Chapters I walked to my date with Twilight Sparkle as one might approach a gallows.
Now, it was not that I did not enjoy Twilight’s company. We had been friends for some time, after all. It was simply that I had learned rather quickly that what she and I considered to be a proper date lay on opposite sides of a vast gulf of expectations. I was a mare of fine things, high society, and culture. Twilight was more interested in science than fine dining or art.
For our first date, she’d taken me to a science faire. Some of the most brilliant young minds in all of Equestria were on display, and while the things they were presenting were very impressive, dazzling even, it wasn’t what I would consider romantic. Twilight spent the entire day trying to explain the principles behind each presentation, and while I am sure she meant well, I ended up more lost than I had started.
For our second date, I brought Twilight to the opera. La ponème . It was beautifully done, one of the finest performances I’d ever seen… and yet, Twilight had been bored to tears. Oh, she hadn’t said as much—she was still so excited to be dating me that she had grinned and borne it—but I could tell.
And now, I approached our third date with something akin to dread. Twilight had insisted that this time would be different, that this would be everything our first date was not; that she knew how to provide romance. And on paper, the idea of spending the night stargazing, just the two of us, was textbook romance. But in books there are no bugs in the romantic outdoors, nor do the protagonists complain about the temperature as the night wears on, and most importantly… neither party brings a telescope. I knew what Twilight’s definition of ‘stargazing’ was, and I feared the worst.
Twilight had directed me to a particular hill on the outskirts of Ponyville, near the edge of the Everfree. The climb gave me too much time to think, and despite the night being clear and bright—perfect for stargazing—my thoughts focused instead on all the ways this night could go wrong. I conjured a vision of freezing my tail off as Twilight described the scientific names of every star in the sky without once appreciating their beauty.
But even in my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined the night going nearly as wrong as it did.
Twilight had set up a blanket and a bottle of wine by the time I reached the top of the hill, but the first thing I noticed was the telescope. I didn’t comment on it; it would hardly be fair to expect Twilight to know any better.
“Rarity!” she called as soon as I came into view, beaming. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
I gave her a smile right back, as genuine as I could manage. That was the hardest part, really: Twilight was just happy to be with me (and really, who could blame her?) which made navigating her inexperience all the more difficult.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling,” I replied. “It’s a beautiful night to be out, don’t you think?”
I saw a flash of something in Twilight’s eyes: surprise, or nervousness, perhaps? But it was gone before I could identify it, and she was all smiles again. “Of course. I made sure the weather team didn’t have anything scheduled, and I even got Rainbow to make sure nothing came in from over the Everfree. I thought of everything, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”
“My my,” I murmured. “You put a lot of work into this, didn’t you?”
“You have no idea,” Twilight replied. “Just wait, you haven’t even seen—” she coughed, suddenly blushing. “But that’s a surprise! You’ll love it. I hope.”
She was faltering, and so I smoothly redirected her. “Perhaps some wine?” I asked. “If there’s going to be a surprise, I should like to have my glass ready for it.”
Twilight nodded vigorously and picked up the bottle. Sometimes it felt like she was an overeager puppy, one who had finally caught the cart and now didn’t know what to do with it.
If only I’d known her when we were still fillies, and had been able to guide her into a few practice relationships. Something to get her hooves wet, before she dove headfirst after the mare of her dreams.
It would have been easier if I wasn’t the first pony to break her heart.
I took the glass Twilight offered me, glancing only briefly at the label on the bottle. A three-year old Saddle Rosa. A good choice, not too extravagant but not cheap either.
“So,” I ventured, filling the silence. “What’s the surprise?”
Twilight nudged me, before settling down on the blanket beside me. I could feel the warmth of her body, a sharp contrast to the chill night air, even though our flanks didn’t quite touch. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” she said. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
“What should I be looking for, then?”
“The stars, of course,” Twilight said, a hint of a mischievous laugh in her voice. “That’s why we’re here, aren’t we?”
I looked up, slowly scanning the heavens. The stars twinkled in unison, scattered artfully through the sky. The night was perfectly clear, not a cloud in sight, and we were far enough from Ponyville that even the faintest lights could be seen speckled like grains of sand between their brighter siblings. It was quite a tapestry, and my practiced eye could tell that Luna had designed it quite carefully—it took skill to make something look random without being chaotic, to curate something to look uncurated. But nothing seemed out of place—certainly nothing that I would classify as a surprise.
“I don’t see anything unusual,” I finally said. “Should I be using the telescope?”
“Not yet,” Twilight said. “There will be time for that later.” Then she went quiet for a long time, staring up at the sky next to me. I didn’t look at her until I felt the subtle touch of her hoof on mine. I didn’t move, and she started talking again. “Did you know that the sky didn’t always look like this?” she asked. “I mean, beyond the little changes every night, the phases of the moon, all that. We can chart the motion of the stars and trace their paths back in time, but after a point, all that math becomes meaningless, because the paths the stars are on now were created by Luna. But before she did that… there were still stars, and ponies still wrote about them.”
I saw Twilight turn to look at me out of the corner of my eye, and I moved to meet her gaze, but she stopped me, putting her hoof on my shoulder. “Wait,” she murmured. “Watch.”
The night sky continued unchanged above me, but only for a moment. Then there was a streak of light that appeared suddenly and vanished just as quickly. A moment later there was another, and then suddenly there were dozens, painting brilliant ribbons across the sky as it seemed the stars themselves were trying to descend to earth.
“They called them starshowers,” Twilight said, her voice low, so as not to break the spell. “Back when the sky was chaotic and uncontrolled, sometimes the stars would fall. They haven’t been seen in thousands of moons.”
I didn’t have any words. The stars were painting brilliant strokes of light across the sky, dancing between each other, and I couldn’t look away. I had no idea how Twilight had arranged this, how she could have possibly moved the heavens themselves just for the sake of a date with me.
“How…?” I breathed.
“I called in a favor or two,” Twilight said. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” I asked, trying to convey just how ridiculous the question was and failing utterly. “Twilight, it’s absolutely beautiful. It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The light show was fading now, and soon nothing remained of it but the afterimages in my vision, multicolored lines that I could still see when I blinked. I kept my gaze on the sky, part of me hoping that it would begin again, but it was once again the static tapestry of light, made somehow duller than it had been before in comparison.
I didn’t know what to think. Twilight had gone so far beyond what I had asked of her that I didn’t even know how to categorize it.
“I’m glad,” Twilight murmured, and something in her voice made me pull my gaze from the stars to look at her. She was biting her lip, her gaze not quite meeting mine. A soft blush flowered across her cheeks as she leaned forward, ever so slightly.
