Sunset turned at the sound of the door opening and saw her emerge. Any longer and Sunset might have been worried that she was not going to show up after all. But then, she would have been relieved, too.
She had known her once as Principal Cinch, and Sunset still remembered how awkward it had felt at first calling her by her first name. But that had been a long time ago.
“Hey, Abby!”
Abacus Cinch smiled, and waved, emerging fully from the stairwell and letting the heavy door close with a thump behind her. As Cinch walked toward where she was sitting, Sunset could only marvel at how different she was now from the woman she still so clearly remembered. Instead of that precisely-tailored blazer with the jagged lapels was a flowing summer dress in navy blue. Instead of those no-nonsense pumps tapping precise patterns as she walked, a pair of sandals clipped leisurely against the rooftop. And instead of wearing her hair in those tightly-wound curls, it fell in loose, wavy locks around her shoulders, in all the shades of greying purple.
She was even holding a wicker picnic basket tightly to her side, as if to complete the ensemble.
“Hey, Sunset!” Cinch greeted as she approached, a furrow forming on her brow and concern on her smile as she got closer. Sunset looked down at herself, and had a moment of feeling self-conscious before Cinch spoke.
“Are you sure you want us to sit here?”
“Oh.” Sunset looked up at her. “Why not?” she shrugged, before pointing a finger off the edge of the roof, and down, at the tan square roof of the shorter building in front of and below them. Two figures, just dots from this distance, were sitting on the edge of their roof, facing the same direction as Sunset was, at the setting sun on the horizon.
“Seems like I’m not the only one with the idea.”
Cinch frowned. “If I were the old me...”
Sunset smirked. “What would you say, Abby?”
“Something about jumping off bridges if your little friends did so as well,” she stated crisply. “Followed by a list of the infractions you are committing right now, and their demerits.” She glanced down at herself, then peered over the edge of the roof as if judging the height below. Then, carefully, she sat herself down near—but not on—the edge. She looked at Sunset, whose legs were dangling off of it, and frowned.
Seeing this, Sunset laughed. “What’s the worst that could happen, Abby?”
“Sunset…”
“Fine, fine,” she grumbled, pulling her legs back from the edge. “I mean, it’s not like it even—” She stopped herself, at Cinch’s continued frown. “I mean, sorry.” She sighed. “I’m really glad you’re here. But I’m kind of not? I was hoping you still had better plans somewhere.“ She gestured at the picnic basket Cinch was still holding tightly to her side. “And it looks like I interrupted one.”
“Like I already told you, Sunset, I was planning on being at the park, alone.” Cinch smiled. “I would much rather be here, with you.”
Sunset smiled back, and brushed back a ratty clump of fire-red locks from her face. “It’s a good thing that things turned out this way, huh?”
Cinch looked pained. “Oh, no! I certainly did not mean that! I—”
“I know you didn’t Abby! I didn’t mean to imply that.” Sunset’s tone was apologetic. “I meant that I turned them all down. Because they invited me, you know? All of them. Applejack and Rarity, up to their farm. Fluttershy, to her animal sanctuary. Pinkie Pie, to her last party. Even Rainbow Dash, if I could find a way to get myself that far east in time. But none of that felt right. Not like just being up here. With you.”
Cinch frowned. “For what it’s worth, Sunset, I truly am sorry that— That she is not here with you.”
Sunset’s voice chilled. “Like I said. I’d rather not talk about her. The past is the past." She shrugged. "Best to focus on the future.” A chuckle escaped her lips. “Not that there’s much of that left!”
Cinch gave an uncomfortable smile. “Well, at least we have the present. And I am glad to be sharing this moment with you, Sunset.”
“Don’t you know it.” Sunset smirked, and looked her up and down. “You look nice, Abby. That sun hat really does look great on you. I’m so glad.”
Cinch reached up to self-consciously move down the brim of woven, dried grass, casting a shadow on her face. “It was always so aspirational, wasn’t it? A hat to protect from the sun.” She looked at Sunset in turn, but did not say anything right away, her smile still uncomfortable on her lips.
Sunset spoke before she could. “Ah, I’m sorry. I should have dressed up or… something.” She looked down at what she was wearing: a jumpsuit that would have been completely plain, were it not for the numbers stitched prominently over her right breast. That would have been completely white, were it not for the stains on them.
