Author's Note
takes place in some nebulous season 1-2 era before the cmc have their cutie marks. what if rarity and sweetie belle were my favorite characters?? like what then??
Cherished
Every event in Ponyville invariably became a lavish, well-attended affair, even those with the humblest of origins and mildest of intentions. Rarity supposed this was a by-product of small-town living, as she highly doubted many school pageants in Canterlot or Manehatten drew such crowds. There was little else to do in town on an unseasonably chilly Thursday evening, although it certainly helped that the Cakes had generously lent their cozy bakery space to Cheerilee for the night. Pinkie Pie, she noted with a fond smile, had decorated with her usual panache, favoring lush furnishings and crushed velvet curtains that made the place look like a little playhouse. The foals were going to be over the moon.
Rarity’s admiration of Pinkie’s efforts was prematurely interrupted by an amber hoof in her face—Applejack. The freckled mare grinned widely at Rarity, cadent with pride. “There ya are! Ain’t this special? This place looks fancy as the Grand Gallopin’ Gala!”
“I must say, Pinkie really outdid herself with the decor,” Rarity agreed, readjusting the bejeweled comb tucked into her mane. Just because this wasn’t a swanky function didn’t mean she couldn’t dress herself to the nines. “They’re going to feel like professional thespians up there.”
“Ah sure hope so. Apple Bloom’s been practicing her part day an’ night to get it right.” The pair maneuvered through the throng of chatting ponies to reach the prime viewing location that Big Mac had claimed by the glass dessert cases. He was standing with Granny Smith and Scootaloo’s aunts, all of whom were craning their necks to catch a glimpse of their respective charges as foals bustled back and forth behind the curtain. “Ah bet Sweetie Belle’s been doin’ even more than that. She’s just thrilled to have the lead, ain’t she?”
“Oh, she’s been ecstatic. She won’t practice a word in front of me, but what I’ve heard from her room sounds simply phenomenal. She really has such a wonderful voice,” Rarity sighed adoringly. Big Mac nodded in agreement. The little filly had started tagging along with Rarity to Pony Tones rehearsals and reading their sheet music in spite of her insistence that she was merely a curious observer. They both knew Sweetie Belle was going to stun with her performance tonight.
As if summoned by their conversation, Sweetie Belle herself hastily flung the curtains aside and scanned the audience for Rarity. Upon spotting her older sister, she practically leapt at the older unicorn, tossing her forelegs around her neck in a jubilant embrace. “Rarity! I’m so happy you’re here!”
“Of course, darling, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Rarity replied, a beam stealing across her face at the filly’s excitement. She was costumed in a lavender chiffon dress with sap-green trimmings that Rarity had created earlier that week for the show. While Rarity had to commend herself for her impeccable craftsmanship and sophisticated color palette, she knew it was Sweetie Belle who truly made the gown beautiful. Her ivory coat shone starrily in the dim golden light, offset beautifully by the silver coronet set upon her cascade of rosy curls. The little unicorn was shining from the inside out with a radiance that brought a sudden tear to Rarity’s eye.
To her relief, Applejack spoke up before Sweetie Belle could notice the newfound glassiness in her sister’s eyes. “What’cha doin’ down here, Sweetie? Don’t ya gotta get ready for yer big number?”
“Oh, Miss Cheerilee moved it to the end for me!” Sweetie exclaimed. “I told her my parents might show up kinda late and if we could do my song at the end so they could for sure see it and she said yes!”
All at once, Rarity’s joy sublimated into a sternum-crushing despair. Excruciatingly aware of the weight of Applejack’s knowing stare, Rarity cleared her throat primly and patted Sweetie’s head. “Yes, well… Why don’t you go ahead and get yourself backstage? A true performer should stay and support their cast. We’ll be right here watching you, darling.”
“Okay! Thanks, Rarity,” Sweetie squeaked, giving her sister one last hug before dashing back to join her classmates. In her absence, Applejack draped a comforting foreleg around Rarity’s shoulders as the unicorn glared into the all-too empty space in front of her.
“She still thinks they’re showin’, huh?”
