When Lyra opened her eyes again, her immediate surroundings were quite familiar.

She was laying on a couch identical to the one she’d fallen asleep on. The room she was in appeared to be an exact copy of the living room they’d turned into a sleeping area, down to the space heater they’d dragged in next to the couch to help make up for lack of blankets. Ponyville sat at a high elevation and the nights could get chilly, but they’d adapted. There’d been a lot of adapting, but she couldn’t focus on that now.

Gazing about with confusion written plainly on her features, Lyra spotted the same floor lamp that decorated the corner, the same patterned carpet that lined the floor, the same reneighssance-era paintings hung up on the walls (Bonnie always did have a soft spot for artwork).

Except, something was off. Multiple somethings, in fact.

The floor lamp’s light was wavering in a slight strobe. The paintings shifted, their colors ever-so-slightly wrong and the subjects shifting form constantly. The carpet didn’t change much but, looking closely, Lyra could see the strands blowing back and forth as if in a light breeze.

What’s going on? Did something happen?

Lyra’s confidence began to trickle away as a queasy feeling besieged her chest. If something terrible had happened all because she insisted on performing a dangerous, untested spell on two very fragile minds…

The mare’s hooves began to flicker before her very eyes and her form began blurring, growing hazy like an expanding cloud. The anxiety took hold and very nearly swept her away.

A deep inhale halted this process. The calming exhale that followed reversed it.

Lyra forced herself to coalesce as she worked through a few breathing exercises. Now was not the time to panic or lose focus. She needed to be strong, both for herself and the ones she’d come here to save. Whatever was going on, she’d figure it out and work through it. Everything would be okay. Once she convinced herself of that fact, she rose to her hooves and hopped down off the couch.

Immediately, Lyra noticed something else very different, as reaching the ground took far longer than she’d expected and she tumbled a bit trying to catch herself. The room was huge! Everything in it was massive! Looking back at the couch, its plush surface sat just above her head. The floor lamp stretched up into the sky, easily twice–no, three times the height it should have been. The walls reached so high that touching those hung paintings with anything other than magic was a joke.

Am I… a filly?

Thankfully, a quick check over her person disproved that theory. She was very much still her minty, neatly-brushed adult self. Lyra didn’t want to think about how hard it’d be to, on top of keeping herself and all the colts inhabiting this mind from dissipating, also have to do so while age-regressed.

Still, the room was massive and, as she discovered while trotting through some of the doorways in an exploratory mood, so was the rest of the house. In most ways, the environment was an exact copy of their home, but certain details were left uncertain, constantly changing as though an impassioned artist couldn’t make up their mind on what type of scene they wanted to portray.

Lyra supposed that was fair; Sugar hardly had a photographic memory and couldn’t be expected to recreate everything perfectly. What was still weird to her was why she stood so low–or, rather, why the building and everything in it was so huge. Comparatively, she was the size of a small filly, even if she’d not been turned into one.

Still, being in an environment so familiar was greatly comforting, even if the house loomed tall all around her. Lyra eventually came to a stop, raised a hoof up to her chin, and considered the situation.

I’ve been transported inside my son’s mind by an alicorn princess in hopes of solving sixteen years’ worth of mental fighting. I’m in a version of my house, scaled up so I can’t see over the kitchen counters and pulsing with some kind of life. I have to find my kid’s separate identities, somehow keep them from disappearing, and get them to come to an agreement, all without any help from outside.

… well…

On second thought, perhaps considering the situation wasn’t the best thing to be doing.

Lyra, no less determined to help than she was before–if significantly less confident–shook off the mounting anxiety and cantered on. Operating on a hunch, she headed for the stairs and did her best to keep all doubtful thoughts out of her mind. Now was not the time for pessimism. It wasn’t the time to let stress or the dawning gravity of the situation deter her from her goal. It most certainly wasn’t the time to fuzz away and cease to be, which, if she allowed it to happen, could feasibly occur.

… there wasn’t time to dwell on that, either.

The stairs were huge, but so was everything else and Lyra could adjust. Each step up just took a bit more effort, more of a jump than a climbing motion. She almost felt like a mountain goat, hopping from ledge to ledge, but then realized that comparison would hardly reflect well on the part of the goat.

Lyra, sadly, wasn’t quite as majestic as all that.