“No, it’s quite alright,” reassured Cinch. “It’s just that if I knew there was a dress code to this party, I would have worn mine as well.”
Sunset chuckled at that. “Really? Thought you burned that thing the second you got out, like you said you would.”
“Oh, I could not bring myself to,” Cinch admitted. “It’s sitting in the back of my closet somewhere. Just in case I needed it, I suppose.” She gave a shrug as well, a light one. “Or perhaps it seemed senseless to bother to destroy something right now.”
“Yeah.” Sunset turned her head to look at the setting sun for a moment, just barely touching the horizon formed by the Canterlot cityscape. She placed a hand on her phone, which lay inert and flat on the rooftop beside her. Turning back around, she saw Cinch looking at her hand on her phone, eyebrow raised.
“It’s okay. I didn’t check the updated time this morning. And I’m not about to.”
Cinch visibly relaxed, her shoulders unclenching.
“I would rather not know when, either,” she said.
“Yeah.” Sunset smirked. “Think everyone is that way.”
Cinch nodded. “Best to focus on the present. Here.”
Sunset suddenly had a bluish-gray hand in her face, offering her up something wrapped in wax paper.
“Really?” Sunset took it from her, despite her words. “Is this a sandwich?”
“Yes,” Cinch confirmed. “I’d like you to eat it.”
“Why?”
“Because this is better than whatever it was you last ate.”
Sunset pouted. “What if I attended one of those big street brunches they were doing earlier? What if the last thing I ate was caviar, or something so fancy I don’t even know the name of it?“
Cinch’s response was just a raised eyebrow.
“All right, all right,” Sunset conceded, as she took a bite of the sandwich. The fluffy slices yielded easily to her teeth, giving up the salt and savor of what they held.
“This is good. Wow. What is this, egg?”
“An egg salad sandwich. I used to make them all the time, before, well, you know. Simple enough to make, even if I felt too stressed to do anything more.”
“That makes sense,” Sunset said while chewing. “Can’t imagine you eating from a school cafeteria, even the fancy one they had at Crystal Prep.”
“Oh, no. I made sure to never eat it during the week. It was something I only made for myself on the weekends. It was nice. Having something separate.”
“Huh.” Sunset swallowed her bite, begrudgingly noticing how grateful her empty stomach and throat were for it. “I learned something new about you.”
“What, you think you learned everything about me?” Cinch laughed. “I’m sure there are plenty of things about you that I still don’t know, even after all these years.”
“I mean, yeah! Mostly things that would be hard to explain if you didn’t grow up a unicorn in a magical pony queendom.“ Sunset took another bite.
Cinch smiled. “But I do appreciate you trying. Truly. Stuck in that cell... It was nice to be able to imagine a place so fantastic.“
“And real!” Sunset protested, spraying crumbs that she wiped off with the back of a hand before taking another bite.
“Oh, I know it was all real! That was hardly difficult to believe, after“—she sighed—”after everything that happened. But in that cell, even this—”she waved her arms in the air around them, beaming—”the outside, might as well have been Equestria.”
Sunset swallowed that last bite, and did not say anything for a moment.
“Oh!” Cinch said. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was awful of me, to remind you of the home you lost, now of all times.”
“No, no, that’s not it!” Sunset smiled, to reassure her. “It’s just nice, really, to see you so happy. Just like in your pictures.”
“Yes, of course! How could I not be?” Cinch breathed in to fill her lungs, then exhaled. “Just being able to breathe air that’s not filtered or recycled.” She looked at the crumpled ball of wax paper in Sunset’s hand. “Or eat something that didn’t come out of a can or on a tray.”
“Ah, yeah!” Sunset gave a sheepish look. “It really was the perfect last meal. And much better than what that would have been. Thank you so much, Abby.”
“Oh, you hardly need to thank me. I’m just glad that eggs were still so available, with everyone raising backyard chickens.”
Sunset smiled, then glanced at the open picnic basket that Cinch was still holding to her side, noticing it was empty. She frowned.
“Oh, no. This wasn’t something you made for yourself, was it? The last sandwich you ever ate?” Bile and guilt rose in her throat, until she felt the warmth of Cinch’s hand on hers.
