Around Midnightby EileenSaysHiChaptersPrinciplesPressuresPathwaysPrinciplesIt was dark. Sunset had made it that way. Once she’d found the music room was empty, she’d slipped inside, closed the curtains, and turned off all the overhead lighting. The room wasn’t pitch black, thanks to some noticeable blinking lights from the equipment as well as what sunlight still trickled in from behind said curtains, but it was enough. Enough for Sunset Shimmer, sitting alone on the steps, to think. Unfortunately, the thoughts that came were of a familiar variety. Not so long ago, they would have been whispered to her by a cackling voice, a twisted mockery of her own. The same one that haunted her for months after the Fall Formal, feeding her endless doubts, endless fears, endless shame. That voice wasn’t there anymore; it had been quiet ever since the Battle of the Bands. In a way, Sunset almost missed it. At least she could recognize when the demon’s words were absolute horseapples. It was a lot harder to parse when it was her own voice telling her she’d failed. Failed the school. Failed her friends. Failed everybody. Failed Twilight. Which Twilight? Sunset wasn’t sure if it mattered. The answer was probably both. That said, the one she’d sent running off in tears and carrying five friends’ worth of magic was probably the more pressing concern at present. “What have I done?” she asked no one. She remembered the rage that had boiled in her, when she’d watched Twilight – Twilight Sparkle – drain Rainbow Dash of her magic. The searing, burning anger she’d felt when Twilight insisted she had no idea how she’d done it. The lava in her veins when she looked at the face of the person who should have been the person they’d needed the most, the one who’d saved her, the one who’d shown her there was another way, the path to true strength and a magic she’d never known – and instead found a panicking, blubbering disaster cowering under her gaze, pleading for her understanding. She remembered the moment she’d snapped. “I was supposed to be better than this,” she said, as the memory of her fury ebbed away, and those thoughts of shame took their place. “I needed to be better than this.” She jolted when she heard the door creak. “Helloooooo? Anyone in there? Hello? Oh, wait, why am I asking the dark? If anyone’s in there they should probably close their eyes!” Sunset quickly wished she’d taken that advice, because the overhead lights came on fast and they were bright. Immediately she shut her eyes, slowly reopening them to find Pinkie Pie opening the door the rest of the way and waving to her. “Oh, hi Sunset! You are in here! Applejack sent me to look inside the building for you. You know we have to be ready for the third event soon, right?” Sunset waved back, and nodded. “I know, Pinkie. I was gonna head over in a few minutes.” “Great!” Pinkie replied, though her cheerful tone subsided when she seemed to look more closely at Sunset. “Buuuuut why were you in here? Especially in the dark? That seems like a big tripping hazard. I mean like with all the equipment and cables and also inexplicable racks of clothing that Rarity managed to pull from nowhere that might or might not still be here somewhere and stuff like that.” Sunset fished her phone out of her side bag and held it up for Pinkie to see. “Flashlight setting. Besides, it wasn’t that dark.” “Oooh, clever! But also if it wasn’t that dark, why are you still rubbing your eyes?” It occurred to Sunset that she was indeed still doing that with her free hand, and put it down. “LED lights, I guess. Way too bright in here.” “Eh,” Pinkie shrugged, “I like it bright.” “You would.” Pinkie either didn’t register or chose to ignore the remark, and skipped her way over to the steps. She sat down to Sunset’s right, leaning forward and silently looking up at her from the side. Sunset had a feeling Pinkie was trying to coax her into saying something first. She opted not to take the bait. By this point, Sunset had more than enough Pinkie experience to know her friend was never going to win The Quiet Game, and she was right. “......Sooooo what’s on your mind?” She answered with a sigh. “You can probably guess.” “Oooh I know! It’s how you yelled at Twilight Sparkle and she panicked and ran away with the thing holding our magic!” “Ding ding ding,” Sunset replied with the flattest affectation she could manage. Pinkie’s face had lit up for a moment, but it quickly dimmed down. “And you’re upset at yourself for that.” Sunset nodded. “Pretty upset.” She’d meant to keep it at