whispering things in her ear. Declarations of love and devotion and obsession and protection.

“Rarity, listen to me:” Applejack said firmly, even as her friend faded into the shadows. “Whatever this is-- h-however this all started, whether that was loneliness or depression or… or anything. It wasn’t you.”

“Of course it was,” Rarity whispered. “It’s all me. Everything in this house is me. It always was.”

“But it’s not!” Applejack argued.

She moved towards Rarity, driving deeper into the shadows. Rarity retreated, though not of her own accord-- rather, the basement itself seemed to tug her in deeper. Sliding her along the stone floor and into oblivion.

“Rarity!” Applejack cried. “I-it’s not your fault! It’s not you anymore than-- than your loneliness is you! Or your fear! Come on, now!”

“It’s me,” Rarity whimpered, and the voice seemed to seep out of the walls, to ooze up from the floors, to echo from the inside of Applejack’s own mind. “It’s me. It’s all me. All of it.”

“No!”

“I hurt you.”

“You healed me, too!” Applejack argued. “Come back!”

Applejack grit her teeth and plunged deeper still into the darkness. Everything ahead of her vanished. Only a thick, black cloud of musk and sweat and blood, surrounding her, blanketing her, drawing her in. Isolating her. Feeding on her.

“Rarity!” Applejack screamed. “Got dang it, Rarity, where are you!”

Nothing shouted back.

Not a whisper or a whimper. Not an echo.

Applejack’s breath hitched and wheezed. The air down here was so thick with the smell of dirty sheets and stagnant dishwater and sweat--smells of depression, of neglect, of isolation, of loneliness--that she could hardly breathe. So strong and so true were those smells that even those breaths that Applejack managed to suck down hurt. They hurt her lungs. They stung in her throat. They made her chest clench in fear and guilt.

They reminded her of her own endings. Her own isolation.

Her dog dying.

The smell of the anaesthetic, of dirt scraped over a tiny grave.

Her sister leaving.

She smelled crisp autumn leaves and that flowery perfume Applebloom wore on special occasions. She smelled the basket of warm muffins she passed up to her on the train.

Her Granny dying.

She smelled the way the apples soured on the trees afterwards, sloughing off hunks of mealy goop. The pungent odor of cores rotting in the compost. The mothballs in her closets and chests as Applejack rooted through old clothes and blankets and tablecloths, holding them to her face, inhaling deeply, coughing from the dust and yet not regretting these last remnants of her grandmother which she clung to so dearly.

And the darkness pressed down on her, heavy with the weight of her losses. Of her loneliness.

Each tiny breath Applejack managed only made her heart ache all the more, made her chest feel so heavy with the pain and the guilt and the need to see them all again. To have them home around the table. To love harder before the absence.

“Rarity!” Applejack roared. “I know you’re in there!”

In where, she didn’t know.

“Consarnit, you’re a stubborn son-of-a-mule!” Applejack swore, laughing to herself at the revelation. “Folks always called me the stubborn one of us, but they had us wrong, didn’t they? It’s you. It was always you.”

Her words did not echo back to her. They were lost to the vacuum of the darkness. Sucked up by the memories of loneliness.

“What was it you said?” Applejack bellowed into the darkness. “About thoughts being’, uh… reflective? No, no-- reflexive. Thoughts thinkin’ themselves. That’s what all this is, ain’t it? Your scariest thoughts thinkin’ themselves, roamin’ around, gettin’ into trouble.”

The smells twisted around themselves. Strengthening and weakening. Coiling through the darkness.

“Well, two can play at that game,” Applejack said. Much softer. “Can’t they?”

The darkness seemed to stiffen. What little motion there had been--even that oppressive feeling that had gripped Applejack so thoroughly--stopped. As if anticipating.

Applejack closed her eyes, though it didn’t make much difference.

She thought about the things she’d lost. The ponies who had left her. The times she had felt alone, perhaps even trapped.

Winona was gone. But her puppy--the runt of the litter that Applejack couldn’t bear to part with--was still here, that same splotch on her face that always brought a pang of bittersweet memory to Applejack’s chest.

Applebloom had left, but she always came back. For little visits whenever she could, longer ones around the holidays. Postcards and letters and photos and a hundred little trinkets she thought her big sister might like to have. Warm hugs upon return. Kind words. Growth. Every scrap shared and memorialized with her brother.