The mare’s attention left her thoughts as suddenly as every muscle in her body tensely paused. Her head had reached high enough that she could peek over the top of the landing and her eyes widened upon seeing the upstairs. Or, rather, the lack thereof.

There was nothing. A featureless black void stretched out into the distance in all directions, utterly striking only for how empty it was.

Unnerved and with wilting ears, Lyra stared out into the nothing for a few moments, her golden eyes searching for anything to capture their attention. Once she was thoroughly disappointed and by no means satisfied, she turned and began hopping back down the steps. Much to her chagrin, the way down was just as hard as, if not harder than, the way up. Controlling momentum was difficult when one’s legs were too short to reach the next step from the current one. Lyra was starting to understand her son’s preference for being carried around the house.

Upon reaching the bottom, her ears swivelled in place, at long last detecting something other than the tick tock of their grandfather clock and the faint, whooshing pulse of the mental scape. It was a song, played on an instrument she knew very well. A haunting melody that she instantly recognized as one of her own. Without further thought, her hooves were already taking her in the direction of the music room, one of the places she hadn’t been to in her earlier exploration.

The music grew louder the closer she came and the whooshing pulse of life in this place seemed to intensify. Lyra didn’t know what she’d expected, coming here, but it certainly wasn’t this. One would think that, being one of the only ponies ever to understand minds like she could, she’d be familiar with mental scapes enough to have some idea of what it’d look like. Heck, she’d have thought so, too! And yet, this whole experience continued to grow yet more alien and the mare lamented her haste in getting the process started.

She could have left more time to prepare, could have asked Princess Luna for advice, could have talked the whole thing over with her son more. But, when her thoughts turned to her son, she recalled the turmoil, the anger, the fighting in his gaze. She remembered promising to put a stop to it.

Lyra’s jaw set and her pace picked up. Finally, she rounded a corner and stared up into the music room, brows raising.

The source of the music was obvious, floating there suspended in the middle of the room. At this size, she likely wouldn’t be able to reach her hooves fully around it, so she was somewhat glad to see the lyre playing itself. While nearly everything else in the environment had a sort of haze to it, the instrument was rendered in absolute detail. Every string was the right length, every curve exact, every rune engraved on the sides completely perfect–Lyra would know, it being her instrument.

The mare felt a light smile grow on her muzzle as she stared up at it, rotating in the air and playing a song she’d written. A song that, she only now realized, was also exactly consistent with the way she played it. Everything in this place was fuzzy and unclear, but her performance was remembered with exactness.

Lyra’s smile kept growing as she gazed around the room. As expected, it was a fairly close copy to her real-life practice area, just scaled up and a touch more intimidating. The same loveseat decorated with musical notation stood against the wall, a gift from Hearts and Hooves day last year that Bon Bon had found on sale. The same music stand sat in the corner, unused and generally unneeded as usual thanks to its owner's tendency to memorize everything. A shelf covered the wall opposite the couch, filled with notebooks, scattered pages, and outdated advertising posters.

The mare’s ears suddenly perked up as she spotted a small figure laying in the middle of the room, staring up at the floating lyre. She approached at an angle, tilting her head as she studied him further. The colt’s coat was a deep, royal purple, but discolored in splotches by a flaky, reddish-brown substance. His mane was a vibrant lilac and almost seemed to shine in the light, though it could clearly use a brushing with frazzled strands poking out every which way. His tail was a similar color, though notably with streaks of white running through and significantly more disheveled. That same splotchy reddish-brown substance–a substance that, much to her worry, Lyra guessed could only be dried blood–coated his tail and much of his hindquarters, which both appeared damp with some other kind of liquid.

The most striking thing about this colt was his size–or, rather, utter lack thereof. Sugar was small enough already that she could comfortably hold him in her forelegs, but this portion of him couldn’t be more than half that big. Lyra was mildly surprised to see that he’d not been rescaled with the rest of the house, but all the more grateful for it; a teddy bear-sized son was much easier to carry around compared to one the same height as herself.

The most worrying thing about this colt was his blurred appearance. In other words, he was too fuzzy in the dissipating-from-existence way and not fuzzy enough in the cute, cuddly way.

Lyra had a decent idea who this colt was, but she still had to make sure. Stepping into his line of sight, she watched as her minty form caught his eye and caused his head to drop down and face her. She watched with a grin as his face–previously dour and pensive–immediately lit up in the purest expression of utter joy she’d ever seen and he sprang to his hooves.