“Even after all the disappointments, all the no-shows, she still has faith in them. I just…” Rarity shook her head briskly to dispel her encroaching thoughts of resentment and anguish. “This is Sweetie’s night. They’re not going to ruin it, I promise you.”
“Don’t worry, sugar cube. It’s gonna be a great night.”
It won’t be a great night. They’ve made sure of that.
.
.
While nearly every pony present knew the story of Hoofington’s founding and settlement well, they were wholly engaged in the pageant’s depiction of its events. The props were a bit crude and the dialogue a tad wooden, but the class’s collective effort to put on a proper show elevated the material well past the dull tedium of a typical school pageant. Scootaloo made for an excellent griffon—at least, that was Holiday’s assessment of the show. As for Apple Bloom, her practice had absolutely paid off: the little pony acted the part of an Appleloosian representative perfectly, delivering her lines with a hard-earned confidence that had every member of the Apple family sniffling.
However, their work paled in comparison to Sweetie Belle’s performance. Rarity stood slack-jawed as her younger sister gracefully took the stage, not at all like the clumsy, overeager filly that pinged energetically around the boutique. For a half-hour, she was Princess Tulip, the short-lived ruler of early Hoofington. Every step was dignified, every word regal: even Diamond Tiara, who had been visibly and vocally upset that she hadn’t been cast in the role, seemed humbled. By the end of the pageant, the audience was completely entranced, Rarity included. She forgot it was her own sibling up there—all she saw was a star.
As promised, the princess’s song—a lyrical interpretation of an epic poem written by a member of Tulip’s court—concluded the show. Sweetie Belle stepped up into the white cuticle of light thrown down by the overhead lamp, her composed expression momentarily crumpling in fear before her roving gaze found Rarity in the crowd. The mare’s heart soared as an emboldened Sweetie smiled and began to sing in her angelic voice. It was a sound that Rarity had heard before in bits and snatches, but never with such full-throated clarity. The act was so impossibly moving that Rarity couldn’t believe the little filly didn’t earn her cutie mark then and there for singing.
Once the final note faded into honeyed obscurity, the bakery erupted into thunderous applause. Cheerilee ushered her pupils back onstage for a final bow, gesturing to each foal in turn so that they could receive individual praise for their part. The final filly was Sweetie Belle, whose bow was met with a renewed swell of cheering led by an uncharacteristically rowdy Rarity. She stamped her hooves against the floor with no regard for her manicure. Blushing, Sweetie waved a hoof at the audience; her fellow Crusaders briefly hoisted her into the air before collapsing into a giggling heap. Her refulgent eyes swept across the crowd, soaking in the praise, absorbing the delighted faces—
—and brimming with tears.
Rarity paused, wondering if Sweetie Belle had been overwhelmingly moved by the audience’s response. This supposition was quickly disproven by an anguished quivering of the filly’s lower lip, followed by that unmistakable hitch in her throat that Rarity had come to associate with tantrums and breakdowns. Rarity was halfway to the stage, a confused panic bloomed in her chest like rising dough, when she belatedly realized what had triggered Sweetie’s reaction.
She still has faith in them.
The heartbroken filly turned tail and bolted offstage, nearly tripping over her own hooves in her haste. Rarity could only watch her sister leave as a crushing dread nailed her to the floor and filled her mind with numbing static. Those vampiric fiends had drained her so thoroughly of her funds, her patience, her fillyhood, but the exsanguination had been restricted to Rarity. She would never allow them to do the same to Sweetie Belle and had managed to protect her from their leechsome presence—or, rather, absence—for years. Her efforts, however, had failed in the end: they had broken her precious Sweetie Belle.
“Rarity.” Applejack, her sturdy hoof and maple-sweet voice jolting Rarity from her daze. “Ah’m so sorry, sugarcube. She was really countin’ on ‘em this time, wasn’t she?”
Rarity nodded, not trusting her voice. It felt silly, almost cruel to be so upset when Applejack’s own parents had passed away so suddenly, but she was surreptitiously glad it was Applejack now by her side. She understood better than anypony else the disappointment and resentment resulting from having nopony to rely on. They had been thrust into the role of parent before the shine had even worn off their newly-acquired cutie marks—an obligation that could eat through the sweetest hearts like a worm through an apple.
