Up On the RooftopView OnlineA Christmas ShimmerUp On the RooftopTwilight Sparkle wouldn’t approve. The metal stairs that led from the fire escape out of Sunset and Twilight’s apartment up to the roof was loose on its bolts, rusted, and caked in ice. The railing was freezing cold, and rattled in her hand as she gripped it. Sunset’s hand stuck to the frigid iron, and she swore as she tore it away. Good thing she’d stashed the bottles in her backpack. There was no way she could have carried them up without tripping and having the entire thing shatter all over the fire escape. Briefly she wondered if she should sneak back inside the tiny studio, and perhaps find some gloves. But the risk would be waking Twilight up. And as much as she loved her girlfriend, once Twilight woke up there would be Questions, Inquiries, Studies, and Experiments. Everything got more complicated when Twilight got involved. Usually in the best possible ways. But tonight Sunset was running on instinct. Maybe even a little faith. Each step up the fire escape crushed the fresh falling snow under Sunset’s booted feet, the fresh snow compressing with that magical crunch that only comes from virgin snow. She climbed slowly, ignoring the pain and discomfort of the cold rail against her skin; it would hurt a lot worse if she fell. The roof of the brownstone building sparkled in the diamond dust of ice and moonlight. Sunset smiled at the sacred stillness, the peace and quiet that so often seemed absent from the young college student’s life. These were moments to be cherished, she thought. Again she wondered if she should go wake up Twilight. Sharing this with her might be worth the questions. “Another night,” she whispered, smiling up at the crescent moon up above. “Maybe tomorrow.” She wondered if Twilight would understand. With a thought of apology at the blanket of snow she was about to mar with her footprints, Sunset stepped out onto the roof, walking over until she was in the middle, between the broken-down satellite dish and the pipe chimney fed by all six of the apartments below. Sunset stuck her hands in her coat pockets while she brushed at the snow with her boot, clearing a small spot in the roof—just enough that she could set up the two camp chairs poking out of her backpack. She pulled them out, unfolded them, and sat down in one, setting the bag next to her with a clink of glass. Then she sat back in the chair, closed her eyes, and waited, smiling as she felt the light dusting of snowflakes melt against her cheeks. It had been years since Sunset had been in an Equestrian winter. She remembered Canterlot as a young unicorn student, but she never remembered nights like this. There had never been time to sit in the cold silence and just… wait. There had always been the next achievement, the next study, the next thing to make Celestia proud of her. The next ambition, the next deception, the next manipulation. It didn’t sting like it used to. She had Twilight and the other girls to thank for that. Even Twilight’s royal Equestrian counterpart. But tonight, sitting on the roof of her building, Sunset wondered if Equestrian winter nights were like this. She’d never taken the time to sit and just listen to the magic there. Was it really the magic in the air of this night that had called her out of her comfortable bed and the warm embrace of her love? “Maybe I’m just going crazy, missing Equestria like this,” she muttered out loud. It wasn’t often that she felt homesick. No. Homesick wasn’t the right word. Home was here. With the girls. With Twilight. But she still missed it, sometimes. Sunset lost track of time. It was cold, but she kept her hands in her pockets. After a few moments, she reached down and pulled one of the bottles out of her backpack, fishing her keychain bottle opener out of her pocket and popping off the top. “Lukewarm beer, outside, in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve,” she said out loud, hefting the bottle towards the moon in a sort of salute. “Twilight would have my head examined.” She took a sip, rolling the smooth ale over her tongue before swallowing, closing her eyes again to the silent night. Sunset didn’t really think she was crazy, though. Far from it. And the sound of bells on the snow-draped night only confirmed it. She didn’t even open her eyes, merely smiling and sipping at her beer. She didn’t look up when the crunch of boots on the roof next to her announced the presence of another creature. She merely held up the bag towards the sound. “Milk and cookies is more traditional,” a cheerful bass rumbled at her, and Sunset laughed. “Oh, sure,” she said, opening her eyes. “But who else is gonna offer Santa Claus a beer?” He looked just as she assumed he would. Not the red and white suit in the cola commercials, but an old spirit, ancient and powerful, draped in the trappings of the wishes of a thousand thousand children. His robes were the cover of oak bark, trimmed in moss. His beard was made of hoarfrost, and his eyes bright burning coals of hope and joy. The lines and crags in his face, made rough and brown with wind, were like a roadmap to every single house and rooftop in the world. “Hah! Well