“Sunset. It was, but it’s okay. Better than okay. What could be better than seeing someone enjoy something I made. Especially someone I care about.”
Sunset smiled weakly at that.
“Besides,” Cinch continued, “I had a feeling you wouldn’t have eaten anything.“
Sunset cast her eyes down.
“I didn’t,” she admitted. “’I'm sorry for making you take care of me again. You already spent so long—”
“No.” Cinch cut her off. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m just glad I get to see you one more time, no matter how you are.”
Sunset nodded, and Cinch smiled as she withdrew her hand. Sunset let it go at first, then suddenly grabbed her wrist.
“What’s this?” she said, pulling on Cinch’s wrist to hold out her forearm, which she gave up after a split-second of resistance. Two flowers adorned her wrist, their colors standing out easily against that pale skin. Another flower was further down, and a cluster of three closer to her elbow. In the background was that criss-cross pattern of wood that Sunset only knew the name of from having seen it on an internet search a few days prior. Altogether, it was a beautiful tableau.
Blooms on a trellis.
“Wow, that’s a surprise,” Sunset marveled.
“Oh, hardly!” Cinch waved dismissively with her other hand. “It’s no wonder that there were plenty of tattoo artists still plying their craft until the end. In fact, the woman who did mine said that more people than ever were getting their very first tattoos these past few weeks. She seemed very happy.“
Sunset snorted. “Abby! You know what I mean! This isn’t exactly the kinda thing you’d allow at Crystal Prep.”
“Oh, I very much did not! In fact, I once expelled a student for getting a tattoo very much like this one. She did not take it well.” Cinch’s eyes darted to the edge of the roof for just a moment. “It was something I’ve regretted every day since.“
“Ah, yeah.” Sunset nodded, not looking up from Cinch’s arm. “It makes sense that you would get this, then. It must be meaningful to you.”
Cinch inhaled sharply, causing Sunset to let go of her forearm, and look at her.
“That isn’t the only meaning it has for me.”
She pointed to her wrist with her other hand, at the bright pink flower with round petals, and said two words.
“Lemon Zest.”
Sunset’s eyes widened, barely registering the name before Cinch pointed at the one next to it: five sharp petals in brilliant blue, alternating with smaller ones in brown.
“Sugarcoat.”
Then the three near her elbow: first the yellow bloom with many layers, then the puff of pink spines, then the five white petals, the names spilling out of her like precise pours of wine into a glass.
“Indigo Zap, Sour Sweet, Sunny Flare.”
By the time she pointed at the violet in the center, vibrant and purple, Sunset could say the last one with her.
“Twilight Sparkle.”
The syllables lingered in the air between them, then died. Sunset kept her eyes fixed on the violet bloom.
“I…” Cinch sighed. “I just needed them to be more than those black dots.”
Sunset understood.
Those six black dots, in that pattern that had been carved into her mind at that table by those dark-suited interrogators with cold voices. Six black dots on a blank background, annotated with typewritten numbers that meant nothing to her except a vague sense of dread about how many commas they used. Six high-school girls, with names and faces and hopes and dreams and all their lives ahead of them.
Reduced to six black dots.
Reduced to where they had been standing all those years ago, when a shard of uncontained Equestrian magic spilled out of Twilight Sparkle’s device.
When the world changed forever.
Not just for her and Cinch, whisked away to somewhere far from prying eyes in the name of “national security”, to be pumped for everything they knew, and then locked away to be forgotten.
Not just for Canterlot High, suddenly crawling with stern-looking men and women bearing badges from the Department of Energy and the National Science Foundation.
Not just for those six girls, buried in six opaque, lead coffins, for whom the cover story of acute radiation poisoning would have been a blessing, if those absurdly clinical laboratory notes and high-resolution photographs were anything to go by.
But for the entire world, the entire universe, as the echoes of that Equestrian magic finally completed its work, centuries in the making: to eat away at the very fabric of their reality until...
“They’re beautiful,” Sunset said, as if casting a ward against that mental image. She began tracing her finger along those wooden slats that seemed so real, and marveled at how she only felt soft skin. “How did you pick them?”