It was a textbook invitation (and knowing Twilight, she probably had taken it from a book), but I hesitated, just for a moment.
There was a massive CRASH from the forest, and I jumped, my confused feelings rattled right out of my head.
Another crash followed the first, even louder, and Twilight was up on her hooves, wings half spread.
Out of the forest, a shape emerged. It rose above the trees, and then just kept rising and rising, seemingly without end. It was a deep purple, speckled with points of light, and it seemed to be the size of all of Ponyville. Far, far above us I could just make out two beady yellow eyes, and horns the size of houses. “What is that?” I shrieked.
“A starbeast,” Twilight gasped. “I think—I think it’s Tauros, the great bull.”
“Like an Ursa?” I asked. “You’ve fought those before, right? Because it looks… mean.” Fortunately for us, the massive creature didn’t seem to have noticed us. But it definitely seemed to have noticed Ponyville, and it didn’t look like it would have any trouble flattening the entire town.
“That was an Ursa Minor ,” Twilight corrected. “Tauros is more like an Ursa Major… if you took out all the maternal instincts and just replaced them with rage.”
“Well we can’t just do nothing!” I yelled, only slightly panicked. “It looks like it’s deciding whether to eat Ponyville for dinner!”
“You’re right,” Twilight said, suddenly determined. “Wait here.”
She bolted into the sky, and I could only watch as she circled up and up and up until she was finally level with the beast’s head. She zigzagged to get its attention, and then in true Twilight fashion… she tried to talk to it.
I don’t know what she said, I couldn’t hear a word of it from the ground. But I’m not sure if there was anything she could have said to make a creature that big and powerful turn around and walk away.
Rather than listen, it tried to eat her.
Fortunately, Twilight may be optimistic, but she’s not dumb. She got out of the way, and then her horn lit up. Even from the ground, I could see the brilliant corona of power gather around her, and then she unleashed a blinding beam of energy so wide she vanished behind it. It engulfed Tauros’s head and half its body, smashed into the ground and gouged a furrow of fire through the trees behind it, and kept going for nearly a minute.
When the blast finally faded, the starbeast was… smoking. But rather than being dissuaded, now it just looked mad. It screamed defiance at her, and no longer seemed focused on Ponyville. Instead, it was entirely focused on Twilight. I wasn’t sure if that was a victory.
And then it charged her, and I was certain it wasn’t a victory. Because it was headed straight for me, and I didn’t think the hill I was on would even be a speed bump to it.
I turned and ran. What else could I do? But it was so much faster than me I might as well not have bothered. Its footsteps shook the earth, crushing trees beneath its hooves like they were nothing, and even that sound was drowned out by its ear-piercing scream.
I saw my life flash before my eyes, and then suddenly Twilight appeared next to me with a pop, grabbed me with her hooves, and teleported me away. We reappeared in midair and I clutched onto her for dear life. “Twilight! I thought I was done for!”
“We have to stop that thing!” Twilight replied. “It’s only a matter of time before it turns on Ponyville. But it just took my strongest blast like it was nothing! I can’t even slow it down!”
“The Elements,” I gasped. “You need to get the Elements. Surely that will work.”
“But without something to distract it—”
“Hey! Ugly!” A new voice reached my ears, and a rainbow-colored streak shot past us. Rainbow Dash went straight for the starbeast, fearless as ever, and kicked it right in the ear.
She bounced right off, of course. But she got its attention.
“Rainbow!” Twilight yelled. “You’re going to get yourself killed—”
“She’s giving you the distraction you wanted! Go, go get the others before it stops working!”
Twilight hesitated, but I could tell she knew I was right. “Okay, okay, just let me get you somewhere safe—”
“Just put me down, Twilight! It doesn’t even know I exist, and you need me here when you get back anyway.”
“But what if—”
“Twilight, GO!”
She dropped me. A bit messier than I had expected, but by the time I hit the ground she’d already vanished, which was probably for the best as scolding her would have only wasted more time.
Instead, all I could do was watch as Rainbow buzzed around the bull’s head, occasionally swooping in to kick it in the face whenever it seemed like it might be considering whether chasing her down was worth it. For a while, it seemed like there was nothing it could do to catch her.
And then it outsmarted her. Which would be embarrassing, if it wasn’t Rainbow we were talking about. I watched as it suddenly ignored her again, turning back towards Ponyville. I saw its murderous little eyes still tracking Rainbow as she flew in to draw its attention again. And Rainbow couldn’t hear my shout of alarm as it suddenly whipped its head up and caught her with one of its horns.
Rainbow fell to the earth, a limp bundle of feathers, and in a momentary lapse of judgment, I ran towards the bull in some futile attempt to catch her.
It turns out I was wrong about everything. I was wrong about Rainbow’s ability to keep herself safe, and I was wrong about being too small for the bull to notice me. Because it turned like lightning, and a hoof the size of a house descended upon me.
Just as I thought it was all over, Twilight was there again, and a dome of purple light materialized around us, and there was a thunderous boom as the bull’s hoof hit it instead of crushing me.
“Twilight,” I gasped. “Thank heavens—”
Then there was the sound of a thousand mirrors shattering, and I knew no more.
I awoke to a blinding white light.
I raised a hoof to shield my eyes, and found that my entire body hurt. My vision was blurry, but I could make out white walls and a too-bright light shining down on me. My hearing felt muddled with the pounding of my head, but I could hear the murmur of many indistinct voices.
It took me some time to even struggle partially upright, letting my vision return to me so I could see my surroundings. I was in a hospital room, all sterile whites, with a softly beeping machine next to the bed I lay in. My mouth was dry, and my lips cracked as I opened it and tried to speak; all that came out was a cough.
It was enough to get the attention of the ponies nearby, and suddenly Twilight was there, her hooves wrapped around my torso so tightly it took my breath from me. Her muzzle buried itself in my shoulder, and I could already feel the tears dripping into my fur.
“Glad to see you’re awake, Rares,” a familiar voice said, as Applejack walked up to the foot of my bed at a much more leisurely pace. Behind her, Pinkie waved at me, forcing a smile.
I gestured helplessly to my throat. Applejack gave me a sympathetic look, and then passed me a glass of water, which I did my best to drink in a somewhat dignified manner despite Twilight’s refusal to let go.
“What happened?” I asked, as soon as my voice was working properly again. “I remember… a monster, and then…” Abruptly, I sat up straight in bed, which evoked a whine from Twilight. “Rainbow! Is she alright?”
A pained look flashed across Applejack’s face. Instead of answering, she stepped over to the next bed and pulled back the curtain.