“It’ll be alright. She’s gonna be disappointed for sure, but yer gonna be there for her. That’s what really matters,” the cowpony added, giving her friend a soothing hug. Rarity closed her eyes and allowed the surprisingly pleasant aroma of fresh earth to inundate her senses until the fog in her head thinned enough to accommodate the real world again. “Yer a strong pony. Don’t forget that, sugarcube.”
Then why do I feel like I’m made of glass? The unicorn clung ever-tighter to Applejack in the hopes that maybe some of her strength would rub off on Rarity. She would need it tonight.
“Rarity!” A visibly distraught Cheerilee hurried over to the pair. “Oh, Rarity, I-I don’t know what happened, but Sweetie, she ran off before I could say a word. I don’t know where she went, but she seemed really upset. I’m so sorry for not catching her.”
“Don’t worry, darling, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Rarity said, pulling away from Applejack and reassuming her dignified posture. “I know just where she ran off to. Thank you for putting on a lovely show tonight, the schoolponies were just wonderful.”
Cheerilee tilted her head quizzically, but Rarity paid no mind: instead, she turned to Applejack with a wistful smile. The amber mare returned the gesture and nudged her friend reassuringly. “Ya got this?”
“Yes. I think I have.”
.
.
Sugar Cube Corner was just a song and a dance away from the boutique, but it might as well have been in the same building for how little time it seemed to take to reach it. Rarity felt she had no time at all to prepare herself for the night ahead. Before she could even blink, she was crossing the threshold of her showroom, which was lit only by the glow thrown off by a thin rind of moon. Rarity magicked a match to the wick of a candle and held it aloft in her telekinetic grip, searching the room by its light. Sure enough, a silver tiara laid on the floor by her accessory gallery.
Sighing, Rarity walked through her showroom and studio, locked the doors behind her, and climbed the stairs to her apartment. She had expected the evening to end with ice cream sundaes by lamplight, not a slow, somber ascent to her sister’s bedroom illuminated scantly by a single candle. They were supposed to celebrate tonight. Yet another joy stolen from her.
After passing through the kitchen and the living room—or the “parlor” when she was feeling particularly extravagant—she took the second flight of steps to the third floor bedrooms. Sweetie Belle’s room was located at the end of the corridor, far away enough from the store so that the filly could play her records at their highest volume without disturbing Rarity’s customers.
She had just stepped on the landing when she heard the cries of her younger sister, however muffled by pillows. All at once, Rarity’s determination melted away, leaving a heart-rending despair in its wake that threatened to turn her steel spine to jelly. Rarity was no stranger to tears, especially those shed over their parents, but the notion of seeing Sweetie Belle in the throes of such anguish sank her spirits. What could she do to help her when Rarity herself was still so sick with anger?
Yer a strong pony. Applejack’s words were simple, direct—a perfect truth delivered by the Element of Honesty. The two of them had surmounted every obstacle that life had thrown their way and drawn the will to keep going from the younger sisters their departed parents had left behind. Her parents had taken so much, but they had given her one remarkable gift that compensated for all of their greed. And that gift needed her big sister.
Rarity approached the door, exhaled firmly, and knocked at it. “Sweetie?”
“GO AWAY!” the filly yelled. Her broken-glass voice was raw, bleeding.
Instead of obeying, Rarity let herself in and magicked the candle onto Sweetie Belle’s dresser. The room had been torn asunder by either a powerful wind or an outraged filly. Papers were scattered across the lavender carpet; clothes blanketed every surface, including the chiffon dress that Sweetie had worn for the pageant. Her toy box had been upset, spilling her dolls and records across the floor. Perhaps the only objects left unscathed were the miniature sewing machine on the window seat that Rarity had given her for Hearth’s Warming Eve and the collage of posters and photographs tacked above the dresser.
Rarity leaned in closer to study the collage by candlelight and realized she had been mistaken. A picture had been ripped from the wall. If memory served her correctly, it was the photograph of the girls with their parents in the park, one of a rare few of the entire family that existed.
“I said go away,” Sweetie Belle repeated hoarsely without lifting her head from its place in her pillows. She was sprawled across the tangled pink sheets, her tail tucked securely around her trembling body in a desperate bid to comfort herself. Where just minutes ago the filly had been incandescent with glee, she was as forlorn and limp as an abandoned bolt of satin.
