The Trinity of Moons: Ancillary Mirrors

We land at the outskirts of Ponyville. The dragons tower over the four of us: each one could easily look through the second floor window of a pony’s house, without stretching their necks.

Now that I think about it, I’m really not sure how this Ponyville aligns with similar towns in other timelines within my memories. Through all of them it retains distinct similarity to itself, yet it often shifts around, assuming different styles and colors. I can remember this community being in one of the S-sectors, or predominantly under the stern influence of White Moon. It holds at least some details of Scootaloo’s Ponyville consistently, but there are occasional oddities. Oak Library shifts around the town. Carousel Boutique can be absent, or split in parts between sisters, who in some elsewhens can be more than two. Most often they are two though — just Rarity and Sweetie Belle. Opal as a pony, or Esteem… I saw them, yes, but rarely so.

Here, on a warm and sunny day, with pure white clouds sprinkled sparsely across the sky, I see the differences too. Carousel Boutique is replaced by the sprawling factory complex of Rarity Belle Industries Inc. Apple Acres are not just away from the main town, but at a much greater distance, with a lane paved in orange stone leading to the gardens. Also according to the road sign it is known simply as Apple Acres, in two words, not three, apparently not that sweet anymore… if it ever was, in this timeline.

I want to fly much closer to the town than the dragons were gliding so I can get a better picture of it, but two thoughts make me hesitant: Stylus’s protection against sunlight isn’t permanent, and Tempest is keeping an eye on me. Knowing that the protection won’t last too much longer makes me eager to hurry, but making too sudden a move might startle Tempest and I don’t want to see how she deals with surprises. I have no doubts she can bring me down at a beat’s notice.

So, naturally, I go to her and explain myself but take off before getting an answer. I expect her to start blasting at me, and relax myself to recall evasive measures if needs be.

She doesn’t shoot me. I am not afraid she might.

Although, okay, I am a little… tense about it.

I fly across this Ponyville. I gaze upon it, trying to see the town for what it truly is.

I still don’t feel Bittercup… and without her I see this Ponyville through the lens of an outsider. Like I’m looking at a faded mnemogram of a place that no longer exists.

The town is… Rather spacious, for a lack of better words. Between each and every plainly colored house is a distance of at least a few throws. Sure, I see pointers and pathways, straight rows of poplars or cedars accompanying them. A few ponies trot along the roads. Behind a couple of them I see carts with greenery or vegetables… and yet, the town feels empty. Quiet, too – no chatter, no parents shouting to their foals or talking to them. Speaking of foals… I glance around and see only one group of them playing in an open field. Despite three playgrounds in the town, capable of hosting dozens of foals and fillies, they are left barren in favor of a grassy landscape. There are no signs of adults nearby, leaving these foals unheard and unsupervised.

The community square at the town hall sits empty too. A part of me wants to say this is all wrong, but my memories disagree. I still have some of those from Bittercup’s timeline, disjointed and distant flashes, much more coherent about Spike’s Ogres and Oubliettes adventure, and they align with what I see.

But I can’t send off this unnerving realization: this is the biggest yet most hollow Ponyville I have ever seen in all my lives.

This feeling isn’t even objectively correct! In Metropolis the streets and limits often sprawled much, much wider.

And yet, I cannot unsee it. The more I send the nagging thought away, the more insistently it returns: this Ponyville feels stretched and gigantic without any justifiable reason for it.

So I return to the dragons with a vague unease in my heart.

“Where are we meeting Spike?” I ask, glancing back at the empty town behind.

The dragoness arches her neck down to me. “Here. We would rather not step into the town. Monsters and mere non-ponies visit it so rarely, the fair citizens of Ponyville may lose their peace of mind just noticing our presence. Come, bring him to us, and we’ll talk.”

I wince, summing this reply up with my own impressions. I look at my friends: to my surprise, they don’t seem to be alerted by this reply at all.

This… is so strange. In no other history I can recall could Ponyville be labeled a place of ignorance and cowardice. It had always been the informal district of Friendship, the last refuge of those denied the right to be counted among ponies. Through all the annals of histories they met strangers with open hooves.

For a moment I ponder that, perhaps, I am not here to stop Red. Maybe my goal and reason for being here lies elsewhere? Yet I do not know how to express those thoughts to my friends without causing undue stress.

“Was Ponyville always that empty?” I ask.

“Is it though?” Stylus asks back.

“Remember Canterlot. Whole crowds of ponies were there…” I don’t continue at first, but he looks at me as though my words are foreign to him, so I finish awkwardly by adding, “And there is nopony here?”