Rainbow lay on it, a complicated affair with a tube over her face, her own monitor beeping slowly and a second tube attached to her foreleg. Fluttershy was curled up on the chair next to her, her sleeping form a testament to how long she must have been standing vigil.
“The docs don’t know when she’ll wake up,” Applejack said, her voice barely above a whisper. I did not miss the hitch on the word ‘when’, that slight hesitation speaking volumes. “But they thought you would be asleep longer too, so she could be up again any minute.”
I nodded encouragingly. There would be little point in dashing Applejack’s hopes, after all.
Twilight finally raised her head from my coat, her eyes still shining with tears. “I thought I’d lost you,” she breathed. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I shouldn’t have put you in that position—”
“Twilight,” I interrupted. “This is no time to assign blame. We all made it through, did we not?” I paused as a thought occurred to me. “Actually… with myself and Rainbow… indisposed… how did you deal with Tauros?”
“Princess Luna showed up!” Pinkie piped up brightly. “And oh boy was she mad! She showed that big mean monster a thing or two!”
“The starbeasts technically fall under her domain,” Twilight added. “She, uh… encouraged it to leave.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you until then. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t gotten Luna to disturb the stars, this never would have happened.”
“Twilight!” I scolded. “You couldn’t have known what would happen. If even Luna agreed to it, there was no way to know.” I stretched out my legs and waggled my hooves, smiling brightly despite the pain. “See? I am perfectly fine. I will not have you blaming yourself for this.”
Twilight nodded rapidly, and then suddenly leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she repeated. “I’ll make sure you have whatever you need until you’re better. I promise.”
When had our relationship progressed to casual kisses on the cheek?
I was saved from having to process that by the arrival of Nurse Redheart. “Alright, everypony,” she said. “Visiting hours are over. Please, my patients need rest. You can come back tomorrow.”
I did my best to hide my relief, and tuned out further chatter from those assembled. It was mostly convincing Redheart that Fluttershy wasn’t going to disturb anypony, and leaving her with Rainbow would be easier for all involved, which was a conversation that didn’t require my input.
Recovery was a boring process. The first thing I did was pen a letter to Sassy Saddles, explaining what had happened so she could manage things in my absence. She would be able to smooth things over with my clients who would have their pieces delayed. But once that was done, I had absolutely nothing to do.
Twilight visited every day, of course, bringing flowers and cards from what felt like half the population of Ponyville, and eventually snacks as well once I mentioned my distaste for the hospital food. Fluttershy was also a regular presence, even though she was primarily there for Rainbow Dash. Still, I was a better conversationalist.
It took three days before the doctors convinced themselves that lying in a hospital bed was no longer necessary for my health and sent me home with some remedies to manage my pain and instructions to get lots of rest. I gave Fluttershy a hug and some positive assurance that Rainbow would surely be waking up and following in my hoofsteps shortly, but otherwise I could not wait to get out the door.
I was itching to get back to work, to have a sewing machine or a sketchbook under my hooves again, but I was brought up short when Twilight met me at the hospital entrance. She had another bundle of flowers with her, and this time they were roses.
“Rarity!” she beamed. “I heard they were discharging you so I came right over. I was hoping… well, since our last date was cut short, perhaps you’d like to come have dinner with me? Make up for lost time?” She held out the bouquet to me, looking very pleased with herself.
I searched for a way to politely turn her down. After finally getting on my hooves again, the last thing I wanted to do was to immediately get off them. Especially since I wasn’t sure what lost time she was talking about, seeing as she had spent the entirety of my visiting hours making sure I was caught up on exactly what was going on in Ponyville. The only time I’d lost had been work, not time spent with her.
But it would have been uncouth to say that, and surely it would be nice to have a proper dinner after days spent picking at less than stellar hospital food. “Of course,” is what I finally said. “Dinner would be lovely.”
I took the roses, and Twilight led me to one of Ponyville’s more upscale restaurants, Chez Ponisse . They seated us as soon as we walked in, right past a half-dozen ponies waiting in their lobby. I did my best not to show my surprise. This wasn’t Canterlot, but if you wanted a table here you still needed to reserve it at least a few days in advance. Had Twilight been planning this for that long? Or was she blissfully ignorant that she had bumped somepony because she was a Princess?
We were brought to a private booth in a corner of the restaurant, dimly lit by covered candles. It was the sort of ambiance where you could barely see your date, let alone the next table over.
“I’m so glad you’re finally out of the hospital,” Twilight said. “I thought it would be nice to celebrate. My treat.”
I nodded, my mind elsewhere. My hooves practically itched when I sat down, crying out to be doing something, anything.
Twilight kept talking, and I even occasionally responded, but I wasn’t paying her any attention. I felt trapped, unable to leave or even say what was bothering me. Twilight didn’t know the itch she was keeping me from scratching, so it wasn’t her fault, was it?
I spent the entire dinner pushing food around my plate instead of eating it. I knew it was good, I’d been here before, but even after days of hospital food I didn’t want any of it.
Before I knew it, Twilight was being given the check. The waiter looked at my plate, and offered to box it up for me without sounding offended, which I felt was very professional of him. I had almost tuned him out again when “...I’ll take care of this, and I’ll be right back with a box for your marefriend.”
Twilight didn’t correct him, and he left before I could process it. Marefriend . We’d only been on three dates! Two and a half, if one was being technical. “Twilight…” I began, suddenly certain I’d let this go too far. “I think we need to…” I didn’t know how to word it, what to say.
Twilight didn’t let me finish. “Oh, you poor thing,” she jumped in. “Of course, you must still be exhausted. I’m being selfish, keeping you out like this. Let’s get you home and into bed.”
That wasn’t what I—
But Twilight was already ushering me out the door, to-go box forgotten.
I finally bade Twilight goodnight and shut my door with an audible sigh of relief. Just to be back in my own home felt heavenly after so long away. I could finally have the catharsis of creating something again.
I flicked the lights on and stepped up to my workbench, but I had to put the flowers down to—
I sighed, and then turned around and went to the kitchen, hunting in my cupboards for a large enough vase. The flowers needed water, and I had to cut the stems and find a proper place for them—
I stopped, staring between the vase I had found that was clearly too small, the flowers, and then back again.
I threw the flowers in the trash, closed the cupboard, and returned to my workroom.
Pens, papers, sketchbooks, patterns, ponnequins and my favorite sewing machine. I took them all out, heedless of where they should go or whether I would even need them. Normally I would be more particular, but now the chaos felt important. It didn’t matter what I made, just that it was .
But once I had pulled everything out of its proper place and actually sat down, my mind felt suddenly… blank. I let myself drift, traveling to that place where all ideas flowed, but it was empty. Nothing came to me.
