Something About Midnights

by evelili

Rating: teen
Tags: Mystery, Equestria Girls, Sunset Shimmer, Profanity, Twilight Sparkle (EqG), Midnight Sparkle
Length: 5638

Everyone needs to sleep. But Sunset Shimmer's new roommate might be the only exception to that rule.

Everyone has to sleep eventually—everyone, which means that at some point Sunset's new roommate is going to have to stop messing around with her computer and go to bed. But somehow the one-and-only Twilight Sparkle doesn't need to obey the laws of the universe, and therefore she might just be the one-and-only person who never sleeps.

Written as a study on narrative and preconception. Recommended by TCC56. Reviewed by PaulAsaran. Cover art by localsya. Interior art by me!

Published 2023-07-21 16:30:00 UTC
Last updated 2023-07-21 16:30:00 UTC

Of Alarm Clocks and False Alarms

There was a light on behind her roommate’s door.

But of course that wasn’t unusual, Sunset had to remind herself; far from it. It was three in the morning, and she had class tomorrow, and she’d had to pass her roommate’s bedroom to get to the bathroom, and her roommate happened to be the one-and-only Twilight Sparkle, the girl who apparently never slept.

And that was only the second strangest thing about her.

The clatter of Twilight’s keyboard echoed throughout the hallway. Sunset flushed the toilet to drown it out, then scrunched her eyes shut in the dark of the bathroom and lathered her hands under the faucet with water cold as ice. It’s just the moving-out nerves, she reasoned. She needs some time to settle in here, that’s all. She shut the water off and dried her hands on her pajama pants. Probably. Hopefully.

Because no matter how stubborn or determined or desperate you were, everyone had to sleep eventually—everyone from party animals, to washed-up gifted kids, to panicky and manic-y teacher’s pets, and to strange shut-in geniuses like her.

They’d had a less-than-stellar introduction, all things considered. Not that Sunset thought about it too much—about what she could have done differently, about what she should have done differently if she hadn’t overslept the day her new roommate moved in. Put some pants on, probably. Brushed her hair. Contact lenses are pretty high up there, too.

But no matter how hard she thought—or didn’t think—about it, she couldn’t do anything to change what she’d already done. And if that meant her first meeting with Twilight Sparkle came pre-packaged with bedhead and blurry vision and boxer shorts, then Sunset Shimmer was going to have to learn to deal.

(“I’m so fucking sorry,” she’d said when she finally unlocked the front door. “It’s not that I forgot you were coming today; I got everything ready for you last night, but I guess I didn’t plug my phone in properly ‘cause the battery died, and my alarm didn’t go off, and...”

Her rambles had trailed off to a silence she so clearly remembered even a week later. Though, it hadn’t been memorable because it was quiet—rather, it had been the loudest and most deafening silence that Sunset had ever heard. It was thunder incarnate; an ear-splitting roar.

It was the girl who’d stood petrified on her front porch. It was her terrified, wide-eyed stare.

It was silence.

“...Um,” Sunset had said slowly, and broke it. “You good?”

“Huh?” Her new roommate—the one-and-only Twilight Sparkle—had visibly flinched at that. “What? Oh, yeah. Yes! I’m.” She'd hesitated. “Fine.”

And at the time Sunset had somehow shrugged it off and returned to her half-hearted excuses, desperate to salvage what little she could of her pride. It hadn't been the place to ask questions. Not in the doorframe of her little rental, with a mountain of luggage piled right at the foot of her porch. Not then.

“Great,” she’d said, instead of I don’t think you are, actually. “That’s great.” A pause. “Here, is it cool if I help you with your bags?”

“That’s great,” Twilight had echoed in response. “Yeah. Great.”

Her gaze had burned relentless on Sunset’s back when she'd led the way inside.)

And so Twilight had moved in, and Sunset had put on pants, and it was only after they’d both settled back down in their respective rooms that first night that Sunset had finally let a question from the front door worm its way into her thoughts:

Why the hell did she look like she’d just seen a ghost?

It was the little things at first. Tiny, insignificant clues that only when added together could dare to point at something more.

She tried her best to be civil, obviously. Sunset had lived with all sorts of roommates during her first year of college, and some insomniac freshman was nothing compared to numbers three or five.