“MOMMY!”

The colt launched himself right at her like a fluffy, purple rocket and she readied herself to catch him. Reeling back with the recoil, Lyra laughed in relief and nuzzled the foal’s mane while he buried himself in her floof like he always did, giggling madly.

“Hi, Button,” she murmured, bending to kiss his muzzle only to recoil when a horn easily twice the length a foal his age should have poked her in the forehead. Oblivious, the colt breathed in her scent and sighed happily, all but disappearing into her minty coat.

The two stayed like that for a while, revelling in each other’s company while the lyre floating above switched to a happier song. Button seemed to relish being able to hold onto her with hooves fully his own for once–almost like dreaming of a place one had only seen photographs of and finally getting to travel there. Lyra’s scrutinizing gaze scanned his body, flickering between the abnormal horn and the splotches of what could only be dried blood as though debating which to be more worried about.

In the time they spent just embracing each other, Button’s form was already solidifying. The mare sighed in relief as the fuzzy static feeling against her chest and forelegs shifted to a much more welcome fuzzy and warm sensation. That was another striking difference to add to the pile: Button’s body as represented inside this mental scape was so much warmer than Sugar’s ever was in real life.

Lyra likely should have spent more time pondering these things than she did. How unfortunate that time was of the essence here. It was with great reluctance that she pried them apart before either was ready and, holding a dangly little Button to eye level with her hooves, made her inquiry.

“Button, do you know where we are?” Her tone was gentle, obviously, but she couldn’t keep a degree of urgency from coloring it, which he seemed to pick up on. The colt kept his beaming grin while he nodded–at this rate, the expression might well become permanent–and his damp tail swished from side to side like a hairy pendulum.

“YES!”

Lyra’s ears pinned as she cringed a bit from the volume, noting how the whole area vibrated with the noise. Button had always been exuberant and vocal, she knew, but being able to read expressions well didn’t translate to actually hearing the voices. She’d have to get used to this quickly if she intended to continue.

“MY PLACE!”

Still, it was her son’s voice and, as it would for any mother, hearing it made her smile all the wider. Her lips pursed in thought at the actual words, though, and she tilted her head. Button copied the motion, giggling softly as he swung in the air.

“You live here? This is your… section?” It only stood to reason that, with different parts of the colt’s mind as a whole concentrated in different identities, his mental scape would have different regions dedicated to each. Button lit up in recognition–well, even more than he’d been alight previously–and nodded again, still grinning madly at her. His reaction to just seeing her was like any other foal’s response to hearing they’d get to go to a theme park, eat at their favorite restaurant, and receive a dozen toys and gifts all at once at a birthday party hosted by all four princesses.

A thoughtful silence lasted some moments as Lyra looked at him and resisted the urge to squee. This war effort, short lived as it was, failed catastrophically when his forelegs–previously folded against his tiny chest–reached out in the universal ‘hug, please?’ gesture. The attack tore effortlessly through any resistance and the nuzzles, kisses, and pets to follow took many casualties.

Yet still, even as she doted on him, there was a niggling sense of unease. She hadn’t come here just to cuddle her son–though that was a great upside and one that made the dangerous risks all but worth it just by itself. This unease only strengthened when a sudden tremor shook the oversized environment and caused both ponies to pause. Button, surprisingly, pried himself away from her and took a few steps away, looking out and up in a random direction. He pouted and turned back to face his mommy, that beaming grin reduced to a softer, somber smile.

“HELP?”

It was a question, but it didn’t ask whether she would, more if it was time to. Button clearly relished cuddling with Lyra as much as she did, but was also just as aware–if not more so–of how serious the situation was. The mare nodded, her muzzle settling into a grim expression. No matter how much they wanted to, they couldn’t spend precious time willy-nilly. That tremor had meant something, and that something wasn’t good.

Button hopped on up to the mare’s back with some assistance–the stuffed animal-sized colt couldn’t quite clear the vertical distance alone–and off they went. Except, Lyra only made it a few steps before she realized she didn’t know where to go.

“Uh, Button?” His weight was negligible, but she felt him reach his forehooves atop her head as he searched for the right way to perch. The slight dampness of his tail on her withers bothered her, especially since she was almost certain of the fluid’s identity, but she pushed that aside and focused. “Do you… know where to go?”