I had never experienced that before. Now, I am not so vain as to claim that I have never had trouble creating, but it had never manifested like this. Usually, my problem was a too-harsh inner critic, when it took over my mind and convinced me that all my ideas, no matter how promising, were objectively awful. But to have no ideas at all, not even bad ones? That was a first.
I opened my eyes and grabbed a pen, stubbornly sketching the outline of a dress, a shape I had traced a million times before, just to have something down at all. But when I moved to fill it—a pattern, a texture, even just random lines—my pen faltered. It shook in my hoof, just above the page, and I didn’t know what to do with it.
Finally, I bit my lip and forced the pen down, scratching harsh lines in the paper, scribbling the design out in a mess of ugly black, pressing harder and harder until suddenly the page tore open, a gash splitting the mess of scribbles and the pen falling from my hoof.
I tore the page out and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it at the wall as hard as I could. Suddenly the supplies I had pulled out felt wrong, their chaos a reflection of my inability to derive order from my thoughts.
I ran.
I left the room in disarray, fleeing to my bedroom. Tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow I will be better.
I repeated that mantra over and over until exhaustion claimed me.
When I came down the stairs the next morning, my workroom was spotless. Sitting in the middle of my workbench, in the position normally reserved for my sewing machine, was the bouquet of flowers I clearly remembered throwing out last night.
As I stared at them in horror, I heard the sound of hoofsteps. Before I could decide whether to look for a weapon or just scream, Twilight stepped out of my kitchen.
“Oh, Rarity! You’re up!” she exclaimed, like her presence was perfectly reasonable.
“Twilight, what are you doing here? ” I practically hissed, trying to soothe my racing heart. “You scared me half to death!”
“Oh,” Twilight mused. “I didn’t mean to. I brought you a potion from Zecora that I thought might help with your pain a bit better than what the hospital gave you. And it seemed like your place needed a little tidying, so I thought I could help with that.”
“Twilight,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth. “How did you get into my house?” As out of sorts as I had been last night, I was still sure I had locked my door, and Twilight did not have a key.
Twilight blinked, and then gestured to her horn, as if the answer was obvious. I suppose in a way it was.
“Just because you don’t need a key to get in doesn’t mean it isn’t rude to—”
“Am I not welcome here?” Twilight pouted, her head drooping. “I would have thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Did you not like the flowers?” Twilight interrupted again, now sounding truly morose. “I thought you loved roses, but I found them… well. You know where I found them. If you didn’t want them, why didn’t you say anything?”
I tried to respond, but my brain supplied no words. I didn’t know how to explain how overwhelming the simple task of putting the flowers in a vase had felt at the time. Even having been there, it felt a little petty.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Rarity,” Twilight kept going. “You asked for more romance, so I gave you romance! Flowers, nice dinners, wine—I moved the stars for you! What more do you want?”
Her wings were half spread now, and she took an aggressive step forward, gesticulating wildly with one hoof. I shrank back, instinctively. “No, that’s not what happened,” I quailed. “It’s not about… I like the things you did! I mean, theoretically.”
As soon as the words left my mouth I knew they were the wrong ones.
“Theoretically?” Twilight exploded. “I did exactly what you asked for! I was perfect! I even—” she faltered suddenly. “I’ve done so much for you, and what have you done? You threw the expression of my love right in the trash!” Her voice broke, and for a moment she looked away, hiding the shimmer in her eyes.
“I’m sorry!” I yelled, retreating until I was backed against a wall. “I know I’ve been ungrateful. I never meant to hurt you, Twilight, I swear it. Please don’t cry.”
Twilight stepped forward again, and there was nowhere else I could run to. But then she pulled me into a hug, wrapping both her forelimbs and wings around me. It was supposed to be comforting, I was sure, but I just felt smothered.
“I’m sorry too,” Twilight whispered. “I just care about you so much. I can’t lose you. I can’t. So just… tell me what you need from me. I’ll do anything, anything at all, to make this work.”
Anything except leave.
I patted the back of her head soothingly, but that was all I could manage. I was too afraid to break her heart.
To Be Fearful of the Night
Twilight never left. She seemed to always be present now, and nothing like her outburst happened again. Instead, she modeled the perfect housewife: cooking, cleaning, and running errands when I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed.
I actively avoided my workroom. I didn’t want to see the flowers, didn’t want to be reminded that every day I spent in bed was another day my work was overdue. Letters from Sassy piled up in my entryway, but I didn’t open them. If I acknowledged their existence, I’d have to explain what was wrong.
Instead I let the days slip by, barely leaving my bedroom to pick at the food Twilight brought me. She was perfectly understanding, telling me to take all the time I needed to recover, to let her handle everything. That if I needed rest, she would make certain that nopony gave me any trouble for it.
Sometimes, I would hear the bell jingle as a pony came to the door, but Twilight would always insist it was nopony important, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. After a day or two, I stopped asking.
I lost track of the days, but it had been less than a week when I awoke in the middle of the night to movement in my room. I kept perfectly still, barely daring to breathe, as Twilight climbed into my bed. I pretended to be asleep as she pressed up against me, and draped one hoof over my side. I didn’t dare to push it off until I heard her breathing become slow and steady.
When we woke up the next morning, Twilight didn’t even comment on it, and neither did I. From then on, she followed me to bed more often than not.
It was days later when I woke up to darkness again, feeling strangely energized. The shadows shifted across the walls of my bedroom, and though I closed my eyes and chased sleep it would not come to me. Finally, I carefully slipped out of Twilight’s embrace and walked slowly to the door. The shadows followed me.
The hallway was even darker, away from the wide windows of my bedroom, but the shadows still shifted and moved in strange patterns. One of them, a little lighter than the others, slipped out from under my hooves and spiraled lazily towards the stairs. Like a puppet on strings, I followed it. Perhaps I should have been frightened, but nothing it was leading me towards felt like it could be worse than what my life had already become.
I followed the shadow downstairs, and thankfully it didn’t lead to my workroom. Instead, it went to the main show floor at the front of the boutique. The floor was nearly empty, the displays cleared aside and the ponnequins put away. After all, the shop hadn’t been open in over a week.
I was watching the shadow spin in place in the center of the room when there was a knock at the door.
The clock on the wall read three AM. No one was up this early.
When I hesitated, the knock came again. This time, I walked towards the door, instead of running back to bed like a sensible pony. If something monstrous really wanted to get in, experience already told me a locked door wouldn’t stop it.
When I opened the door, at first I thought all I saw was the stars of the night sky. But then I realized they were in the shape of a pony.
“Hello, Rarity,” Princess Luna said. “May we come in?”