But... civility was pretty difficult to practice when she never saw her roommate at all.

Sunset’s standard playbook of small-talk in the kitchen or brief “hellos” when arriving home went out the window on day one. The one-and-only Twilight Sparkle could teleport, apparently, considering Sunset had yet to see her leave her room. Hell, the only reason she knew her roommate wasn’t rotting into her bedroom floorboards was the occasional buzz of the coffee grinder at way-too-early-o’clock, and the incessant, never-ending click-clack of her keyboard from midnight until dawn.

At least, until what Sunset assumed was dawn. She’d never managed to stay up long enough to hear it stop.

The days passed in a blur of boring classes and clacking keyboards. Eventually, after days and nights and weeks, Sunset figured she had enough evidence to assume her roommate’s routine was something like this:

Leave room, make coffee. Usually before 6:00 am.

Evidence: coffee grinders are excellent alarm clocks.

Get ready while coffee brews.

The fan from her bathroom is usually still going when I wake up.

Sometimes the sound of water running messes with my dreams.

Leave house. Probably between 6:30 am and 7:00 am; likely for classes.

Except for weekends. That’s the only time she’s still here when I wake up.

Return from class. Probably at ???

She’s always home when I get back, at least.

So before 4:00 pm on Mon-Wed-Fri, and before 5:00 pm on Tues-Thurs.

Note to self: find out what the hell her major is, and cross-reference the schedules for the first-year courses.

Lock self in room.

She’s got the master bedroom with the ensuite, so at least she’s not pissing in bottles.

All her food’s in the fridge or the pantry in the kitchen, though. Does she only eat if she’s sure I’m not around?

Get ready for bed. Usually after 1:00 am.

I usually hear water running after I’m already in bed.

Maybe she waits for ME to go to bed first? I should keep an eye on that.

I’ve never seen her light turn off.

Note to self: figure out a way to plug that gap under my bedroom door.

Don’t go to bed?????

Why does she get ready for bed but never commit??

Why the hell does she have so much shit to work on every single night???

Why doesn’t she sleep???????

AND WHY DOESN’T SHE EVER GET TI

The end of Sunset’s pencil snapped before she could finish the last word. Damnit. She scowled down at the list scrawled in her notebook where her combinatorics assignment should have been, and tossed her pencil at the foot of her bed with an irritated huff.

Tired, she finished in her head. She leaned back against her pillow and glared daggers up at her bedroom ceiling in the too-dim past-midnight light. She never sleeps. But she never gets tired, either.

And that was the strangest thing about Twilight Sparkle.

...Well, only if it were true. But it’s not, Sunset thought as loudly as she could. It’s impossible.

Because no matter how stubborn or determined or desperate you were, everyone had to sleep eventually—and Sunset refused to rest until she’d caught her roommate in the act.

There was a light on behind Twilight Sparkle’s door.

But that wasn’t the unusual part that night. Rather, when Sunset groggily dragged herself out of bed past midnight with a scratchy throat screaming from thirst, she stepped into the hallway and came face to face with light.

Huh, she thought. Her eyes adjusted. Her door’s open.

Sunset felt her senses wake while she tiptoed down the hall. Still half-asleep—or maybe a quarter at that point—she passed by the person in the living room without a second thought, taking a right into the kitchen to grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it at the sink. It was only after her second cup of tap water that the pieces began to click:

Her door was open.

She’s not in her room.

Someone’s sitting on the floor of the living room right now.

And, Sunset reminded herself as she placed her empty mug beside the sink, considering her roommate was the one-and-only Twilight Sparkle, there was also only one person that someone could be.

(If she’d been a little more prepared for their impromptu meeting, Sunset might have thought to put a bit of tact behind her next words. But she wasn’t, and therefore she didn’t, and so when she rounded the corner from the kitchen to the living room she took a deep breath and said—)

“Pretty damn late, huh?”

Twilight, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the dark, nodded. “Mhm,” she hummed. The light from her bedroom was the only reason Sunset noticed the motion—it illuminated the curve of her spine and the dip of her shoulders and the way her long, long hair spilled down her turned-away back. “For some people, perhaps.”

She didn’t turn around.