said, Sunset Shimmer. And may I add, would it be silly of me,” he said, rumbling with laughter as he accepted the offered bag, pulling out a bottle of his own, “to offer my surprise at sharing a beer with a mythological creature during my nightly rounds? A unicorn, even.” “So you know who I am,” Sunset said. She wasn’t really surprised. “I’ve never seen duplicate names on my list before,” he replied, easing himself down into the camp chair with a groan. It looked too small for him, but it barely sank under his weight. “Sure, some kids have the same name as others, but I know the difference. So when I saw that there were suddenly two Sunset Shimmers, and they were both the same girl, only… not…” he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “Honestly I’m surprised you waited this long to get in touch. One mythological creature to another, of course.” “I wasn’t quite in the right place for this sort of conversation,” Sunset admitted, and her company nodded solemnly. “I’m guessing I was on your naughty list.” “Both of you were,” he said, and Sunset’s eyes shot wide. She gulped, and looked up at the Spirit of Christmas. “Both of us?” It was a question she’d tried not to think about too hard. Twilight had asked a few times, but Sunset had never had the courage to look into it too deeply. “She was… the same as me?” “Worse,” he replied, taking a long pull of his beer. “She never had what you had.” The sweet taste of the beer turned to ash in her mouth, and Sunset struggled to swallow. “Um.” The figure in the robes took one last long drink of the bottle before he stood, eyes twinkling in the darkness. “Well, I should probably limit myself to one. I am driving, after all.” He laughed. “Merry Christmas, Sunset Shimmer.” “Wait!” She jerked to her feet, nearly spilling onto the roof in the ice and melting snow. “Um, isn’t there anything I can do? Anything?” What if it was her fault? What if, by crossing through the mirror, Sunset had somehow… …stolen her counterpart’s redemption? But Santa Claus beamed, his white teeth shining in the moonlight. It was like he’d expected the question. “Tell me, Sunset. Did you ever watch those silly little movies that they play on repeat this time of year? Like the one with the three ghosts? Or maybe the one about the good man who doesn’t realize just how wonderful his life is?” “Fluttershy made me watch that one once, when I asked why she named her newest cat Zuzu,” Sunset shrugged. “How would you like to be an angel tonight, Sunset Shimmer? Just like the angel from that movie? Maybe answer a Christmas wish that a little girl made, years ago?”
Ghost of Christmas DoppelgangerView OnlineA Christmas ShimmerGhost of Christmas DoppelgangerIt was a rare moment of peace in Professor Shimmer’s dark office. There would be no students pestering her for help with their work, or reference letters, or questions about their latest grades, at least until the new year. It was a brief window into how things could be. How things should be. And would be, once she had tenure and no longer had to put up with these puling children. To be fair, most of them were almost her age. But it wasn’t Sunset Shimmer’s fault that they were still taking things slowly while she’d gotten her Masters degree at twenty. Her first Masters; the MS in physics had been a cakewalk. Now she wanted more, and the psychology department had already told her she could begin doing coursework towards her therapy degree. Not that she intended to use it to open a practice or anything; she just found that people were easier to handle if she knew exactly what made them tick, or understood the levers to pull to make them bend. A sudden cacophony of shattering glass from the lab nearby made her jerk up in her seat, breathing hard and diving for the mace she kept in the top drawer of her immaculately organized desk. She popped off the safety cap and moved to the door, peering around into the dimly lit lab beyond. It was a grad student, her eyes wide with shame and horror behind thick glasses. Sunset didn’t know her name, but she knew well the look of terror in her eyes. The glass from a dozen broken test tubes spread across the floor. Sunset sighed and slipped the mace into the pocket of her suit jacket, stepping into the lab. “I thought the school was closed for the holiday, miss…” Sunset trailed off expectantly. “Um, I’m Moondancer,” the student said, and gulped. “And yes, it’s closed. I, uh, I made arrangements with the security guard. I’ve been coming in every day since break started. Nobody’s been here yet.” “You’ve got nowhere else to be? No family or friends?” “No,” Moondancer said, with the emphatic huff that Sunset immediately noticed. It wasn’t that Sunset set out to notice the details that she could later use to manipulate people. She didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened naturally. And it was clear to see that this Moondancer was lonely and fragile. Someone had betrayed her in the past. Idly Sunset wondered if it was healthy to think this way. “Okay. So you’re going to have to clean that up,” Sunset said, and Moondancer nodded wordlessly. “There’s no janitors, after all. There’s a broom and