I stepped out of the doorway, and she took that as assent. She looked slowly around the empty room, and then her horn lit and she pulled two chairs from seemingly nowhere, setting them down in front of me.
“You are a difficult pony to reach, Rarity,” Luna finally said. “It has taken me several attempts already.”
I blinked. “Isn’t this a dream?”
“Nay,” Luna said. “‘Tis real. A dream would have been much simpler.” She frowned, her face troubled as she looked at me. “But that way was closed to me, for you have ceased to dream.”
“Oh,” I murmured. I wouldn’t know—I almost never remembered my dreams. “That sounds… bad.”
“It is,” Luna agreed. “It is a symptom of a larger problem, one I attempted to enlist Twilight’s aid in resolving. However, she did not seem concerned by my warnings when last we spoke. Nor did she allow me to speak to you directly.” Luna shook her head, but before her expression became neutral once more, I clearly saw anger etched across her face. “She told you none of this?”
I shook my head, but Luna seemed to already know the answer to her question.
“As I suspected. It is why I went through the trouble to meet you like this.” Luna reached out to take one of my hooves in hers. “Rarity, all healthy ponies dream. Those that do not have lost their drive, their passion. That does not happen overnight.”
My throat suddenly felt dry. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?” I asked. Everything Twilight had done, even the things that made my stomach twist, she’d done because she cared about me too much. If she cared that much, why would she hide this?
“An important question,” Luna mused. “I can only imagine it is because she sees some benefit to your current state.” Her face darkened, and her voice gained an edge. “Is your current relationship with Twilight something you desire, Rarity?”
I pulled my hoof away from hers and looked away, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.
“It is not,” Luna spat, voice flat. “She has taken advantage of your good nature, then.”
“No!” I yelped. “That’s… that’s not true,” It sounded like an excuse even to my ears.
“You lack passion,” Luna pressed. “You ceased to dream as your relationship with Twilight progressed beyond casual dalliance. Even if it is not, as I suspect, causal, it is clear that it brings you no joy.”
“I—I couldn’t—” I stammered, shaking. “It’s not that I…” I trailed off again, casting about for the words I needed. “I didn’t know what to do! I… I had a plan, on that night with the starbeast. I was going to tell her it was over. But then everything went wrong and now it’s too late.”
“It is never too late. You need not obligate yourself to her.”
“But I do,” I almost whispered. “I’m… worthless. I can’t create anymore, and I just… don’t care. About anything. I don’t even know why she wants to still be with me, when I do nothing all day. If I broke up with her, I’d have nothing to keep me going at all.”
“You do not think these are linked? You are not in your right mind, Rarity!” Luna scolded. “You have let your fears consume you, just as I once did, and down that road lies madness. You must free yourself from it. What has been done to you is a poison, and you cannot begin to heal until you remove the dagger.”
I cringed, instinctively looking back towards the stairs. “If Twilight hears you talk like that—”
“She cannot. She will not wake until I allow her to. I will not have our discussion interrupted.” Luna said it so chillingly that it shocked me. Once again, I was reminded just how powerful alicorns were. Once again, I was reminded why I dared not make Twilight angry while she slept under my roof.
Luna saw something in my eyes, and she deflated, her mane flowing a little less fully. “I can see it will take more time,” she said sadly. “I would stress that this cannot be allowed to continue forever. If you do not confront Twilight about this, I will.”
“No!” I objected, panicked. “Please don’t. I’ll… I’ll talk to her. I promise.”
“Hmm,” Luna rumbled, not sounding very convinced. “Very well. But I will return to check on you in three days. Please at least try to leave the house in that time.” She stood, and her expression softened. “Do not forget that there are still ponies that care about you beyond Twilight.”
“I won’t,” I assured her, and I almost believed it.
Luna nodded. “Three days,” she repeated, before she vanished. Her exit was nothing so flashy as a teleport, she simply turned to mist and then was no longer there.
I sagged into my chair, letting the tension I’d been gathering release. I still felt far too wired to simply return to bed, especially knowing who was in it. Instead, I got up and paced, trying to identify what I could possibly say to Twilight that would somehow avoid a fight while simultaneously satisfying both Luna and myself. But that was easily ruled out as impossible, so I gave up.
Instead, I pulled my scarf from the heap next to the door and stepped out into the night.
The air was brisk in the pre-dawn gloom, a chill wind descending from Canterlot Mountain and winding through the streets, but I put my head down and pressed through it. I didn’t know where I was going, but the cold air was doing wonders to shock me awake, and in some ways I welcomed the discomfort as being better than feeling absolutely nothing at all.
The streets were quiet and empty, all of Ponyville still safely in their beds. I wandered aimlessly, ignoring the passage of time as the sky slowly lightened, even though the sun had not quite peeked over the horizon. I knew that eventually I would have to return home before Twilight awoke and wondered where I had gone, but the quiet of the empty town felt soothing in a way my bedroom did not.
It was after what felt like hours that I heard a voice calling my name. I hadn’t realized anypony else was nearby, but when I turned, I saw Applejack approaching from the outskirts of town, pulling a cart behind her.
“Howdy, Rares,” she said as she approached. “Been a few days, ain’t it? What are you doing up so early?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just… wandering, I suppose.”
“Uh huh,” Applejack drawled, raising one eyebrow. “You wandering anywhere in particular?”
I shook my head. “Just… enjoying some fresh air.”
Applejack gave me a hard look. “Riiight.” She chewed the inside of her mouth for a moment, considering. “What’s wrong, Rares?”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong.”
“You don’t gotta. Your whole body’s screamin’ it. And you ain’t left your house since you got outta the hospital.” She waved one hoof at me, coaxing. “So tell me what’s wrong.”
I shook my head. “You don’t need to worry about me, Applejack. I’m fine.”
“Horseapples.”
“It’s alright, real—”
“Horse. Apples.” Applejack unhitched her cart, reaching into it and pulling out a small crate that smelled like apples and sitting down on top of it. “I’m a patient mare, Rarity, and the sun ain’t even out yet. You really think you can do this song and dance longer’n I can take it?”
Despite everything, I smiled. “You’re really not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
Applejack just gave me a look.
It took a while to get started, but once I got going, it felt like I couldn’t stop. I told her everything. The disastrous first date, my decision to end things, the starshower display, Twilight’s clinginess after the attack, how much she had done for me and how devastated she would be if I left. My creative drought and my inability to drag myself out of bed in the morning. How it felt like Twilight was the only thing keeping me going, and at the same time, the biggest thing holding me back.
True to her word, Applejack listened patiently, encouraging me when I faltered. The sun rose as I talked, but it was still too early for most ponies to be outside yet, and no one disturbed us.