Sunset narrowed her eyes. Rude, she wanted to retort, but stopped herself. “Working on something important?” she asked instead.

“Mhm.”

A pause.

“...In the living room?”

Something metal clattered to the floor. Twilight straightened up a little when it did. “Mhm,” she repeated, and this time Sunset caught a hint of glee within her voice. “It’s much harder to misplace things on hardwood. See?”

She tilted her head backward until her bangs slid off her forehead and her face caught the hallway light—the same light that had finally snuck past her shoulders to brighten the floor in front of her. Her gaze locked with Sunset’s upside down, and it was only then that Sunset noticed two terribly strange things:

First, that Twilight Sparkle wasn’t wearing her glasses.

And second, that the disassembled corpse of an expensive-looking alarm clock lay strewn across her lap.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sunset blurted out. In that moment a tiny bit of concern spiked at the back of her mind—because, if she ever had any reason to not mind her own business, it was definitely going to be in a scenario when she had a roommate smart enough to build some sort of bomb. “That’s not a fire hazard, right?”

“Of course not,” Twilight replied immediately. She sounded almost offended at the accusation. “I just want to know how it works. What makes it work.” She picked up a screw between two fingers and held it up above her head to catch the light. “Don’t you have any sort of curiosity left in you, Sunset?”

She’d used her name for the first time, then. But for some reason the sound of her name in Twilight’s voice made Sunset’s insides twist with unease. “Of course I do,” she said slowly. Carefully. “But I wouldn’t destroy something to find out what I could just look up online.”

“But that’s not fun.”

“At this point in my life I think I’d rather have a functional alarm clock than fun.”

“Hm. True,” Twilight said, and lowered the screw. “You do seem to need one, don’t you?”

Ouch, Sunset winced. There went what little hope she had of Twilight forgetting their disastrous introduction. She was never going to live it down, was she?

But before she could reply Twilight shrugged her shoulders and returned her focus to the alarm clock, her face obscured and her back toward Sunset once again. “I suppose I can count myself lucky in that regard.”

Another screw hit the hardwood. Sunset wrinkled her nose. “Lucky? What?”

“That I don’t need one.” Something plastic popped. “An alarm clock, I mean.”

“...Right.” If she were less tired, Sunset probably would have followed up on what the fuck she meant by that. But it was still past midnight, and she still had class tomorrow. Today. “Well, good luck with... whatever this is. I’m going back to bed.”

Twilight nodded again. “Mhm. Sure.”

“Goodnight, Twilight.”

With those last two words still hanging in the air, Sunset turned on her heel to head back down the hall—

—just as a heavy crash rang out from the living room and rippled through the floorboards beneath her feet.

“Wait,” Twilight said from behind her. “Wait, wait, wait.”

Sunset turned around in time to see Twilight push herself to her feet. Her movements were jerky; stilted. The alarm clock lay discarded on its side. Now that it was in direct light instead of Twilight’s shadow, Sunset could clearly see a large crack splinted across its face—and she saw not just that, but also the way her roommate’s eyes were wild and that her sleeves were haphazardly shoved up over her elbows and that she didn’t have a screwdriver or anything held in her trembling hands.

“What did you just say?” Twilight whispered.

Sunset resisted the urge to take a step back. “I just said goodnight.”

“No, I mean exactly. Repeat what you said.”

“What?”

“The words. The words you used, Sunset.”

“All I said was ‘goodnight’. I’m not trying to—”

“Sunset.”

“Twilight,” she hissed back, a horrible unease running rampant through her gut. “What the fuck is wrong with—”

“Oh,” Twilight interrupted suddenly. Sunset could almost see the gears turning in her mind through the windows of her manic eyes. “You’re— Oh.”

And then a terrible smile twisted its way across her lips, and Twilight Sparkle laughed.

That midnight encounter must have changed something between them, because the next morning when Sunset got up she nearly tripped over herself at the sight of Twilight still sitting on the floor of their living room. But things were a little different from six hours ago—clean and not-disheveled clothes, her hair pulled into a ponytail, glasses, and two steaming cups of coffee perched on the aptly-named coffee table beside her.

She was still working on the alarm clock, but this time she had a toolbox in front of her and a screwdriver in her hand. When she noticed Sunset she glanced up over the frames of her glasses and forced a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sunset echoed.