dustpan in the supply closet. And while you do that, you can tell me what you’re working on.” “Magic,” Moondancer said. Sunset scowled, but inwardly she was pleased. A driven student, made bitter and fragile because of some past pain, and eager to study Sunset’s favorite new subject? Sunset wondered if she’d just found her next pawn. It would be effortless to bring this girl into her orbit and wring her dry of every useful ounce of research, labor, and brilliance. “I used to go to a school called Crystal Prep, and you see there was a…” “A magic incident, I know,” Sparks of excitement danced up and down her spine, and she had to fight not to show it on the outside. It wouldn’t be good to show Moondancer just how valuable she was. Maybe she’d even be an ‘in’ to some of the individuals involved, who so far had stonewalled her every effort to determine exactly what had gone on at the so-called Friendship Games. “I need to understand it,” Moondancer’s jaw was set with determination. “And I’m this close to a breakthrough. I knew someone who had invented a spectrometer to track the source of these incidents, but she…” Moondancer sucked in a breath of air as her mouth clicked shut. And there’s the source of your pain, Sunset smiled with inward triumph. A good rival, something to drive this student on, would be helpful. “You’re not in touch with this inventor any longer?” “No,” Moondancer said in a strangled yelp. She glanced down at the floor, and suddenly remembered the broken glass. With a start, she darted over and yanked the supply closet open, scurrying back with the broom and dustpan. “No, I’m not. And I think she destroyed it. I don’t know why.” “So you’re inventing your own now. But why are you in the chemistry lab?” “I… well, nobody’s at the incident site right now, so I collected some soil samples I’d like to test. This lab is the best I could get access to for testing the samples, and see if I can start sorting out a new magic spectrometer.” Her eyes were still on the floor as she began sweeping up the glass. For a moment it was silent, except for the tinkling of the glass against the ceramic floor. “Um. Um, you’re not going to kick me out, are you? You’re Professor Shimmer, right? All the other students say…” She glanced up, her eyes wide behind her glasses, before she gulped and let out a little squeak. “Nevermind.” “What do the other students say?” “Nothing!” Sunset thought to press, but didn’t. It should have made her feel like she’d won. The students she taught, her coworkers, her department head, they were all intimidated by her. Just as she’d meant. She had everything she wanted. But the look of fear in this young student’s eyes was unsettling. “Tell me what they say, and I’ll let you use the lab.” “They…” Moondancer swept the glass into a dustpan, before turning towards the trash can near the door. Her back was to Sunset. “They call you the ‘Bitch Queen.’ They say you’d never lift a finger to help anybody, unless it helped you. They even told me you’d probably be here because you don’t have any—” “Get out!” Sunset hissed before Moondancer could finish that thought. Moondancer flinched, shoulders tight and hunched. “But you said—” “Get out!” she cried again. “Get out, I don’t want to look at your—” Someone knocked on the door of the lab, and both student and professor froze. Sunset reached for the mace in her pocket. There was a comfort to the cold metal cylinder, and she used that comfort to rein in her pounding heart. “Who’s there?” she called out, far more confidently than she felt. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the voice called back. Moondancer jerked, wide eyes shooting between the door and the professor. “But if we can all stay calm, I’m sure we can get through this night without any regrettable incidents.” The voice laughed. “Um. Sorry, didn’t mean to overhear. I was waiting for an opportune moment to interrupt, but it never really came. But I think I could answer some of your questions about magic.” “Magic? Who do you think you are, you…” Sunset surged past Moondancer, thrusting herself into the light of the hallway until she could see the figure beyond. It was… her. Another Sunset. Identical. The clothing and hair were different, but it was the same orange and yellow hair, the same cerulean eyes, the same confident smirk. She was dressed in a damp pink parka, with her hands shoved into her pockets. Her nose was ruddy from the cold outside, and slush dripped from her black boots. “Who are you?” Sunset hissed, pulling the mace out of her pocket to aim it at the doppelganger. She was impressed that her hand was steady. Moondancer jerked back, and the fake Sunset held up her hands defensively. “Woah, Sunset, please, calm down!” “How do you know my name?!” The tube of mace jerked as she waved it about. “Who are you? Why do you look like me? What are you doing here?” “Like I said, calm down!” She was slowly backing away, moving with deliberate steps back further into the hallway. “I can answer your questions, but I’m gonna need you to put the mace away first! I promise, I can even answer some of your questions about magic!” “Why should—” “Look, you were both just talking