I finally ended my story with the unsettling visit from Luna, and trailed off. I didn’t know what I expected Applejack to say, and it looked like she wasn’t sure what to say either.
“That’s an awful lot for one pony to keep bottled up inside,” she finally said. “I ain’t gonna tell you what to do about it—heck, I wouldn’t even know where to start. But you must know you gotta do something, right?”
“Yes,” I sighed. “I was… complacent, I suppose. It was easier to ignore what was wrong so I didn’t have to do anything about it. But with Luna’s deadline, I don’t suppose that will work anymore.”
Applejack’s jaw dropped. “Shucks, Rares, that weren’t no complacency, you’re just depressed.”
I laughed. It rose unbidden in my chest and slipped out before I realized it was happening. “Applejack, you can’t just…” I protested, but I wasn’t even sure what rule of etiquette she had broken.
“I can say what I please,” Applejack grinned. “And if it makes you laugh, I daresay it weren’t so bad.” She chuckled to herself, shaking her head ruefully. “It’s good to hear you laugh again. It’s been rough, this last week, with you cooped up with Twi and Rainbow still in the hospital. This feels like maybe things might get back to normal, y’know?”
“Perhaps,” I ventured. “It would be nice to be able to… feel again. I hope it is as simple as just remembering how to laugh.”
“There you are!”
I knew that voice, and my heart sank into my hooves. I’d lost track of time, and now it was properly morning, and Twilight was approaching at great speed.
She came to an abrupt stop next to me, relief warring with anger on her face. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? I woke up and you were just… gone! Not even a note! I thought something terrible had happened to you!”
I quailed under the verbal assault, but Applejack didn’t. “Now, calm down a minute there, Twi,” she said, stepping forward to insert herself between myself and Twilight. “Rarity’s a grown mare, she can take care of herself without you knowin’ where she is every moment o’ the day.”
Twilight glared at Applejack. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You think I don’t know what’s going on here? She has a marefriend, Applejack. I thought you were better than this.”
Applejack’s eyes widened. “Now hold on an apple-pickin’ minute!” she shot back, heated. “I ain’t done nothing of the sort. We’re just two friends catchin’ up.”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, catching up , in the middle of the night on the outskirts of town. That makes perfect sense.”
“We just happened to bump into each other—”
“Sure you did.” Twilight turned to me. “Come on, Rarity, we’re going home. We can discuss this further in private.”
“No.” I was almost surprised to hear the words come out of my own mouth. “Apologize to Applejack. She did nothing wrong.”
“What?” Twilight sputtered. “Rarity, come on! You can’t honestly expect me to believe—”
“I can,” I interrupted. “If you care about me, you will trust me when I say that nothing untoward occurred.”
“This is ridiculous,” Twilight huffed. “Of course I care about you. That’s why we’re going to talk about it in private .”
“Twi, you can’t honestly expect to just take Rares home like a misbehavin’ foal,” Applejack protested. “She’s—”
“Shut up!” Twilight burst out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t know what’s at stake!” She stepped forward, pushing past Applejack, and grabbed my hoof, pulling me roughly away.
I hissed in pain as my wrist was bent back, suddenly regretting my earlier assertiveness. “Twilight, stop! You’re hurting me!” I begged.
Instantly, Twilight let go, her anger vanishing. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to—I’m just trying to—” Twilight backed away, and for a moment, she just looked… afraid. “Please, I’m just trying to save you,” she pleaded, suddenly sounding desperate. “Just… come home with me.”
“Twi, what in the hay has gotten into you?” Applejack demanded. “You’re jumpier than a three-legged frog.”
“I’m sorry,” Twilight repeated. “I didn’t mean for it to end up this way.” She stepped back, and then her horn lit up.
“Wait—”
Before I could finish, there was a flash of light, and I found myself back in the boutique. I tried the door, but it refused to move. It didn’t even seem to be locked—it was simply static, stuck fast to the doorframe.
Twilight was nowhere to be seen, which was small comfort. I spent more time than I cared to admit pacing the room, furious at being essentially grounded within my own home. But even that eventually faded, and I realized I was exhausted after being up half the night.
Defeated, I retreated to bed.
I didn’t awaken until late afternoon, but for the first time since I returned from the hospital I did not feel a compelling need to remain in bed.
The first thing I did was check the front door, to determine it still would not budge. The thought of throwing a ponnequin through a window crossed my mind, but I decided I wasn’t that desperate—yet, anyway.
Instead, my attention turned to the small pile of letters next to the door. With a sigh, I picked up the latest one from Sassy and steeled myself enough to open it, expecting the worst.
Not sure if you saw my last letter… I have things handled here, so take all the time you need… Everyone is very understanding… I’ve arranged for some clients to use modified off-the-line pieces instead of bespoke, and they were still quite satisfied… Let me know when you’re ready and we can go over the details.
Wishing you a speedy recovery, Sassy Saddles
I blinked back tears. I had been expecting demands, recriminations, for my entire business enterprise to be on fire in my absence. And yet here was Sassy giving me the same assurances that Twilight had that everything was fine. When Twilight had done it, I hadn’t really believed her. In hindsight, it felt self-serving. But Sassy had nothing to gain from my absence. When she said she could handle it, she meant it.
My gaze drifted towards the door to my workroom. If nothing else, it felt like I owed Sassy to at least try to create again. Perhaps my newfound desire to do anything other than lie in bed meant it was worth the attempt.
The workroom was dark, and it took me considerable effort to step over the threshold. The vase of roses still stood in the middle of the room, though they were wilting now.
This time, I was much more methodical in my preparations. The vase went by the door, and the sewing machine returned to its place of honor. I didn’t take out any patterns or fabrics yet, just a sketchbook and a pen.
I sat, and turned the book to a blank page, and then let my mind drift.
It should have been easy. So many of my pieces were expressing an emotion, or telling a story. My heart was tight with sadness, anger, guilt. Even if they weren’t the usual colors I worked with, I could weave that despair into a dress, paint the colors of my failed relationship into life.
But nothing came. I let everything in my heart flow through me, but I couldn’t translate it onto the page. Where there should have been swirls of color, there was gray. Where there should have been bold shapes, there were flat lines.
My sketchbook remained empty. Finally, after what felt like hours, I closed it.
I knew then that it was over.
I wasn’t going to get better.
I was broken.
When Twilight walked in the door I was sitting at the kitchen table, staring into space. A cup of tea sat untouched and cold in front of me.
“Rarity?” she ventured, her voice hesitant, her stance cautious. She was practically hiding behind a basket full of more flowers than I had seen in one place outside a flower shop. “I… uh, I wanted to apologize. For everything.”