“I made extra coffee,” she said, her voice steady but still a bit nervous. “If you drink it, I mean.”

“Oh. Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

A heavy silence followed in Sunset’s footsteps when she crossed the room to take the mug. She stole a quick glance at the alarm clock before she headed to the kitchen, then stopped dead in her tracks. “Wait,” she said, confused. “You’re putting it back together already?”

Twilight paused mid-twist. “...Yeah.”

“But then why did you want to take it apart in the first place?”

“I didn’t,” she grumbled, and turned the screwdriver so hard that something cracked.

Sunset didn’t bother asking any more questions after that.

They fell into a different sort of routine after that. Still similar enough for familiarity, but different enough for Sunset to tear the schedule she’d made out of her notebook and crumple it in the trash. She didn’t live with a ghost anymore—after all, ghosts didn’t study at the kitchen table or burn instant noodles or leave extra cups of coffee on the counter before they left for class.

It was a different sort of routine, and not a bad one. Even with all the strangeness that came with knowing Twilight Sparkle.

Whatever had happened that one night hadn’t come up again, and, given Twilight’s reaction the morning after, Sunset really wasn’t willing to bring it up on purpose. If it came up, it came up. And if it didn’t, then it wasn’t meant to be. She was perfectly fine leaving their weird symbiotic relationship the way it was.

At least until incident number two.

Sunset hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the readings were so boring and the couch was so comfortable and if she propped her binder up on her stomach she could still read the required chapters through half-closed eyelids—

The next time she blinked her eyes open the living room was dark. Her binder lay flat across the tops of her thighs. Her neck was a little stiff from the too-poofy couch cushion under her head.

She blinked again.

There was a figure perched on the opposite armrest of the couch.

Fucking hell, she wanted to yelp when her heart leaped into her throat. In her half-asleep haze, it came out more like a grunt.

The one-and-only figure tilted her head to the side. Sunset’s eyes eventually adjusted further, and when her heartbeat steadied she rasped out, “What the fuck, Twilight?”

Twilight grinned. “Hi, Sunset.”

She wasn’t wearing her glasses.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Watching.” As if that wasn’t creepy enough of an answer on its own, she drew her knees closer to her chest and leaned so far forward that Sunset worried she’d topple on top of her. “What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Sleeping, I mean.”

“Ha-ha.” Sunset rolled her eyes and let herself relax back into the couch. Thanks to her impromptu jumpscare, though, the urge to sleep had left her.

“I’m being serious, you know,” Twilight said matter-of-factly. “What’s it like?”

Sunset swallowed a scream and scrunched her eyes shut. “How about you go to bed and find out for yourself?”

Silence. With her eyes closed Sunset could almost pretend her weird, weird roommate wasn’t balanced catlike on the couch to watch her sleep. Then—

“I’ve obviously already tried that.” Twilight clicked her tongue. It sounded like disappointment, in an aloof sort of way.

“Try counting sheep.” Sunset groggily kicked her legs until her binder hit the floor, then rolled over onto her stomach and exhaled a sigh. “Or warm milk. Or melatonin. Or, hell, if you’re crazy, you could live off of energy drinks for a week straight, and then wait for them to wear off. Bet that’d knock you right out.”

“And again, I’ve obviously already tried that,” she repeated. The couch lifted a bit as she hopped off—when she landed, somehow she was so balanced that she hardly made a sound.

“Goodnight, Twilight,” Sunset mumbled instead of bothering to form a response.

Twilight clicked her tongue again. This time it was irritation and exhilaration all wrapped up as one. “Goodnight, Sunset.”

The sound of her socked footsteps padded back down the hall, and eventually Sunset fell back asleep to the tune of Twilight’s keyboard echoing against her skull.

If the first living room incident had added fuel to Sunset’s curiosity, the second only served to douse it entirely in gasoline.

She was determined, now. She knew that everyone had to sleep—because everyone did; even neurotic night owls named Twilight Sparkle.

...Right?

It’d be impossible for her to still be here if she didn’t, Sunset reasoned to herself with a scowl. Plus, it wasn’t like she was omniscient. Maybe Twilight just crashed at a friend’s house during the day to make up for her all-nighters or something.