“Sweetie, darling, you were absolutely magnificent up there,” Rarity said, walking over to the bed so she could smooth a loving hoof down Sweetie’s heaving back. “You should be very proud of the job you did.”
“I’m not! It doesn’t matter. It was stupid!”
A grim smile unconsciously crossed her face at Sweetie’s foalish petulance. If she was frustrated with something, it was tacky; for Sweetie, said entity was stupid. “Sweetie Belle, you did an amazing—”
“Then why didn’t Mom and Dad show up?!” Sweetie cried at the top of her capable lungs as she finally raised her head. Rosy color flowered in either cheek and tears shrink-wrapped her wide, vein-cracked eyes. The sight caused Rarity’s bemusement to curdle, replacing it with a pain so overwhelmingly foreign, yet insidiously familiar that she froze in place. Sweetie’s thin veneer of indignation snapped like a pulled thread and unleashed a fresh torrent of tears that had her reaching desperately for her sister.
“It’s alright, darling, it’s okay. Just let it all out,” Rarity cooed, wrapping the filly in her forelegs. Sweetie Belle wept for a long, hysterical minute into her sister’s downy coat before managing to catch her breath with a stuttering gasp, at which point she began to pour her heart out to Rarity.
“A-Apple Bloom’s parents are gone, b-but they l-loved her and-and Scootaloo’s p-parents write her everyday! M-Mom and Dad aren’t g-gone, but they still d-don’t come. I-I thought they were coming back, I thought…” A shuddery exhalation. “I-I thought they loved me. Wh-What did I do to make them not love me?”
Rarity hugged her tightly to squeeze those terrible thoughts from Sweetie’s head. “You didn’t do anything, Sweetie. It’s not your fault at all.”
“Th-They l-left me here,” Sweetie managed between shallow breaths. “Mom said we-we’d be a real family, but they left me h-here even though you’re busy and d-didn’t even write a letter or-or send a postcard. I thought t-tonight, everyone in town was going, and maybe… m-maybe they’d see me sing and think I-I was good enough to t-take home. But they didn’t come and now I-I’m here forever when you d-don’t want me and—nopony wants me!”
Whatever existing fragment of Rarity’s shattered heart that remained was reduced to dust by the foal’s devastated words. She was old enough to understand—however reluctantly—that her parents’ negligence and selfishness had nothing to do with her: they would have repeated their actions if she had been a tomboy, a rebel, a princess, a Diamond Dog. Sweetie Belle saw their absence as a reflection of her character, of some terrible flaw that made her unfit for their elusive affection. Their presence at tonight’s pageant would have been more than an opportunity to show them her talent. It was supposed to be Sweetie’s last-ditch attempt to prove her worth before the curtains of their hearts closed forever.
Moving slowly to avoid jostling her, Rarity situated her flanks on the ledge of the mattress and cradled Sweetie against her side. The sniffling filly did not refuse her foreleg, but kept her tail wrapped around her own flanks like a security blanket. “Sweetie Belle,” she started softly, “what do you think is my proudest moment?”
Sweetie Belle glanced up curiously as she scrubbed at her still leaking eyes with a clumsy hoof. “Um… B-Being an Element of Harmony?”
“No.”
“Making your f-first dress?”
“No, dear.”
“Doing clothes for Sapphire Shoals?”
“No. My proudest moment was becoming your older sister.”
The little pony’s confusion trebled. “But… But why? Why were you proud of me just for being born?”
“I’m sorry for not talking with you about this sooner, darling. It’s not easy for me to talk about yet. I’m still very angry and very sad too for what Mother and Father have done to us, but I need you to know that it has nothing to do with you or wanting you. When… When we were growing up, Mother and Father always talked about us being in rather dire financial straits. It was always something about almost losing the house or being a bit away from no breakfast. They would leave town to look for work—or, so they told me. I was so worried all the time. I started taking on tailoring projects when I was just a filly to earn a few bits so we wouldn’t have to go hungry. Father would take those bits and tell me ‘oh, Rarity, you’re keeping us afloat’ and I would think ‘well, I have to keep going to keep my family together’. I sewed and tailored and even went out gem-collecting on the weekends, doing whatever I could to keep us above water.