Granny had died, but she had died peacefully. Surrounded by family. By love. Not alone at all, in fact-- so loved and cherished and fondly remembered that, at times, it felt like she might still be here. Might still come down the stairs for breakfast in the morning as if nothing had changed, grinning mischievously in anticipation of her latest awful joke.

Their friends had departed from Ponyville, scattered to the four corners of Equestria to do astounding things.

But they were still out there.

They still reached back home--their forever home, here in Ponyville--every chance they got, sending love and joy and good tidings in times both light and dark. The bonds always strengthening. The love always growing.

But, most of all, Applejack thought of Rarity.

She thought of the pieces of Rarity that were gone. The ones she longed to reunite with.

The way she fussed with her mane, delicate white hooves hefting while her face contorted in consternation.

The way she smiled, a radiant and wonderful thing. Always with her eyes closed. As if she knew her smile brought others joy, and never needed to look to be sure of such a thing.

The way she laughed. Like bells. Like windchimes. Like tiny birds.

And then not at all like that-- the great, out-of-control guffaws and snorts that sometimes escaped her when she was a little bit tipsy, or a little bit tired, or even just feeling at home with her dearest friends.

Her passion, of course.

Her drive.

Her generosity.

Her beauty.

Her poise.

Her… everything.

And Applejack wept for the loss. For every tiny thing that she might never see again. Every aspect of her friend which she might never get to tell her she loved. And loved hard.

Applejack cried in the darkness.

But she kept her mind on Rarity.

Not on the Rarity she missed, but the Rarity she knew was still there. Even as tears spilled down her peachy cheeks and dropped to the stone cold floors beneath her shaking hooves, Applejack thought of Rarity as she was now.

Alone

and afraid

and needing her.

“I love you, Rarity!” Applejack screamed into the darkness. At the darkness. With the darkness. “I love you! I’ll always love you-- even when I leave! Even when I’m gone, I’ll love you!”

“You’ll break my poor old heart,” the Boutique whispered back.

Applejack laughed, a weak and weary and desperate sound. “Good!” she called. “That’s how you know it’s real! I-I know you don’t want to be alone, Rarity--by Celestia do I know it--but being alone isn’t about losing! It’s about… it’s about never even having in the first place!”

She waited.

Listening.

Hoping.

“For pony’s sake, Rarity, come back,” Applejack said, hanging her head. “We don’t have to be alone anymore, don’t you get it?”

She waited.

She listened.

She hoped.

Nothing.

Applejack let out a deep sigh, and eased herself down onto the cold stone floor of the basement.

It was quiet here, she thought.

She couldn’t make out the sounds of the ponnequins at the door anymore. The smell had quieted, as well, no longer clouding her every sense.

And then, between blinks, Applejack was no longer alone.

Love stood before her. An ironic name for the ghost of Rarity’s lovelessness, Applejack thought, though she couldn’t quite find the humor in it.

It looked quite like her. Everything from the slope of her shoulders to the bluntness of her snout to the squareness of her jaw seemed perfect, exactly as it was when Applejack looked in the mirror.

It should have scared her, but it didn’t anymore.

Applejack knew who it was, now. And she could never be scared of Rarity.

“You should leave,” it said. And its voice was Rarity’s.

“I’m not going to,” Applejack replied. “Not for anything.”

“You will,” it insisted. “Everyone leaves eventually.”

“They do, “ Applejack agreed. “In a way. But, in other ways, they’re always here. Aren’t they?”

It hesitated.

Flickered, almost.

A glimpse of the mare behind the curtain. Of the puppeteer. A flash of brilliant white behind the blue.

“But you’ll break my poor old heart, Applejack,” it whimpered. “You’ll break my heart when you leave.”

“You ain’t listen’ to me…” Applejack said, shaking her head.

She stood, hooves scraping softly along the stone, and walked up to Love.

It took a few steps back. Quick ones. Light ones. Frightened ones.

Applejack sighed. She reached towards Love’s face--towards Rarity’s face--with one gentle hoof, and cupped her cheek. The magic popped and fizzled under her touch, but she didn’t mind it. She just kept her mind on Rarity, and on the feeling her cheek should have had.