A friend? She rolled her eyes. Good one, Sunset. Hilarious.

It felt a bit mean to think it, but as far as she could tell it was the truth. Twilight Sparkle couldn’t possibly have a social life—not with her lack of any social media profiles and her tendency to shut herself in her room alone all weekend. Even if her school schedule had minimal and optimally-timed classes, there was no way she’d have the time to meet with anyone for more than a few hours during the day.

But it’s not like I’m one to talk, either.

That was too depressing to think about for too long, though, so Sunset shook that train of thought from her head and leaned further back in her chair. She glanced over her preparations one last time: a case of energy drinks under her desk, snacks (and napkins) piled on her bed, her PC powered on, and a single earbud in to make sure she still had an ear free for her.

Because she was determined, now. And this was the weekend she was finally going to figure out when Twilight Sparkle slept.

Eleven hours.

That was how long it took before the sound of Twilight’s keyboard stopped for good. She’d been at it since before Sunset had even gotten home from her Friday afternoon class—which, granted, had been a little later than normal since she’d had to stop at the dollar store—and the incessant click-clack that Sunset had grown so accustomed to accompanied her games throughout the night.

But now it was just after four in the morning, and now the house was silent.

There’s no way, Sunset thought. Her hands moved on autopilot as her free ear strained to listen. Right click. Keyboard. Right click again. Listen.

She heard water rush through the pipes behind the walls. Footsteps pulsed faintly through the floor across the hallway, followed by the near-silent rumble of dresser drawers opening and sliding shut.

She heard the click of a lightswitch.

There’s no fucking way.

Even as it happened Sunset didn’t dare believe in it. And as she listened a looming sort of dread descended upon her, and an uncomfortable thought began to rise at the back of her mind—this was the latest she’d ever forced herself to remain awake since Twilight had moved in. Had the simplest and most obvious answer just... been there in her face all along?

Sunset had looked into it a little bit. Not a lot, and not more than a quick skim through the first handful of websites to pop up. But she’d at least explored the topic more than the average person—of the gene some lucky people inherited that allowed them to function with very little sleep. And sure, it made a lot of sense. The evidence supported it and the diagnosis lined up with reality in a way not ever sleeping didn’t.

She’d brushed it off, though. Good genetics didn’t explain why Twilight Sparkle disassembled and reassembled alarm clocks in the living room, or liked watching people while they slept.

But sitting there in her desk chair that Friday night with far too much caffeine buzzing in her veins, Sunset so desperately wanted the obvious answer to be wrong.

Because there’s no way.

Because there’s definitely something else going on.

Because I refuse to admit I may have turned this into something bigger than it was—

She stopped herself again before she got too far. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Proof—she had proof now. The one-and-only Twilight Sparkle was mortal, just like everyone else on earth.

The silence lasted all of five minutes before her light clicked back on and her drawers opened and shut and her keyboard click-click-clacked and she didn’t couldn’t wouldn’t ever sleep.

(And, with so much caffeine in her system and fury in her blood, Sunset soon found out that neither could she.)

Time marched on. The school term ticked by like clockwork.

Sunset hated giving up—and not just on the mystery of the one-and-only Twilight Sparkle, but on anything—but with no proof and no leads she really had no other choice. Her disastrous dead-end of an all-nighter had smothered what little remained of her sanity, and with her grades hanging precariously in the balance she knew she couldn’t push it any further.

It wasn’t worth it. Not with her tuition, at least.

So she swallowed her pride, and studied in the living room, and taught Twilight how to use the stove hood, and gladly accepted every extra cup of coffee sent her way.

She swallowed her pride, and gave up.

...But of course the universe had a sick sense of humour, and of course as soon as Sunset gave up, all the answers she’d been looking for just dropped right into her lap.

“Glad you’re not so much of a fire hazard anymore,” she said one evening while they made their dinners shoulder-to-shoulder in their tiny kitchen, partly to break the weird tension between them and partly because it was true. “It even smells edible this time.”

“Very funny,” Twilight replied. She finished peeling her egg and tossed it into the saucepan with her instant noodles. “You’re one to talk, you know,” she added, and raised her eyebrows at Sunset’s more-than-shameless dinner in the microwave. “Pop-Tarts? Really?”