She heard him hum a bit and hesitate, then speak up with some degree of uncertainty tainting his characteristic exuberance:

“YES!”

Then,

“LEFT!

Shrugging, Lyra fell into a brisk canter as he continued navigating with more simple directions. She thought they might be heading for the stairs, only to blink in confusion when he guided her past them.

It wasn’t long before Button fell silent and she was left staring up at their imposing front door. In hindsight, it only made sense. She wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her earlier.

“So, this is it?” she asked, unnecessarily. Button shifted a bit from atop her, idly poking her horn.

“YEAH.”

His voice was surprisingly downcast. Well, as much as the energetic, rambunctious, loud Button could be downcast. Lyra tilted her head–making him shuffle a bit to counterbalance–at her son’s reluctance. Earlier, he’d seemed all for helping her help. Even outside, he’d been the only one to recognize the need for interference, the only one to ask for aid.

Curious, but no less resolute, Lyra lit her horn and grasped the door handle in her telekinesis. The resulting interaction was more than a little odd. Normally, when a unicorn used their magic to grab something, they received some feedback as to what the object was. Weight, texture, size, etc. It was usually less potent than just touching the object with the frog of one’s hoof would be, but still similar to physically holding and moving something.

When Lyra reached out with her magic, it felt less like she grabbed the door handle and more like she was asking somepony for permission to enter. There was a slight pause when she willed it to open, almost like that somepony was thinking it over, and Lyra realized she was holding her breath.

She felt a slight tremble in the ground as the door brightened a bit, a strange wave of fuzziness spreading out from it and into the surroundings. Lyra and her son shivered as it traveled through them, both resisting the sudden urge to let themselves be swept away. The door creaked open inwards, only to fizzle and fade away entirely, leaving an empty door frame as a gateway into the next section.

Button sighed and slumped in relief–she hadn’t even noticed him tense up–while Lyra shook the strange feeling out of her body and forced herself to coalesce again. Before even bothering to look through the doorway, she directed her eyes upward and caught a glimpse of the wispy lilac mane above hers.

“You okay, Button?” There was no way she was going to continue if he was at risk of fading. Something told her that, while it’d been plenty hard to keep things together in Button’s section, that effort was about to get much more difficult. Thankfully, he piped up immediately, with most of his typical vividness restored and the hesitance all but gone.

“YES!”

She smiled, relieved, and aimed her eyes forward as she took a few steps out.

On second thought, Lyra definitely shouldn’t have expected to see her front porch and the streets of Ponyville greeting them.

Having grown up in Ponyville all her life and spent the vast majority of it without leaving, Lyra had only ever seen the outside of a mansion. The kind that took up most of the residential sections of Canterlot, sprawling out with enough square footage to house their own towns. Many did, bustling with servants and large noble families like worker bees in a gaudy, ostentatious hive. Lyra hadn’t ever seen the inside of such a building–or, for that matter, wanted to–but she imagined it’d look something like this.

The new environment was, in a word, huge. And not just because it was still visibly rescaled like Button’s section. Massive oaken walls stretched high up into a vaulted ceiling that seemed almost out of range to see. More doors ran down both ends of the hallway, each one closed and more fuzzy than the last. There was a table big enough to hide under, a floor of creaky wooden planks set far enough apart to trip on, and an empty picture frame hung on the wall opposite them. These, however, were the only visible decorations. Weren’t fancy manors belonging to fancy rich ponies supposed to be filled with more… stuff?

That was the most striking thing: the vast emptiness of it all. For how large the surroundings were, each detail was absent and the appearances far more out-of-focus than anything in Button’s section had been.

Whose place is this? She could infer what real-life location it was based on, but as to which fragment of Sugar’s identity lived here, she could only theorize.

“Button,” Lyra felt the foal perk up to attention, still perched mostly atop her head. Had he gotten as lost studying the surroundings as she did? “Where do we go now?” He was silent for a full minute, during which Lyra’s brow ventured farther and farther up her forehead. What’s gotten into him?

“I…”

Lyra twisted her neck and felt the colt slide down it, landing in a heap on her back. She was finally able to see him and note the confusion in his eyes, which flicked every which way, still studying the environment.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Lyra blinked, waiting for some kind of addition to that, but he seemed not to want to say more. Button smiled, sheepishly and more than a little abashed, back at her and shrugged his little shoulders. The mare pursed her lips, shrugged back, and faced forwards again.

