Ask Me To Promise

"Alright class, put down your work, and let's see what we've got here."

While the teacher makes her rounds, Sunset sneaks in another few touches. It's a piece of shit, honestly. Malformed, ugly, cracked, and poorly painted.

There's an off beauty in it though. Something about the way it twists and turns, like a trained dancer. She makes little strokes with her smallest brush, tracing the curve of motion with golden paint.

Gold against lavender, she realizes. At the revelation, she swallows.

Hard.

Life was pain. It's a lesson she's learned the hardest way possible, over and over again. But in the past, primarily thanks to her own decisions.

It's why what happened back then hurt so much more. She did nothing to earn it. It wasn't even the universe spiting her, as much as her own victimhood complex wished it was.

That was the harshest truth. She wasn't special. Neither was Twilight. She just happened to be at the wrong place in the wrong time.

Still. Sunset will never forget it was her decision to have them run out that day. If she had just-

"Oh, Sunset. That's wonderful."

She looks up, meeting the teacher's gaze with her blue impenetrable own. "Oh?" She glances back down, lips thin. "I think it kinda sucks, to be honest."

"Nonsense. I think you've made fantastic progress. Do you mind if I show the class?"

Once, Sunset would've agreed in an instant. Now, she shrinks back, bunches her shoulders, and mumbles under her breath. "Yeah, sure. I guess."

She ignores the attention paid by the other students. Generally speaking, she tries not to think about them. She does her own thing, in her own corner. If others approach, she gives her answers with as few syllables as she possibly can.

It's better that way, she tells herself. She's gotten past the self-loathing for the most part, but only most. She still thinks it's better for people not to get close.

Her old friends are testament to that.

She's shaken back to reality as the statue clicks onto her desk. She thinks she sees a line of gold paint smeared out of place, and rage flashes hot in her chest before she looks again.

Imagining things. Imagining problems. Blaming other people.

It's why she's still alone.