When I didn’t respond, she stepped cautiously into the room and set the basket down on the table. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you, Rarity, and everything I’ve done has been for your own good.”
I finally decided to acknowledge her existence. I wasn’t afraid of her anymore, but it wasn’t because she was contrite, head bowed, in her best non-threatening stance. It was because my worst fear had already come to pass, so what more could she do to me?
“Locking me in my home was for my own good?” I asked. I meant for it to be acidic, but it just came out sounding detached.
Twilight hesitated, but then she doubled down. “Yes. It’s… not safe for you to be wandering around town. You’re still recovering.”
“Am I?” I asked. “That’s news to me. I haven’t been in pain for days. Physically, at least.”
I took a breath, and decided it was time to take the plunge. “Twilight, this isn’t working. I think it’s time for this to end.”
Twilight jerked back like I’d hit her. “What? No, no, that’s not true. I know you’re mad, but we can work this out. I can do better.”
“It’s not about doing better. There’s nothing you can do to fix this.”
“Rarity, you can’t just give up! Of course I can fix it. I’ve always been able to fix it.” Twilight stepped forward again, reaching out to take my hoof, but I jerked it away.
“You’re not listening,” I said, a little more forcefully now. “Our relationship isn’t broken, it simply doesn’t work. I should have done this days ago, but I was too… caught up in my own head.”
“Rarity, please. We have to make it work. I love you. I’ve sacrificed so much for you, you can’t just… throw it all away!” Twilight pressed forward again, forcing me half off my chair. “What if you slept on it? In the morning this will all feel silly, you’ll see.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” I said, pushing her away with one hoof. “I made it up a long time ago. I care about you, Twilight, but I don’t love you. I’m not certain I ever did.”
I was certain, but even now, I felt compelled to soften the blow.
“You don’t—” Twilight gasped, almost going slack against my hoof. “But I…” she shook her head, and suddenly her expression darkened. “I did everything for you! Everything you asked for, and more! The least you could do is love me!”
I flinched, but refused to back down. “I am not obligated to you,” I said, Luna’s words echoing in my head. “Love is not an equation that you can solve. It cannot be forced.”
Twilight abruptly pulled back, her eyes widening before she turned away. “It’s not supposed to be like this!” she yelled. “Everything was going to be perfect , and it shouldn’t all fall apart because of one mistake. I just have to figure out what went wrong, and then we can go back to how things were.”
“Twilight!” I snapped. “There is nothing to go back to. This was never going to work.” I opened my mouth to try to explain all the reasons. We’re too different. You don’t respect me. Every time you touch me I feel violated. I’m afraid you’ll hurt me when you raise your voice.
But I still couldn’t bring myself to say them. If I told Twilight how much she hurt me, she’d never forgive herself.
“No,” Twilight said. “You’re not yourself, you don’t know what’s going on. Just… just give me time.” She reached out for me again, but stopped when I shrank away. “You’ll see. I’ll fix it, and then I can explain everything, and we’ll be together.”
“Twilight,” I said sharply. “You’re not making any sense. I don’t need you to fix it. It’s over .”
“I’m sorry,” Twilight whispered. “You never should have had to go through this.”
Before I knew how to respond to that, she turned and ran out the door.
I sagged against the kitchen counter. Every confrontation with Twilight was more exhausting than the last, but I was hopeful that it was actually over. Given how adamant Twilight had been about fixing things, though, it was a faint hope.
I looked down at the basket of flowers, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to get them out of my house. Especially since I didn’t think my trash could contain such a bundle.
I grabbed them off the table and went to the front door, trying it cautiously. I was moderately surprised when this time, it actually opened. But just dumping the flowers right outside my door didn’t seem like it would accomplish much.
Then an idea struck me, and I knew where they might actually do some good.
“Rainbow Dash is just down that hall,” the hospital receptionist informed me.
I’d dropped off the flowers at the front desk. Rainbow was still asleep and wouldn’t appreciate them, but there were plenty to distribute to ponies who would.
The door to Rainbow’s room was slightly ajar, but I knocked anyway before coming in. She was still hooked up to tubes and monitors, but her chest was rising and falling steadily, which I took to be a good sign.
Fluttershy looked up at my knock, before silently scooting her chair over to give me better access to the bed. I gave her a grateful smile, stepping up and reaching out to take Rainbow’s hoof. “How’s she doing?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Nothing’s changed,” Fluttershy murmured. “The doctors don’t know what’s keeping her from waking up, but she’s not getting any worse.” She hesitated, then added, “You should try talking to her. I don’t know if she can hear us, but I like to think she can.”
“A-alright,” I said, squeezing Rainbow’s hoof, suddenly unsure what to say. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Rainbow. I suppose I should thank you, too. You jumped headfirst into danger without even questioning it, and all I did was run.” I shook my head, a grateful smile creeping onto my face. “You probably saved my life. You kept that beast busy long enough for Twilight to show up, after all. So, I hope you’re doing alright inside your head. Better than I am, anyway. You didn’t deserve this.”
Awkwardly, I released Rainbow’s hoof and stepped away. “How was that?” I asked Fluttershy.
“It was lovely,” she said. “I’m glad you came to visit. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
I winced. “I’m sorry. I should have come by sooner, but I was… going through a lot.”
“It’s alright,” Fluttershy smiled. “You’re here now.”
We lapsed into silence, the only sounds the steady beeping of Rainbow’s monitor and the hustle of working ponies elsewhere in the hospital.
The door opened again, and Redheart walked in. “Ah! Rarity! It’s good to see you,” she said pleasantly. “If I could just get in here…”
Fluttershy and I did our best to make space for her in the tiny room, and she squinted at the monitors, scribbling absently on her clipboard. “How are you feeling, Rarity?” she asked. “No relapses? Pain, fatigue, or anything of the like?”
I smiled softly. “No, I’m fine. Perfectly healthy.”
Redheart shook her head, chuckling under her breath. “Well, I’ll be. Glad to hear it.”
She turned to leave, but I spoke up again. “Nurse?” I asked. “It seems like that… surprised you.”
Redheart paused in the doorway. “Well,” she hedged. “Twilight didn’t want us to worry you, but in the end, you’re the patient. If you want to know the details of your recovery I’ll give them to you. But I’ll just say that… well, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I would, yes,” I said firmly. If the past week had taught me anything, it was that when Twilight didn’t want me to see something, it was probably something I should see.
“If you’re sure,” she said. “Let me go pull your chart.”
She left the room, and I realized Fluttershy was watching me intently.
When she realized I’d noticed, she looked away, covering her face with her mane. “Um, Rarity,” she squeaked. “I’d like to see that chart too. Um, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” I said easily. “But may I ask why?”