“Well, okay then.” She settled into a steady trot and, on a whim, opted to turn left down the hall. Button clearly didn’t know this place, but that was fair enough; he’d likely never been here in the scape and might not have even been around to see the real-life manor. They still had ground to cover and little time to lose. Better any forward progress than none at all, or at least that was her opinion on the matter.

They travelled in companionable silence through various halls that never seemed to change. Whenever they left one table far enough behind, they came across another set up ahead with different objects atop it. Various empty picture frames ranging wildly in size sparsely covered the walls, some big enough to be the roof of a cottage, others smaller than Button. Occasionally, they passed under a chandelier filled with candles, each unlit as it swayed ominously above them. The floors kept creaking and Lyra had to watch her own hooves much of the time to avoid tripping.

She briefly wondered where the light was coming from–what little there was, anyway. Button’s section (that being what she’d decided to call it, since it certainly wasn’t her house) had had lit lamps, open windows, and other such ambient light sources, but this place was just a dark, wooden hallway that never ended. Any candles they saw were unlit, every door tightly shut and locked.

The faint whoosh from before was present here, too. The fuzziness in everything visible was yet more prevalent. The occasional tremor made her stumble and pause, trying to track the origin, but direction seemed meaningless in this place.

There was a smell, too, faint enough to go unnoticed if it wasn’t focused on. Musty, old and somewhat… humid. Like the wood that made up every surface was rotting away ever so slowly. Like the building, not yet aged enough to crumble into splinters, was even still feeling the weight of years of neglect. Like the very environment was intimately aware of what had transpired here and recoiling in disgust.

The walls loomed, the dim lighting faded in and out, the shadows seemed on a constant approach. Lyra had the inexplicable feeling that her presence here had angered something, something that wanted her gone. A sudden realization made her eyes widen and her constant idle scanning of the surroundings double in intensity.

We may not be alone in here.

… What else could live in this place?

Lyra craned her neck back to check on her passenger often, each time noting with relief that he was doing much better than she was. Button’s smile hadn’t left, even with him looking out at the downright creepy surroundings and hearing the whooshing that was steadily sounding less like wind and more like pained breaths. Lyra’s presence instilled the foal with so much confidence that it seemed he couldn’t be fazed. That drive, in turn, inspired the mare to do better.

If he was raising her to such a high standard, why shouldn’t she do her best to meet it? His courage was infectious and, encouraged by that smile, the mare soon formed one in turn.

Until Button suddenly leapt off her back and landed, rolling, on the floor below. He dashed to the wall with haste and turned back to her, urgently waving.

“HERE! HIDE!”

Confused, Lyra blinked like a dummy for all of two seconds before she heard a deep, wispy growl from ahead. Eyes bulging, she bolted off after her son and ducked down into the shadows with him, both of them searching for a better location while the noise grew louder. The table seemed too obvious, but it was nearby and the growling was so loud and Lyra’s prey instincts were sent into overdrive, so she levitated Button and galloped under the tablecloth just in time to watch something pass overhead.

It was like witnessing a cloud fly by at the same speed as Rainbow Dash. Some kind of vaguely green mist that took up the entirety of the hallway zipped past, gone before they could even register it was there. The growling, screaming sound went with it, further distorted by the Doppler effect into a torturous force on the ears that sent shivers down her spine.

Button was the first to step out from under the table. Lyra tensed as he did, greatly tempted to pull him back, but ended up merely watching him look down both sides of the hallway. Once satisfied, he turned back and smiled his signature beaming grin up at her, gesturing with his head.

“CLEAR!”

Somewhat hesitant, Lyra nonetheless stepped out and smiled uneasily back at him. Button spun and started trotting off in the direction they’d been going, but when she caught up with a few strides he let her levitate him back aboard with a giggle.

“Do you know what… that… was?” The question needed to be asked, even if the mare was still catching her breath and actively forcing her heartbeat to slow. She noticed with no small amount of annoyance that her hooves had begun expanding into fuzzy mist, but that process was reversed soon enough. This isn’t going to be easy.

“NOPE!”

Button’s cheer was infectious, even if his answer was less than satisfactory. The two of them shrugged at each other again, then Lyra strode on.

I think I’m starting to realize how much I’m in over my head…

She could only hope that they’d seen the worst of what the scape had to offer.

Bon Bon Heartstrings had been doing a lot of pacing recently.