about magic, right? I’m telling you, I’ve got some free answers for you. First hand, eyewitness stuff. Are you really gonna pass up this opportunity just because you’re scared?” She turned to Moondancer. “Are you?” “No!” Moondancer nearly cried out. And that’s when Sunset noticed. Moondancer wasn’t frightened. She was elated. The slightly younger student was nearly vibrating, clutching at her chest with both hands, twitching back and forth. There was a pang of regret, something Sunset thought she’d killed off years ago. When did she stop being excited about new discoveries? When did the thrill of learning lose its savor? When had she… “No, wait!” she screamed. Sunset had gotten lost in her own head, and while she’d been self-reflecting, the doppelganger had pulled her hand out of her parka pocket and was reaching for Moondancer, who was reaching back eagerly. Sunset surged forward, all her regrets and doubts and worries draining out of her head, leaving a blind, flashing panic. Her arm was locked out in front of her, and she frantically slammed down the trigger of the mace with her thumb. It broke. Cheap plastic cracked under the assault of her, and she squawked in pain as the jagged broken trigger bit into her thumb. She felt it break skin. Meanwhile, Moondancer and the other Sunset had touched hands. It was a light thing, a minor brush of their fingers, but the fake Sunset’s eyes glowed with white, unnatural light. Sunset only had a moment of hesitation before she shoved herself between the two of them, grabbing at the imposter’s fingers. Sunset felt… something. She would have described it as an invasion, if it didn’t feel warm. Comfortable. Like… like… A memory, unbidden and forgotten, floated into her mind. A little Sunset, young, far younger than she liked, sat at a battered but strong kitchen table, a cracked mug full of steaming cocoa at her side. In her fist she clutched an oversized green crayon. The paper spread in front of her was full of the nearly-illegible scribbles of a six-year old. But Sunset didn’t need to be able to read them. She remembered. “Dear Santa I don’t need any presents. You can give your gifts to other kids. I just want to see a real life magic unicorn. I love you Santa Sunset Shimmer” It had been a decade and a half since that day. Sunset Shimmer had thought she was done with it. She thought it had healed. A tiny mass of scar tissue, deep in her psyche, never to be brought up again. Nearly fifteen years of bitterness, skepticism, manipulation. Could you really trace all that back to one single crushing disappointment? Sunset blinked. She was sitting on the floor, in the hallway. The other her was smiling, chatting with Moondancer, who was firing questions at her faster than she could answer. “...you know, you’re really fine to write all this down, Moondancer. You have my contact info. And you know where I’m attending school. Send us an email any time.” “I…” Moondancer hesitated. “But Twilight—” “Twilight owes you an apology,” the other her said firmly. “And I promise you, she’s the kind of woman now who will give it. But until she can, I can only apologize for her.” “Okay, but—” “Moondancer. You know how to reach me. But I have to help Sunset now. It’s important.” The doppelganger smiled. “Besides, it’s nearly one in the morning! You need to get to bed! And remember what I said. You’re welcome to come over for Christmas Brunch. If you’re willing to see Twilight again, that is.” It hurt to watch. Kindness and grace, forgiveness and apology, coming from her face. Her voice. What had changed? Where had she gone wrong? Sunset Shimmer, her head still spinning, held on to the wall as she pulled herself up on unsteady feet. “Somebody needs to explain what’s going on, or I’m going to make you all regret it.” Sunset hated how hollow her own threat sounded.
Finding the Right WordsView OnlineA Christmas ShimmerFinding the Right WordsMoondancer had extracted herself from the conversation with one last eager promise to call. While Sunset was certainly excited to get to know the strange young woman, and really did hope she’d call or come by, that wasn’t what she was here for. This next bit was going to be much more difficult. “So, Professor, I’m going to assume you have an office around here?” she began casually, ignoring the bottle of mace with the broken spray nozzle that the other Sunset kept fidgeting with, passing it back and forth between her hands. A second of hesitation flashed over the professor’s face, but only for an instant. Her jaw steeled, and she shot Sunset an angry gaze. “This way.” For a moment Sunset wondered if the other, angrier her had some other kind of weapon tucked away in the office. Maybe she should be worried. But no. Overt violence had never been her thing. With a flush of embarrassment she remembered the one, glaring exception; a squirming dog in her arms, a sledgehammer. She shook her head to clear the memory before following the other Sunset into the chemistry lab. The office was just like Sunset had expected. It was austere and a little anodyne; the walls were decorated with little more than Professor Shimmer’s Master’s certificate, her teaching license, her