Soft.

Warm.

Real.

“You ain’t lonely because ponies keep leavin’ you,” Applejack murmured. “You’re lonely because… because you stopped lettin’ ‘em in. I don’t know why-- I wish I did, because maybe I could really knock some sense into you.”

She hitched.

The magic stuttered and split.

“I need you to let me in, Rarity.”

The magic fizzled.

Like a bad signal.

Popped and hissed and flickered.

“That’s it,” Applejack encouraged. “That’s it, sugar cube.”

The darkness began to fade.

Not all at once, and not everywhere. In little patches, it grew lighter, revealing the basement beyond it. Mundane things--furniture covered with sheets, cardboard boxes piled up with old dresses, broken stands for the ponnequins in the entryway--revealed themselves. Lights in the darkness.

Pieces of Rarity come home.

“I’m here, okay?” Applejack whispered. So soft and so gentle that it could hardly be heard. “I’m here.”

She caressed Rarity's face with her hoof. Searching for the reality behind the protective barrier of magic.

Love tried to hold on. It wasn’t the first time it had tried to cling to Rarity through violence and possession--Applejack knew that now--but it would be the last. It would be the last time Rarity’s love hurt.

Love’s hooves grasped at Rarity’s barrel as it was swept away. Desperate to stay.

"I'm so scared, Applejack," Rarity whispered, her voice one of many as it slipped from those magical lips. "I'm so scared of losing--"

"I know," Applejack replied.

Rarity sucked in a shuddering breath, and it sounded like wind in the bare branches of a thousand winter trees. Love still held on, clawing at her, climbing up her barrel even as a mighty wind seemed to blow it away.

Applejack wanted to watch it. Wanted to sear the memory of that face--of her face--into her mind forever. A reminder. A warning. The truest, deepest reflection of her friend.

But she didn't.

Instead, Applejack closed her eyes.

She pressed her forehead against Rarity’s, weeping still. The tears rolled down the steady slope of her snout and dribbled onto the floor like those precocious first drops of a summer rain.

"But I'm here," Applejack whispered. "I'm here."

Just as Rarity stiffened at her friend's touch, the ponnequins still thudded softly against the door. It was without thought, without direction-- merely a practiced reaction. Reflexive behavior. Reflective behavior.

But, for the first time in a long time--quite possibly forever--Applejack felt her friend press back.

Rarity fell into, onto, and over her friend, a total collapse of tension and pressure that she hadn't known she'd been holding in. She allowed herself to fall graciously into Applejack's firm, steady chest, to be held by her strong hooves, to be cradled, to be protected by somepony other than herself.

To be vulnerable.

To face loss honestly.

And to give herself to this temporary bond anyway.

There came a final sound. Like a thousand cards being shuffled, a million sticks run along a trillion picket fences, an infinite number of buttons rattled inside an unfathomably large sewing kit. A shifting, rattling, vanishing sound that could only mean one thing:

That Love was gone.

And love had taken its place.

Rarity cried.

She was draped over Applejack's shoulder like a rather damp and shuddering scarf, crying with such power and desperation and relief that it was practically silent. Beyond the occasional gasp of air, Applejack could only feel the way Rarity's chest hitched against her own.

With one slow hoof, Applejack reached up and pressed into Rarity's back, drawing her in closer. Rarity threw her own hooves around Applejack's neck and buried her face in her soft orange fur, spreading the muck of her tears and day-old makeup into it without a thought.

Applejack did not protest.

She didn't even speak.

She only held Rarity there, firm and constant, strong and true.

Even as her own eyes welled with tears, she held her friend. So close. Chest to chest. Sharing warmth and breath alike, sharing heartbeats, even. Rhythms.

After some time, the sobs slowed.

"Rarity?" Applejack murmured, drawing her hoof slowly up her friend's back to cup her head. "We need to go."

Rarity sniffled.

She pulled away, wiped at her face with an equally messy hoof, and nodded silently. Solemnly.

"Alright," Applejack said. "I'm gonna carry you out, okay?"

She moved to hoist Rarity onto her back, but Rarity scuttled away.

"No, no. I don't want them to hurt-- or me to--" Rarity screwed her eyes shut and shook her head vigorously. "I don't want you to get hurt," she said carefully.