“Even once I moved into the boutique and turned that sewing into my business, I still gave them nearly every bit I earned. They said it was… it was going to you, that the money was for you. I never even thought to question it or their trips until I ran across a fellow designer from Hoofington at the Gala. She knew Mother by name and told me that she and Father were frequent customers, always buying up her most expensive hats and necklaces on their vacations. I realized that every bit and gem I had ever given them had stayed with them. There was never any threat of homelessness or hunger. They were merely hanging onto everything until they had enough to leave Ponyville behind and travel Equestria in luxury.”
Sweetie Belle stared at the gaping hole in her photo collage, struggling to wrap her head around such cruelty. While she had heard the same warnings about their tenuous budget, she had always assumed that her parents’ trips out of town for work sustained them. Memories smeared by time rose to the surface of her mind of a younger Rarity toiling at her sewing machine late into the night, brushing Sweetie’s mane, preparing dinner for the pair of them. All of that responsibility foisted upon a pony hardly any older than Sweetie Belle herself. “Is… Is that why they haven’t come back? Because they stole from you?”
“I assume that’s part of it, yes,” Rarity sighed. Revisiting the betrayal and crushing sadness she had endured upon learning what they had done was just as unpleasant as she anticipated. It took every iota of strength she had just to continue. “Being generous is wonderful and I firmly believe that everypony should share what they have, but… well, I suppose I let them take advantage of my generosity. They had no interest in me or what I felt or needed. They were only interested in what I could provide, what they could take. They’ve taken so much from me.
“But they also gave me something amazing, something that almost makes up for everything they stole. When Mother was with foal, I was worried and jealous and confused: what were we to do with more mouths to feed? Would they finally start paying attention to me? Would they only love you? I was still asking myself these questions up until you were born and I had the answer. The answer was you, Sweetie. I was so proud of you for coming into the world, this little cherub that only knew love and giving. You were just perfect and I knew I would do whatever it took to take care of you. After so much fear and anxiety, I felt at peace knowing you were there. You were a precious gem.”
“Really?” the filly asked in tearful disbelief.
“Really,” Rarity replied with a watery smile of her own. “I have always wanted you. From the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Even though I broke your iron? And ate your chocolate? And play my music too loud?”
“Yes, even then. I know I can be impatient and angry, but you could never do anything that would make me stop loving you. If these are the cards that Celestia has dealt us, then I’m going to make sure we love each other more than those two ever could.”
“Wh-When did Celestia give you cards?”
Rarity giggled in spite of herself, feeling the weight on her heart sprout wings and depart with a single powerful flap. Only the most stressful conditions could produce a diamond, after all: the two of them had emerged from the fray unbreakably beautiful. “Don’t worry about it. Just remember that I love you and I’m always proud of you, darling. Always.”
Beaming, Sweetie Belle enveloped her sister in an adoring embrace. “I love you and I’m proud of you, too. For being you. I’m so glad you’re my big sister.”
“It’s an honor,” the mare said, dropping a kiss on the filly’s forehead. “You’ve always got me. Now, I believe some celebration is in order after that stunning performance tonight. Pinkie left some Rocky Road in the icebox just for the occasion.”
“Really?! Ooh, I’m gonna make us sundaes!” Sweetie exclaimed. She jumped to her hooves and rushed from the room before Rarity could caution her against taking down the glass bowls or operating the whipped cream canister by herself. Rarity got up to follow, then paused at the wilted candle to extinguish its wan flame. As she magicked it into her aura for safe disposal, her gaze tarried on the collage with its magazine cut-outs and Crusader memorabilia and sheet music and drawings. At the center was a photograph of Rarity and Sweetie Belle at the Sisterhooves Social, doused in mud and sporting excited grins. The same photograph hung downstairs in a gilded frame by Rarity’s sewing machine, a reminder of all she had been blessed with in return for her generosity.
“You’ve always got me,” she whispered, listening for the thumps and thuds of Sweetie ransacking the kitchen and taking in what felt like her first breath in years. “Always.”