“Each of their favorites.” Cinch smiled at Sunset’s raised eyebrow. “Nothing I knew from before, of course. What I figured out from their memorial profiles. And yes, I spent a full day of freedom just going through old internet archives, learning all I could about them. Can you believe it?”
Sunset looked away sheepishly. “It makes sense that you would. I did something similar. Felt like I owed it to them.”
“It’s the smallest trade. I gave them a day of my life. I can’t give them back the years I took.”
Sunset frowned. “Abby…”
“I know, I know.” Cinch smiled. “I didn’t know.”
“And I did. What Equestrian magic could do to a universe.”
“You were a child. You were trying to stop me.” Cinch sighed. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? That we go through this argument again in our very last conversation.“
“Just wouldn’t be us without it, huh, Abby?” Sunset smirked, and Cinch couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes.
When Sunset gently placed a hand on her cheek, soft and warm, she pushed it away.
“Sunset.”
Cinch’s tone was two hairs away from saying “Ms. Shimmer”.
“Sunset. We’ve been over this. I know you—” She stopped herself. “I just can’t.”
“I— I know. I’m sorry, Abby. I just—” Her eyes were brimmed with tears. “I just—”
“I know.”
Cinch carefully placed a calming hand on Sunset’s shoulder, then brought her in for a controlled hug. Sunset pressed her face against Cinch’s shoulder, felt the comforting depth of her squeeze, then let go. She sniffled, smiling sheepishly.
“I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
“It’s very understandable, Sunset.” It truly was, given the circumstances. Cinch gave an unsure frown. “Do you want to talk about her after all?”
“I—” Sunset closed her eyes and snorted a giggle. “I—” She opened her eyes and giggled again as she saw Cinch’s frown deepened into a concerned one. “I— I never met her, Abby.”
Cinch’s eyes widened, and she jerked back. “What?”
“Oh, it’s not like I made her up! She really did message me. She really was in our class at Canterlot High. She was in the yearbook— she was on the yearbook committee. Just like me! We really did talk for hours. She really did invite me to just spend the— “ She shook her head. “To spend the last month with her. I just never went. I never met her.“
Cinch frowned. “So the photos you sent?”
“You won’t believe what apps can do these days!”
Sunset turned on her phone, to display the background picture of herself, beaming and holding a smiling green-skinned girl in a sun hat to her side, surrounded by lush foliage. She handed it to Cinch.
“Your garden date.”
“Yep! Where our first kiss… never really happened. The original picture’s two years old. Who knows who took it?”
Sunset shrugged, and made no motion to take back her phone. Cinch held it tight in her hand, staring at the screen for a few moments before placing the phone face-down on the rooftop, and looking at Sunset.
“Why?”
“I just didn’t want you to worry. Not you or Pinkie or Rarity or any of the others. I mean, it worked, didn’t it? They all saw me so happy in that first week, helping me get set up for everything. They just needed a happy excuse to never have to see me again. Wallflower was perfect. It was genius of me.”
Sunset gave her the finger guns, but Cinch did not react in any way.
“That’s not what I meant, Sunset. Why didn’t you meet her? I—” Cinch swallowed anxiously. “I was so happy for you. For both of you. She seemed so sweet.”
“She was! She was so sweet and kind and funny when we talked. And her laugh! Just this cute little thing she can’t help. I just loved to see it. So much.”
Sunset’s smile was bright and happy.
Cinch’s frown was not. She repeated herself sternly. “So why didn’t you meet her?”
“Because!” Sunset shouted, her smile evaporating into a grimace. “Because I would’ve had to tell her, then. I would’ve had to tell her that I didn’t remember her at all.”
Cinch’s voice softened. “She would have understood. You’ve been through a lot since then, Sunset.”
“No, I haven’t, that’s the thing! I haven’t done anything since then, besides rot in that bunker! I still remember them all, Abby. Micro Chips and Bulk Biceps and Roseluck and Scootaloo and Trixie and everyone else I told you all those stories about until you got sick of them! But I don’t remember her.” Sunset laughed, her smile wide, but eyes were pleading. “How awful would that be for her?”
“Sunset—”
“I know!” She threw her arms up. “I should’ve tried! I know! But I didn’t! And it’s even worse than that! I spent the past month just lying in bed all day on my phone, watching the world go by. Watching everyone get ready for the end. I never even left that apartment, Abby. Not once.”