"I won't," Applejack said.

"But how could you possibly--"

"I just know it."

Her certainty gave Rarity pause. Though she continued to shiver, she bit her lip and nodded once. Firm. Brave.

Applejack tried not to let her own doubts show as she knelt before Rarity, inviting her friend to climb up onto her withers and cling ardently to her mane with two weak, white hooves. She bowed her head low. Her joints knocked on the stone floor with a sound so much less empty than hoofsteps.

Rarity pulled herself up onto Applejack. She did so quietly, only the meekest of grunts escaping her as she settled there, face buried in her friend's frizzy blonde mane.

She exhaled. A sound of safety. And Applejack stood.

The ponnequins still beat upon the door, their sound nothing at all like their intent; so gentle, so soft, so completely muffled that it may as well have been a dog's tail thumping lazily against the wood. So difficult to be afraid, and yet so easy.

Applejack held steady. She took slow, planned steps towards the door, not hurrying in the least.

The thumping slowed.

As Applejack approached, the thumping tapered off. As if her ever-nearing presence were enough to push the sentinels out of the way.

Applejack knew better, of course. Rarity curled against her friend, her cheek pressed firmly into the broad side of Applejack's neck, murmuring something to herself. Over and over. With great haste and desperation.

The pair climbed the stairs together. Rarity never once stopped hissing these tiny prayers to herself, hardly even taking a breath.

When Applejack opened the door, she met no resistance.

At first, she braced herself. Prepared to encounter a frightening surprise as the haunted things lunged at her, knocking the both of them down the rickety wood stairs and landing them in much worse trouble than they might have been before.

But nothing happened.

Cautious, Applejack reached out one hoof and pushed the door open completely.

The morning sun spilled in through the cracks in the blinds, casting bands of light and shadow across the two dozen ponnequins which awaited them. The sight sent a cold pang of fear through Applejack, and she slipped backwards a step, but Rarity squeezed around her barrel and urged her forward. Applejack reluctantly obeyed.

Dozens of ponnequins. The very creatures which had piled onto Applejack the night before, intending to-- to what, exactly? To suffocate her? She might never know.

These things, the unwitting vessels of a thousand unintentional trials before Rarity had gotten it right. The home of magic without emotion or personality, only use. And they certainly looked the part: many of them were coming apart at the seams, stuffing exploding from their joints like a fungus after Applejack's attack. Despite their wounds, though, they stood stoically. Entirely still.

"Don't hurt her, don't hurt her, don't hurt her," Rarity was muttering. "Please leave her alone, please oh please leave her alone."

The ponnequins stood in two neat rows, one one either side of the door. Applejack had no idea what such a formation might be called, but it seemed almost royal. Guards lining up to defend their princess from the uncouth hordes beyond their shields. A tunnel to safety.

And it was; the ponnequins stretched across the room, basement to front door, showing the way.

The room was infinite.

Much longer than Applejack remembered it. Than it could have been. Than was possible.

Huge.

Vanishing into the distance.

Only a pinprick of light where the door lay at the end.

Though many of the room's details faded into sudden and total darkness, Applejack could see the cartoonist stretching of the floorboards. As if somepony had grabbed either end of the home and pulled with all their might.

"It's Love," Rarity said. "It's Love. It's Love, so please leave her alone. It's Love."

Applejack didn't know if that was the proper Love, or just the irrational one.

But she didn't ask.

She stepped over the threshold.

The ponnequins didn't move a muscle, a scrap, a string, a fiber. They stood still, like perfectly normal ponnequins should. Their heads were turned towards her, but their eyeless faces weren't looking at her. Not even through her. Not looking at all. Not seeing.

Applejack took a deep breath and continued her trek to the door. Rarity kept on murmuring, her voice fading out faster and faster as she did. She clung tighter and tighter to Applejack's neck, but Applejack set her jaw and pushed through it.

As she passed the first pair of ponnequins, she felt a change in the air.

It was hard to describe. Not so much a change in temperature, or even in her ability to breathe. Rather, it was a relaxing of tension. The feeling of an exhalation.

As if the house were sighing.

And the ponnequins went stiff. Suddenly. Totally.

The ghosts banished.