For years, she’d trained herself to have a cool head and never worry about anything. Worry, anxiety, stress, these were purely detrimental emotions that only distracted from pragmatic solutions and she’d been proud to announce them gone from her mind. Bon Bon’s calm, focused demeanor had suited her well back when she was still an agent in S.M.I.L.E., letting her deal with any situation if not successfully, at least without time wasted overthinking things. She’d been unshakeable no matter what was thrown at her.

She’d only recently made the connection that, while monster attacks were one thing, endangered loved ones were another thing entirely.

So, here she was, wearing yet another trough into her floor as she went back and forth across the living room. Occasionally, she stole a glance at her sleeping family members, both with faces somewhat scrunched and bodies moderately tensed. Sometimes, she looked over at the other pony in the room, a certain purple princess whose taut expression belied immense concentration and whose fiercely glowing horn spoke of great magical might being put to the test.

Usually after one of these checks, Bonnie would quietly sigh, droop her head again, and return to her attempts at creating a trench in the floor. But by the point she was feeling a moderate dip in her path, she’d had enough of the soft shimmering of magic being the only sound in the house.

“Any chance you can talk, Princess?” It was a shot in the dark with how much Twilight was concentrating, but Bon Bon figured she may as well ask. Besides, it was nice even to just hear herself speak at that point.

“Yes. I’ve been able to for some years, now.” Twilight looked about as shocked by her own snark as Bonnie was, judging from the way the princess’ eyes bulged open. Thankfully, she had great enough practice and concentration that the ongoing, vastly important spell went uninterrupted. That still left both mares gaping at each other until Bon Bon shook herself and resumed pacing.

“Any idea what’s going on in there right now?” she said, opting to ignore whatever that was in favor of mollifying–or attempting to mollify–her own anxiety.

“I can tell they’ve… linked.” Twilight’s reply was measured and tense, every word taking time and effort in a constant reminder that talking wasn’t her first priority at the moment. “The ritual was successful, thank Faust. It’s worked as hoped for even with the mental shielding Knight’s had since the airship.”

Bon Bon paused a bit, raising her brows. She hadn’t even considered that.

“You mean we somehow bypassed it? I thought it was too strong to do anything about?” could we have done so earlier? Maybe recast that charm…

No. Bon Bon forcefully ended that train of thought before it could depart. Their efforts had worked well enough without magically cheating. It would’ve been easier, yes, but not nearly as genuine. And Sugar was worth the effort, of that she had full confidence.

“Don’t ask me how,” Twilight managed a shrug, then squinted and refocused. It was some seconds before she continued. “... it was almost like somepony… opened a door and let her in.” The princess grunted and trailed off, her eyes roving blankly back and forth with her focus plainly elsewhere. Bon Bon chewed on the words for some minutes, for once not feeling the urge to pace as she considered the concentrating pony before her.

“Is it hard? The spell, I mean.” If it was too much to both maintain and talk, then Bon Bon should probably stop asking questions. She dreaded the possibility of returning to silence, but even that was better than endangering her loved ones.

“Not too bad, actually,” Bon Bon let out a relieved breath that Twilight managed to peek at, “just Eighth Circle, nothing I can’t manage. Your wife could probably do it, too.” The princess missed a picture-perfect, shining example of the purest form of skepticism when she failed to look at Bon Bon’s face again. Out of nine total levels of difficulty engrained in magic theory since the dawn of time, this spell ranked in the second-highest tier. Lyra could almost certainly not ‘do it, too,’ as Twilight so carelessly said. “The hard part is maintaining the ritual after the initial casting, but it’s doable.”

Bon Bon’s legs twitched. Her hooves ached, and her eyes itched.

She resumed pacing.

“Can you get any kind of reading on what’s going on, though? Any idea how long it’ll take?” The pair of unicorns laying on that couch together held half of her heart in their hooves each. The hardest thing for Twilight was to maintain the link that held their minds together. The hardest thing for Bon Bon was not knowing what the situation was like in there.

“Sorry, no,” the two words sunk a mare’s hopes deeper than the greatest of trenches. “It’s like… how do I put this…” Twilight was quiet for a full minute in thought and concentration. Bon Bon spent that time staring emptily at her pacing hooves. “When somepony plants a seed, they make all manner of preparations. They water the ground, make sure the patch is sunlit, and keep things fertilized. They can tell when something goes wrong, but…” the princess trailed off, so Bon Bon finished for her.