professional certifications, as well as a single landscape painting of Canterlot’s cityscape. It was all very neutered, all designed to show off the bearer while not offending anybody. A pure blank slate from which to begin manipulating and shaping those who stepped into the professor’s office. “Nice,” she snarked, and the professor scowled at her. “Um. This is gonna get awkward, but what do I call you?” “You can call me ‘ma’am,’” the professor shot back, and Sunset laughed. “I suppose you can call me by my title, if it’s really that confusing to you. Now. Tell me who you are and what you’re doing here now.” “Ever read ‘A Christmas Carol’?” Sunset asked. To be honest, her trip here had been a bit of a whirlwind. A flying cervid-powered sleigh ride had been unexpected, to say the least, and left her little time to make some sort of plan. But winging it had always been a strong point of hers. “Oh, god,” the professor sighed, slumping down into the faux leather chair behind the desk. “So you’re going to tell me you’re some sort of Ghost of Christmas Cliché?” “Not quite,” Sunset giggled. “But maybe a little. I am here to help you, I think.” “Bullcrap,” the professor snarled. “And you still didn’t tell me who you are.” “I’m you,” Sunset shrugged. “From an alternate dimension. Came over via a magic portal. I’ve been living in Canterlot for the last six years, because of the connections I’ve made over here.” “Again, bullcrap. Prove it.” “Makes sense you’d want evidence, Professor,” Sunset smiled. “Okay, then. I don’t know what’s gonna happen because we’re the same person, kinda, but I have a suspicion.” She slipped out the geode she wore on a chain from under her parka, showing it to the professor without taking it off her neck. “This geode lets me do magic. Me and a few of my friends, actually. If I take your hand, I can see your memories, glimpses of your past. That’s how, just a few minutes ago, I caught a glimpse of your letter to Santa about the unicorn.” The professor went stiff, her eyes blazing with fury. “How could… you couldn’t… how dare—” “Lemme ask you something, Professor,” Sunset cut her off before she could build too much steam. “What was Moondancer gonna be? A one-time resource to drain dry? Or an ongoing minion? Whose name would have been first on the research paper after she was done with her new spectrometer?” “You… you’re changing the—” “Be honest, Professor. Would you have even spared her a second thought once you tossed her aside?” “Shut up!” the professor screamed. “How dare you! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know how hard I’ve worked, how I’ve struggled and suffered and…” “Please, professor. We’re the same, you and I. Only you haven’t had somebody to jolt you out of your cute little sociopathy yet.” Sunset leaned over the desk, and the professor shrank back. “But if you want me to know? All you have to do is reach out.” She offered her hand. Professor Shimmer stared at it, her lips twisted in a grimace, before she slid her chair back, away from the offending hand. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m getting tired of it. How are you doing this?” “I told you. I’m you, just from another world. Another universe.” Sunset’s voice was plaintive. “I did all of this. The manipulation, the threats, the blackmail and bargaining and maneuvering. I went through it all and came out the other side a better, happier, kinder Sunset. And if I can, I wanna help you go through it, too, and maybe even spare you all the pain and hurt I had to suffer in the process.” “This is a joke. And I think I’m done here.” The professor stood from her seat. “You have two minutes to leave before I call the police.” “I’m a unicorn!” Sunset blurted, desperately. She fought the urge to jump forward, to seize the professor’s hand. Maybe there was more she wasn’t seeing. Maybe they were different, and just a little bit more information would… But no. She didn’t want the professor any more skittish than she already was. “What?” “I… I’m a unicorn. This other dimension? There’s no humans. Only magical horses. Unicorns and pegasi and—” “Have you been drinking?” Sunset blushed. She’d had one. One! And then a ride in a sleigh with Santa Claus himself. She probably wouldn’t believe her either. “I can prove everything I’m saying.” She felt like the whole thing was slipping out of her hooves. Er, hands. Her mind was truly frazzled if she was slipping back into her old thinking patterns. “I just need you to trust me for a little bit. An hour. Come with me to Canterlot High, and I’ll show you.” Mentioning the school must have done it, because Sunset saw a light of some indescribable fire behind the professor’s eyes. They stared at each other as the seconds ticked by. “Fine. But I’m driving.”