My friends look at each other, not at all bothered by this disparity. Quartz shrugs. “Ain’t see a pinch of trouble here. Town’s tiny.”

I nod, defeated.

We three, Quartz, Stylus, and I, set out to the town. After a moment of hesitation, Tempest Shadow follows us. The dragons stay behind: they step closer to each other, lie down, partially unfold their wings, and intertwine their necks.

There is no wall but a small border post split to the sides of the main road. Nopony comes out to look at us as we approach. On their walls, banners from the most recent changeling war are accompanied by hazard signs showing detailed instructions on how to detect an invader. Low to the ground is a dull gray string with runes woven into it, but it appears dormant. Upon closer look, I see that a tripwire spell once resided in these runes was discharged some time ago. I glance through a window of the border post: inside is a tan earth pony reading a newspaper. She neither raises her head from the paper or waves us through, either ignoring us or indifferent to our presence.

“Quartz,” I turn to her and ask “Could you lead the way to Pinkie Pie’s house? You’re familiar with Ponyville’s layout, right?” Pinkie Pie is a good sign. She always had been a good sign — and I feel in need of one.

Quartz tilts her head to the side, flicking an ear. “I could, yeah, but I reckon she’s probably hangin’ at Sugar Cube Corner like usual and it’s on the way. Why not swing by there first and then check her house?”

I freeze up for a moment. It’s hard to explain why, exactly, I am so hesitant to approach the bakery. Just from a glance it looks so unwelcoming: a roof made of uneven shingles, windows so narrow they resemble the slitted iris of a snake, and floors so uneven in size that it looks ready to topple over. I couldn’t say all of that to her, so instead I simply ask Quartz, “Could we steer away from it?”

She looks at me like she is moments away from asking back something like For feather’s sake, why, dingus?

Quartz didn’t actually say that. She honored my request and in the few additional turns upon these quiet roads, we see a few more things which Bittercup likely would have recalled for me, if she hadn’t vanished from my coterie of souls: a few petrified changelings on a lawn, one trapped preparing to dash at its then target. I don’t think it is just a statue, no: the group is clearly held back by a slowly pulsing ward spell, and a stretch of royal airship cloth covers them. Then, a living house blocked off by striped tape with a hole in the front yard, with violet smoke, or maybe bubbling liquid, swaying inside. A smell emanates from the hole. Though faint, it was pervasive and disorienting; we take another detour away from that. At least this time my friends are no less concerned and confused about these sights than I am.

Pinkie Pie, the capricious embodiment of laughter, meets us on the road, just a few throws from her house. It’s almost like she got there knowing full well we were coming to visit her, to intercept us midway. Actually, I think that is exactly what she is doing.

She looks a little different too — still bright and cheery but with her hair tied back into a tight bun and a set of black stockings over all four of her legs. They don’t hinder her springy gait in the slightest. With a small, happy tune, she greets us all; I am not surprised when she addresses me as Lure — it looks like everypony in the world knows about me. That could be a joke, except I don’t really feel it as one. I met her many times through different timelines, including the latest one where she was an avatar of Rose Moon, who, well, is in part and totality the Red as well. Pinkie, however, always, always was a good omen – a promise in itself that everything will be alright.

“Where are you going?” she asks with an upbeat yet accusatory cadence, singling me out. At the same time she gestures for Tempest to come closer, which the unicorn does.

“To Spike,” I answer, “For dragon matters.” I add when she keeps staring. “Other dragons want to have a talk to him,” I surrender because these blue, unblinking eyes all but drill into me.

She hugs Tempest with her forelegs, “If that’s not my beloved bat!” She does air quotes with two hooves which seem to originate from just outside my field of vision, but Tempest looks more confused by this address than the defilement of reality. So are we for that matter, but it’s best not to question how Pinkie Pie does these sorts of things.

I am always happy to see her.

Right now, though, the joy feels muted.

“Let’s go meet Spike together!” Pinkie exclaims. “This world needs its heroes, after all, to keep all the doom and gloom at bay!” She looks at me, again, with a friendly smile, “I waited for you here. Just Pinkie Promise that first we explain things to Spike. You know, before letting your big, scaly, new friends get a word in edge-wise!”

“Why?” I ask, perhaps foolishly yet hopefully.

“So they don’t spoil the feast I have planned, duh!”

With that, she jams a donut into my mouth, then one more for each of my friends, and a cupcake for Tempest.

It tastes delicious, and by the end of it, with buttery warmth in my belly, I find myself feeling like I forget to ask something. I just, for all the love of Blue Moon, cannot remember what exactly it is I need to ask.

I let that concern slip away: I’m sure there will be time for that later.