“But unless they get an earth pony to help, they have no way of knowing how well the seed’s doing, yeah. I get it.” But Twilight pursed her lips and seemed less than satisfied.

“On second thought, maybe not the best of analogies. We don’t really have anypony to reach out to and help… check…”

Both mares had the same thought at the same time.

“Princess Luna!”

But while Twilight’s face grew excited, Bon Bon’s became pensive.

“--it’s an option,” the earth pony interjected before the alicorn could think about it too much. “I’m hesitant to get too many ponies involved, even if it’d be nice to know what’s happening. Besides, we have no guarantee she’d be able to get through the mental shielding.”

As logical as this was, it still left both mares sitting there without much to do. The dreaded silence made its return and stuck around like the old flavor of a stale hard candy. Bon Bon found herself wishing for any kind of conversation at that point, no matter how awkward. She needed something to distract her from the deepening pit in both her chest and the floor.

“Thank you, princess.” Twilight seemed confused by the sincerity, so Bon Bon continued. “Thank you for helping. I don’t think we could have made it this far without you.” To some degree, both mares were surprised at the words that spilled out, but Bonnie meant them. Each one.

“What, with the healing spells after the airship? I just did what any cousin would’ve done,” Twilight dismissed, waving a foreleg. Bon Bon nodded, but continued to press.

“I don’t just mean that. You helped a lot before, too. You’ve only ever done what you thought was best. I think it’s high time somepony admitted it.”

Twilight scoffed and shook her head, gazing at the other mare with the look of a filly that knew she needed to remind the teacher about the homework to be honest and hated herself for doing so. Knowing her, she’d probably worn that look more than a few times in her life.

“And the charm? Everypony knows that was a terrible decision. In hindsight, I don’t have any idea why I thought it’d be a good idea to use mind control, of all things. Some days, Bon Bon, my usefulness amounts to being a glorified spellbook with a big wallet. Hay, the only reason I’m here is to cast a fancy spell that lets Lyra do all the work.”

Over a year ago, when Darkest Knight finally dropped the barrier he’d been holding around himself in town square and was rushed to the hospital, everypony had wanted to help. They’d all been helping since, in various ways. Twilight had resorted to what she knew: Magic. Everypony had berated her for it and been horrified–rightfully so, granted–at her actions.

But she’d paid for it in full. When Darkest was fed a potion that converted his fear to pride, he’d made sure of it. And that charm was the only reason he’d been able to make friends. Were there better methods? Absolutely. Did it work?

Sugar was lying on a couch next to Lyra. He’d been convinced to stay there long enough for a ten-minute ritual to be set up and conducted. He’d trusted her to take care of things. He’d trusted. For months, he’d trusted.

Bonnie was grateful for that. She knew it was mostly due to her and her wife’s work, but they’d built on a foundation. A foundation that, without Twilight and her magic, wouldn’t have been there.

“I’m glad for everything you did to help him,” responded Bon Bon. “It wasn't the best, most rational, or moral thing to do, but the charm helped. You helped. And that counts for something.”

There was a strange glisten in the Princess of Friendship’s eyes. For once, she couldn’t seem to duck away and wipe them or form a disbelieving frown or make a dismissive gesture. Twilight just stared back into the eyes of the earth pony–into the eyes of her friend–and smiled.

“I think I needed to hear that. Th–”

She gasped softly and turned back to the sleeping unicorns. Her horn brightened and her expression morphed into one of shock, then fear. Lyra and Sugar’s faces contorted into grimaces while their bodies tensed.

“What, what is it!” Bon Bon shouted more than asked as she sped over to the two. She stood there with a hoof helplessly hovering above their bodies, then stepped over to Twilight, who grunted a bit and wobbled in her spot on the floor.

“You know how I said I could tell if something went wrong?” Twilight grimaced and nearly flopped over. Bon Bon had to steady her with hooves suddenly shaking with adrenaline. The princess’ eyes screwed themselves shut, then slammed open with a gasp and locked onto the sleeping unicorns.

Or, more accurately: Sugar.

“His mind is fracturing,” she said, and Bonnie felt a cold pit of dread open in her barrel.

“He’s splitting apart at the seams.”

Author's Note

Twilight is one of my favorites, even with everything I put her through

Thoughts on Button, anybody?