“What’s wrong with dessert?”

“Generally? Nothing. Right now? Where do I begin?”

“I’ll make something else later,” Sunset half-lied—half, because she was going to get hungry again in a few hours and it was going to be for another pack of Pop-Tarts. The microwave finally beeped. She grabbed her plate from the microwave before Twilight could judge her further, and scooted around behind her to go back to her room.

Even though she couldn’t see Twilight’s face while she passed her, Sunset could still hear the eye-roll in her voice: “Enjoy your ‘dinner’.”

“Oh, you bet I’m gonna enjoy—”

Her hip collided with the edge of the oven as she turned the corner.

The plate flew out of her hand.

“Shit,” Sunset swore, but it was too late for even curses because by the time she caught her Pop-Tarts with her eyes they were flipping and flying and falling frosting-side down to the floor—

—and then suddenly, they weren’t.

A bright pink aura burst to life around everything a split second before it hit the ground, enveloping both the plate and its contents and freezing it all mid-air.

...What?

Sunset blinked once. Twice. A third time, just to be safe.

Nothing changed.

Her plate and her Pop-Tarts were still fucking floating.

And once that imagery finally processed from Sunset’s incredulous eyes to her brain, she stumbled back a step and spun around to make sure that Twilight was seeing the same unbelievable impossible sight—

“Oh,” Twilight breathed, one hand extended out in front of her like she’d reflexively tried to catch something she’d dropped. Or maybe, Sunset realized with dawning dread, something I dropped.

Pink light winked out from her fingertips.

Sunset heard a plate clatter against the floor.

“Right,” Twilight said, and quickly turned off the stovetop burner. “Right! Well, um, I’m just gonna—”

“What the fuck,” Sunset whispered. “What the fuck?”

“—go eat now, it was great chatting with you, really—”

“What the fuck was that?”

“—but I have a lot of stuff to work on and even more things to stress about and maybe also freak out about a little bit, so!” She grabbed her saucepan and practically bolted past Sunset and back down the hall. “Bye!”

Her door slammed.

A few seconds later, the click-clack of her keyboard began to jackhammer at a record-breaking pace. Sunset stared after her, too shell-shocked and speechless to dare try and move to follow.

Eventually, though, she dared glance down.

There on the kitchen floor sat her sorry excuse for a dinner—frosting intact and carefully stacked in the centre of an unbroken plate.

No answer to knocks on her door. Text messages left on read. Curtains drawn tight—Sunset had gone outside to check—and the constant sound of typing echoing against her walls.

But Sunset wasn’t giving up this time, not this time, and so once all other avenues failed she grabbed her phone charger, plugged it into the hallway outlet, and planted herself on the floor square across from Twilight’s room. It was two birds with one stone, she reasoned. This way, she had internet access at the same time she made sure her one-and-only roommate had no possible way to escape.

Internet access for finding answers.

Blocking escape routes to stop the only person who could answer from running away.

She’d tried to start sane in hour one: hallucinations, brain tumours, mental breaks and all the like.

But hour two quickly unravelled to the impossible with levitation and paranormal activity and unexplained phenomena and magic and ghosts, and then hour three degraded into a downward, deranged spiral little more than a stream of consciousness vomited directly into her phone.

roommate doesn’t sleep because she’s alien?

how to tell if roommate is alien

how to tell if roommate is wizard

is magic real

how to tell if roommate can do magic

does the government know about magic

am i having a mental break

hospital near me

hospital near me 24/7

twilight sparkle snapgab

twilight sparkle high school

sparkle surname relatives

sparkle surname meaning

twilight sparkle levitation magic supernatural in canterlot

She almost missed it. She’d already deleted the search and had moved to type in her next thought, but the title of the top article caught her attention just in time:

Canterlot High School Under Scrutiny: Second Destructive Incident Again Attributed to the Supernatural

The article was more than a year old, and its publisher wasn’t exactly a site Sunset recognized as reputable, but fuck if she wasn’t desperate. It was the first result. Didn’t that mean anything anymore?

She clicked the link.