Fluttershy hesitated. “I think—”
The door opened again, and I turned, surprised Redheart was back so quickly. But instead of the nurse, the pony standing in the doorway was Twilight.
“Rarity!” she said, her voice filled with false cheer. “What a coincidence.”
“Twilight,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. “Did you come to see Rainbow?”
“Of course,” Twilight said, letting out a nervous laugh. “Why else would I be here?”
I pretended I didn’t know she was lying. “Well, there really isn’t enough space in here for all of us, so I will be going. It was nice to see you, Fluttershy.”
I got up, but Twilight didn’t move out of the doorway. “Rarity—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I interrupted. “Let me through.”
She didn’t move.
“I’ll scream.”
Reluctantly, she stepped aside. I pushed past her, and saw Redheart walking down the hall towards us, a folder in her teeth.
Twilight saw her at the same time I did, and she hastily stepped out of the doorway behind me. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked, and it seemed my lack of answer was answer enough for her. “Rarity, wait, wait. You don’t want to see those.”
“I think I do,” I said. “You’ve been hiding something, and I intend to find out what.”
Twilight changed tactics, turning to Redheart, who had paused warily before reaching us. “Redheart, you know why I asked you to keep those confidential. You’ll just upset her.”
Redheart transferred the folder to one hoof. “I recall. But they are her files, Twilight. She has a right to see them if she wants to.”
I stepped forward, reaching for the folder with my magic, but Twilight was faster, snatching the folder with a much stronger grip.
Redheart gasped, shocked. “Twilight!” she scolded. “Return those to Rarity at once. Just because you’re a Princess doesn’t mean I won’t have you thrown out of this hospital.”
I wheeled on her. “What is in those files?” I demanded. “What are you hiding, Twilight?”
“I can explain,” Twilight pleaded. “Just hear me out. I did it for you.”
“I knew it,” a quiet, sharp voice cut in. Fluttershy had stepped out of the room, and I had never seen her look so angry. “You did something. You fixed her.”
“I didn’t say—”
“I saw you!” Fluttershy practically growled. “You snuck in here in the middle of the night, and the next morning, Rarity was suddenly better! You healed your marefriend , but you left Rainbow to rot!”
“That’s not what happened!” Twilight’s voice quavered, and she pulled back, hugging my folder to her chest. “I’m not… I’m not a healer. I wouldn’t even know where to start. If I could do anything for Rainbow, don’t you think I would have?”
“I’m not so sure,” Fluttershy hissed. “As soon as you got Rarity out of here, you vanished. No one’s seen you, except for turning away people at Rarity’s door. It seems like that’s all you care about lately. I thought we were your friends too.”
“That’s not—” Twilight seemed near tears, backing slowly away from Fluttershy. “You don’t understand.”
“Because you refuse to tell us anything!” I shouted. “You’re so convinced you’re doing this for the greater good that you haven’t once stopped to think about how we feel about it!”
Twilight bowed her head. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I just… I didn’t want things to change.” She turned to me. “When you got hurt, it was… bad. Really bad. The doctors did everything they could, but it wasn’t enough.” Finally, she held out the folder to me. “You died, Rarity.”
I took it from her, the motion almost automatic, because my brain was still trying to process what Twilight had said. But then I opened the folder, and gasped.
There were pictures in it. Of me. My broken body, covered in blood, limbs at impossible angles. Next to the photos was a long list of medical terms, but I didn’t read them, because right at the bottom of the first page, unmistakable, was the time of death.
“I… I couldn’t let that happen,” Twilight whispered. “I couldn’t lose you. Not like that, not when it was my fault.” Her voice cracked. “When I was Celestia’s student, she taught me dark magic. Just a little bit, so I understood what it was. But I looked up more. Ways to do things that… most unicorns don’t learn about. A spell to bring back the dead.
“I didn’t have a choice. Don’t you see? I had to do it. I had to. But when you came back you were… different. I thought it would fade, that you would go back to normal if I just gave you enough time. And I was just happy to have you back. But you didn’t get better, and now it’s destroying us.” Twilight was crying now, blinking back tears as she pleaded at me with her eyes. “I changed you. I made a mistake with the spell, or it just didn’t mention the side effects. And it took away your love.”
Slowly, I flipped through the papers in my file. They detailed my miraculous recovery—healing broken bones in days instead of weeks, and everything past the first page made no mention of the fact that I had been dead right beforehand. Finally, I closed the folder, and, numbly, gave it back to Redheart, who took it without a word.
Twilight was looking at me expectantly, and I had no idea what to say. It all made sense now. Why I couldn’t create anymore. Why I barely needed to eat. Why I felt so overwhelmingly… numb.
Did I even still have a soul?
I didn’t say anything to Twilight. I just turned and started walking towards the door. I wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of hoofsteps behind me.
“Rarity!” Twilight called. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. What else could I have done?”
I kept walking.
“Please, say something!”
I kept walking.
“You don’t have to be like this! If I figure out what went wrong with the spell, I can fix you. You can go back to loving me.”
I stopped.
I turned.
“Twilight, I never loved you,” I said, almost mechanically. “I was going to break up with you before any of this happened.”
I heard the sound of Twilight’s heart shattering as I walked out the door.
The boutique was dark when I arrived, and I didn’t bother turning on any of the lights. I stumbled through the home in a daze, looking through the trappings of the dressmaker that ran it without really seeing them. Everything felt unfamiliar, and I traced my hoof across ponnequins and fabric like I’d never touched such things before.
Eventually, my wanderings found me in the workroom once again. I marveled at the sleek design of the sewing machine, then picked up the sketchbook on the table. There were beautiful images in it, drawn by some other pony. I recognized them, but they felt like they had been shown to me by someone else. The memories of drawing them were… wrong. Misaligned. Not quite real.
The latter half of the sketchbook was blank. Worthless. No one would fill it. I dropped it, no longer interested.
Then I left, never to return.
The bedroom at the top of the stairs looked lived-in, so I walked into that one. The bed was luxurious, too big for a single pony and impossibly soft. The dresser was ornate and covered in awards for fashion design. I walked right past them.
I went to the mirror in the adjoining bathroom and looked into the eyes of a pony I barely recognized. Her makeup was smudged, and her eyes were blank. There was no life in them; why would there be?
I opened the medicine cabinet, and pulled out a bottle.
I poured the entire contents into my hoof.
I turned on the sink.
I let the empty bottle drop to the floor, and I climbed into the too-large bed. It was just as soft as it looked.
Everything was about to go back to how it should be.
This entire week had merely been a bad dream.
I closed my eyes, for the last time.