Laughter on the Cold WindView OnlineA Christmas ShimmerLaughter on the Cold Wind“It’s a statue. Of a horse.” “It’s also a portal.” “It’s made of rock. I must be crazy. Following some apparition to a high school statue in the middle of the night on Christmas.” “I’m an apparition, then? Which kind? An undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, or a fragment of underdone potato?” The professor snorted in amusement at the literary reference, a reluctant laugh slipping out as the two of them stood, side by side on the frozen concrete, staring at the statue. “I’m not sure I like that comparison very much.” “Too bad, Miss Scrooge. You brought it on yourself.” Sunset stepped forward, reaching out to the concrete that formed the equestrian statue’s plinth. She didn’t touch it; she knew that this was something that Professor Shimmer had to try for herself. “Right. So all I have to do is reach out and touch it, I guess?” “I think so. The portal will respond to anybody with magic. I think it will respond to you.” Sunset shrugged. “We’re connected, after all. For obvious reasons.” Professor Shimmer snorted again. She held out her hand, covered in a fine faux-calfskin glove, and looked at her fingers. Sunset waited, barely able to breathe. Finally the professor grunted, pulled the glove off her fingers, and brushed them against the concrete. “Nothing,” she breathed, and Sunset’s heart sank as the professor’s voice grew bitter. “I don’t know what I thought would happen. Very well, imposter. You’ve made a fool out of me. Now tell me where the hidden camera is and give me your lawyer’s phone number. My lawsuit will be—” Then it happened. There was a cerulean spark of light, and the professor’s fingers sank into the concrete. She hissed in horror, jerking back so quickly she fell back onto her butt before Sunset could catch her. “What was—” “Here,” Sunset offered a hand. The professor glared at her, before taking it so Sunset could help her to her feet. Too late Sunset remembered the professor had taken her glove off. There was a flash of light, and the world became white. Blank. A million memories, a million points of light, shining so bright everything else disappeared. Sunset saw the professor writing her letter as a child. She saw the set of her jaw as little Sunset brushed tears of disappointment from her eyes. She saw a slightly older child, shoving a classmate against a wall, an intimidating sneer painted over her lips. She saw a teenaged Sunset, a seductive smile on her lips, teasing a boy as she whispered nefarious plots in his all-too-eager ear. She saw an older Sunset, cornering one of the professors on her dissertation committee, showing him a few photographs while he shrank back, a look of fear in his eyes. … She saw Sunset, alone, in an austere, anodyne apartment, sitting on her couch, staring out the window, a half-empty bottle of gin in her hands. There was nobody else there. Sunset blinked as the brightness cleared from her eyes, looking around. The professor was on her feet, but her eyes were wide with panic, darting about like a terrified animal. “What…” She panted, holding her ungloved hand to her chest. “What… what did I see? WHAT DID I SEE?!” “I… I don’t know.” Sunset was panting herself. “If I had to guess, though, I’d say something about the portal shared a bit of my power with you. You saw me, didn’t you?” “You… you really are a unicorn. You weren’t lying. Shit, you weren’t lying.” Her whole body was shaking, and she pointed at a spot in the grounds. “It was right there. You were right there. The crater, where Twilight and the others… and she… she lifted you and…” “Shh, relax,” Sunset took a risk, wrapping her arms around the other woman, being careful not to touch skin to skin again. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It takes some getting used to, after the first time. Plus, it was a little intense for me. Do you need a minute?” “A minute? I think I need a lifetime!” Professor Shimmer was hysterical. “There’s a whole other world! With ponies! And magic! Unicorns and dragons and…” Sunset couldn’t help but snicker. “Everything you wished for as a child. And you can go over. See for yourself. That magic? It can be a part of you, Sunset Shimmer. If you let it.” “What do you mean?” She sounded shaky, her voice muffled by Sunset’s parka. “If I let it?” “Equestrian magic is a part of you, because of me, I think. And you can choose to let it in. But Equestrian magic is the magic of friendship. Of trust and affection, love and compassion. You saw the crater. You saw what happens to those of us who try to seize it. Abuse it. Control it. That’s… that’s what I wanted to spare you. That pain and humiliation.” “I… I don’t know how to change.” Sunset held out her counterpart at arm’s length. The whimpered admission, still fresh in her ears, seemed to lurk in Professor Shimmer’s eyes. They seemed to be at war, a churning mix of embarrassment and fear, curiosity and hope. “It’s a lot easier if you have friends to guide you,” Sunset whispered. “And… you’re offering?” Hope was threatening to spill out, but Sunset could tell she was holding it back. Barely. “I am.” Once again she hugged her other self. “I know you wrote that letter to Santa over a decade ago. I’m sorry it took so long for your magical unicorn to reach you.” She felt the professor begin to shake. Whether for laughter or sobs, Sunset didn’t know. But as the two women stood, embracing, laughing or crying or both, they seemed to hear on the air the soft, icicle sound of tinkling bells on the wind, and a low, deep, satisfied chuckle.