Cinch’s eyes widened. Sunset choked a laugh.
“I didn’t mean to do it at first! At least, that’s what I told myself. That I’d just let myself sit and do nothing for a week. I mean— They gave me enough baked beans to last the whole month, did you know that? Like they somehow knew that I would end up never leaving that apartment. The exact same kind they fed us for all those years, those green cans! So I thought, hey, I was already so sick of those beans that I could barely make myself look at them. Of course I’d leave, just to get to eat anything else. But I never did. I just sat in that bed and ate them all. One by one.”
Her voice was strained and hoarse.
“Because what else was I supposed to do, Abby? Like, oh, hey! World’s ending soon, so we might as well let you go! Enjoy your last month on Earth! What was I supposed to do? Just pretend like nothing ever happened? Like all those years in that prison didn’t mean anything?”
Cinch was staring at her now, a pained expression on her face. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Sunset blurted out.
“I’m sorry, Abby! I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have told you any of that. It’s so stupid of me, and unfair. I could’ve just let you think everything was fine, and spend these last moments together thinking happy thoughts. I’m so sorry I ruined everything again by being so broken.“
“Sunset.” She sighed. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Why not?” Sunset sniffled. “I could’ve just been more like you, Abby. You went through the same thing I did.”
“Sunset.” Cinch sighed again. “I did not. I spent my entire adult life thinking of the people around me as just tools to be used. Numbers to improve. Achievements to be proud of. I spent my life being afraid to truly connect with anyone. To truly enjoy and appreciate life and all its wonders. Sunset.”
Cinch took her hand again in hers.
“I chose to throw away my youth. You had yours taken away.”
“Yeah?” Sunset smirked, her eyes rimmed with tears. “‘Chose’, huh? Just like I chose to spend the past few weeks lying in bed.”
Cinch’s eyes widened at that. Sunset covered Cinch’s hand with her other hand.
“Just tell me, Abby. Tell me that you weren’t faking it, too. That you were really appreciating life and all its wonders”
“I can tell you that, yes.” Cinch nodded, then smiled. “It truly has been a magical time, even if I was just wandering the city. Feeling the grass of the park underneath my feet. Hearing the music playing from every porch. And everyone you meet is just so open these days, about their deepest desires and happiest memories.“
“I’m glad.” Sunset smiled widely, closing her eyes. “I’m so, so glad.”
“I wish you had been there with me, Sunset.”
“I know. But I’m glad I wasn’t. You deserved that time of just getting to be by yourself. Or at least, not having to worry about or take care of me.“ Sunset opened her eyes, and looked at Cinch to see that her earlier smile was gone, replaced by a look of concern.
“I wish you had been there with me,” Cinch repeated. “It would have been nice to explore this world with you, what little we could. It would have been a joy, no matter what you were like.”
“I know.” Sunset looked away. “I know. Well, at least we’re here together now.”
Cinch sighed. “Yes. At least.”
Sunset kept her gaze away, toward the horizon, where the setting sun was casting off a glow of red into the dimming sky.
“It is beautiful,” she said, biting her lip. “Can you believe it’s the first time I’ve actually come up here? I always just watched it from my window. I never ended up painting it like I said I would.”
“That’s truly a shame. You were looking forward to it so much.”
“I never even opened the supplies. Not the ones they let me keep, or the ones Rarity gave me. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Sunset sighed. “The idea of painting just didn’t feel the same like it did before. When it was the only thing I had down there.“
“It’s a shame,” Cinch repeated. “I think you really would have captured that moment you were always talking about, at the cusp of the change of color."
“Funny, isn’t it?” Sunset laughed weakly.
“Yes.”
Sunset glanced at the phone still face-down on the ground, and thought of its promise to tell her, down to the millisecond, exactly how much time was left. Much more precise than what she already knew. That on a normal night, as the sun set, they would get to see the sky fade slowly into a starless, inky black.
That tonight was not one of those nights.
She felt Cinch’s hand on her waist, cupping the fabric of her jumpsuit.
“We really were the only ones who could ever understand each other, weren’t we?”
That thin polyester was hardly able to contain the heat of her skin, the rhythm of her breathing.
“Yes.”
They embraced, for the eternity that fit into the unknowable time they had left.