Suddenly feeling a renewed sense of hope, Applejack plunged forward. Like a paddle through water, she could feel the ripple of calm spreading behind her, sucking the supernatural life out of the ponnequins. Leaving them still and once again ready to gather dust.

Applejack picked up speed. Rarity drew in a sharp gasp and looked up, watching her guardians rush past her. Her murmuring halted, and she pulled her head away from Applejack.

"Hang on," Applejack ordered as she broke into a gallop.

And Rarity did.

She tucked her head down once more, screwing her eyes shut, clinging silently to her friend as she carried them to safety.

Applejack put everything she had into her stride. Long. Strong. Powerful. Head bobbing like a racehorse. Hooves pounding along the hardwood with loud, firm sounds.

The ponnequins, no longer held steady under their own power, began to topple over.

Like dominoes.

Applejack did not look back. She only heard the way they thudded to the floor.

"Hang on!" Applejack shouted again. "We're almost there!"

Rarity made a small sound, some hint of great effort, and squeezed harder.

And then

just like that

they were upon the door

then against it

then through it

through the dark dome as if it were only a fragile soap bubble

and in the light of morning.

Applejack bucked her hips out to one side and sent Rarity sailing off her back while she landed shoulder-first in the dirt. It knocked the wind right out of her, and she rolled a ways through the dust, gasping desperately through the clouds which scraped along her throat. After what felt like several barrel rolls, she slid to a halt.

She coughed.

She opened her eyes and felt the full force of the sun drilling into her skull, then winced and quickly closed them once more.

It smelled like dirt out here. That may have been a given, but it really and truly smelled like dirt and little else. A warm, dusty, earthy smell that filled every corner of Applejack's lungs and made her feel at peace.

Until she remembered her friend.

Applejack's eyes sprung open once more, and she scrambled into a sitting position. "Rarity?" she called. "Rarity!"

She coughed again, waving her hooves around to disperse the brown cloud which hovered around her.

There

in the dirt

head raised yet looking down--

"Rarity!" Applejack shouted.

Her hooves shot out from under her as she galloped to her friend's side. Kicking up even more dirt and dust. Not caring in the least.

Rarity looked up.

Though she had rolled through the dirt herself, and her coat was hardly as white as she would have liked, she was no longer dull. Her mane hung limp and unwashed beside her head, but she was no longer lifeless.

The glimmer in her eyes had returned.

She hardly had enough time to open her mouth before Applejack all but tackled her, wrapping her in a bear hug from which few could escape.

Least of all Rarity.

"Oh, thank Celestia," Applejack said in a great rush of exhausted air. "Lemme look attacha. Lemme look."

She pulled back enough to look into Rarity's eyes. In her panic, she could hardly control her hooves, and so they wandered clumsily over Rarity's face and shoulders, leaving streaks of tan wherever they lingered.

"You okay?" Applejack asked, not stopping her physical exam for an answer. "You alright?"

Rarity only stared up at her, eyes wide as dinner plates. Sparkling in the sun.

"Hey, hey." At long last, Applejack's hooves found steady ground: one on Rarity's cheek, one on her chest. "Rares? Say somethin', sugar cube."

Rarity swallowed.

Applejack felt the way her muscles shifted with the motion.

"I…" Rarity trailed off. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear the dust from her eyes, but Applejack saw tears brimming there. "I-I'm alright."

But she barely got the words out before her face crumpled and she began to cry once more.

Not like before, though.

Not retreating into the darkness.

Not shrugging off Applejack's touch.

Not lonely.

Rarity crashed into Applejack's chest and cried. Freely and completely. Holding nothing back. She spilled herself onto the dense cream fur which rose and fell with Applejack's breath, pawing and reaching and clinging to whatever she could get a hold of. Crying with all the breath she had in her lungs.

No.

Not crying.

Laughing.

Not laughing.

Something in-between. Some great and powerful, raw and real sound of relief and desperation and exhaustion which shook Applejack to her very core. Before she knew it, she was crying, too-- her own tears spilled down her cheeks and drizzled onto Rarity's head like perfect raindrops.

They cried together.

On each other's shoulders.

Because nopony should have to cry on their own.

And, as the sun warmed their backs, Rarity and Applejack knew that they would never have to feel lonely again.