What little hope she’d mustered drained almost immediately—the author’s grammar was atrocious and the webpage's article-to-ad ratio was borderline malicious. She skimmed the first paragraph. Nothing.

She closed a popup. Nothing.

Frustrated, she scrolled down to the bottom of the page as fast as she could to try and find the author’s email so she could send them a few choice words and maybe sign them up for some mailing lists while she was at it—

Midnight Sparkle.

Sunset immediately scrolled back up and read.

But... reading just served to confuse her even more. Terrible grammar notwithstanding. Because, the article talked of magic and portals and some parallel dimension called Equestria before moving on to property damage and a school sporting event all in a single breath. The abnormal reported as normally as it had never had the right to be.

She scrolled to the bottom of the page.

There were pictures.

Oh, Sunset realized, and nearly dropped her phone. It’s her.

She had wings and a horn and blue fire around her eyes, but even in the out-of-focus photo Sunset could see no one else but Twilight—her too-long hair and too-wide eyes and that distinctive, manic grin. It was her, and only her.

She flipped to the next picture.

Oh.

It was a far-away shot of a girl in a school uniform, holding some sort of clamshell device between her hands and facing something off-frame with a terrified yet determined expression. She’d pulled her hair up in a bun—like Twilight sometimes did. She wore glasses—like Twilight always did.

She was the one-and-only Twilight Sparkle, and no one else.

Sunset stared at the photo a moment longer and tried to connect what little dots she could. Then, she ever-so-slowly craned her neck up until she was staring directly at Twilight’s door.

She swallowed hard.

Checked the time. Barely past one.

Stood up.

Knocked.

Instantly, the keyboard inside stopped.

“Hey,” she breathed, barely louder than a whisper. “Can... can we talk now?”

No response. Not even a single click.

“‘Cause, I don’t know about you, but I’m really freaked out. Really really.” Still no response. Sunset knocked one more time. “Please. I— I think I’ve finally found something, but it’s only freaking me out more than I already was. I promise I’m not mad at you, or weirded out—well, okay, I’m very weirded out but I promise it’s not at you—so if we could just talk about this—”

The door swung away from her knuckles before she could finish.

“Interesting,” said Twilight, who, in that moment with her hair down and without her glasses, looked more like the person from the first photo than herself. She tilted her head to the side and stared up at Sunset with bored eyes that said anything but. “Go on.”

“I—” Sunset fumbled for her phone, then held it out. “Is this you?”

“Hm?”

“In the picture. This is you, right?”

“Hm,” Twilight repeated, and leaned in. A second later she leaned back out. “Nope.”

“What?”

“Not me.”

“What the hell do you mean?!” And Sunset couldn’t restrain her anger at that point, an uncontrollable mix of fear and frustration and something more than that. She shoved the phone closer and snapped, “That has to be you! You look exactly the same!”

Twilight rolled her eyes and nudged the phone out of her face with her fingertip. “It’s not me,” she said slowly; patiently, “because that’s Twilight, idiot.”

Sunset froze.

...What?

The silence between them was as loud as the day they’d met. But the girl staring back from her made no move to say anything else, and once again it was up to Sunset to shatter it:

“You’re talking like you aren’t her.” She couldn’t stop disbelief from drenching her words.

“And you’re talking like you aren’t her,” not-Twilight replied. She turned Sunset’s phone back toward her and jabbed a finger at its screen.

The photos must have cycled through the carousel automatically, Sunset realized. Because instead of the picture that was surely Twilight, a third and different image had appeared: the vaguely-visible silhouettes of two figures suspended in a beam of pure-white light.

She zoomed in.

A pause. Then—

Thunk.

This time she really did drop her phone.

And while Sunset’s world shattered to impossible pieces around her, not-Twilight’s lips twisted into her signature grin, and then parted to make way for the same chilling laugh Sunset had heard during their first encounter in the living room that she now knew wasn’t with Twilight but with her.

Because her roommate may have been the one-and-only Twilight Sparkle, but she wasn’t sure she was the only Sunset Shimmer anymore.

Author's Note

bit of a weirder fic i've been working on for a while. preconception is a fun thing with fanfic, and i wanted to see if i could do something that played with it as a narrative. i hope you enjoyed it, even if it doesn't set out to answer every question you might have asked ^^