those two words, but something clicked in her head as she said them. Before Pinkie could say anything in return, there was more spilling out. “I… I’m trying to imagine myself ever yelling at our Twilight like that. For anything. And I mean myself today,” she added; Pinkie withdrew the finger she was raising in objection. “But with her, it’s… it’s like seeing Twilight’s face on the person who’s doing all this just made me so much angrier. Like she’s not just a problem, she’s not just being dangerous, but she’s a traitor on top of it. I couldn’t get past that. And I ruined everything.” Her fists were clenched tight, and while her body was stiff, her arms were trembling. Pinkie sat quietly, waiting to see if there was more Sunset wanted to say. There wasn’t, though, and after a few moments Sunset released the tension, hands uncurling as her head drooped, looking down at the steps. All of a sudden, there was a hand on her back. She glanced upward. Pinkie wasn’t smiling, but was looking at her with obvious sympathy. Sympathy Sunset hadn’t earned, but she knew better than to try arguing against it. “Are you mad because you think you were acting like a bully again?” she asked. It was as blunt a question she could have expected Pinkie to ask, but it was regrettably a valid one. “I don’t know,” Sunset replied, looking away towards the floor. “I want to think this was different, but just because it didn’t make me feel good doesn’t mean it wasn’t the same kind of tactic. And either way, I did it, and I did it without even having to think about it. My first instinct was to terrify her. That… that doesn’t really make me feel like I’ve changed.” She swallowed. “I can only imagine what Fluttershy felt, watching me act that way again.” The hand on her back gave her a soft pat. To her right, Pinkie scooted closer until she was next to her. Sunset’s head perked up at the sensation of their bodies meeting. “Sunset,” Pinkie said, “none of us are upset at you. Really. The only thing I heard Fluttershy say about it was that she hoped you weren’t stressing yourself out.” The only thing she said out loud, Sunset thought. “And I know I don’t think you were being a bully. You were sticking up for us. Maybe it wasn’t the best way you could’ve, but that’s okay. It doesn’t make you a monster that you got angry because other people were getting hurt.” Sunset felt Pinkie’s arm wrap around her shoulders. She squirmed. It was wrong. She knew Pinkie wanted to help, but the last thing she needed was appreciation for what she’d done. “No,” Sunset said, firmly. “That’s still not right. I mean you all… all of you met her. At least most of you have, I think. And were perfectly nice to her. All of you reached out to her, and I chased her away.” That got a quick objection from Pinkie. “But she wasn’t doing anything dangerous when I met her, or when Fluttershy met her. At least not at first. But you saw her suck up the portal. And then you saw her draining Rainbow Dash! She was doing all the kinds of things that someone evil would’ve been doing! Of course you’d be angry seeing that happen!” Sunset shook her head. “And I jumped to a conclusion.” “Sometimes we need to act fast. I mean, what if you hadn’t jumped in and helped Twilight close her magic thingy? Then things might’ve been way worse!” Pinkie took her hand off Sunset and threw both her arms into the air for effect. “We could’ve had more holes like that one, or more bike-eating plants, or maybe some kind of goat-head monster that can make it rain chocolate or candy or lollipops or fudge ripple ice cream, or, um…” That got a small laugh out of Sunset. “A little hungry, Pinkie?” “Maybe. I heard Vice-Principal Luna ordered pizza for the CHS team before the third event!” Sunset looked at her watch. “I guess it is getting a bit close.” “Exactly! So we need to get back and figure out our game plan with our friends!” “Our game plan for what, exactly?” Pinkie smiled. “For getting our magic back from Crystal Prep Twilight’s thingy! And maybe winning the Friendship Games, too.” There was an unavoidable sense of warmth emanating from Pinkie Pie, but Sunset couldn’t find it in herself to absorb any of the optimism. “I can’t imagine we’ll be able to get anywhere near her before the next event. And even if she wasn’t probably trying to hide from us, she’s got her whole team and that principal of hers surrounding her by now. And Cinch knows about magic; who knows what they might do? That might’ve been our last chance to talk to her, and I blew it!” Pinkie shook her head and, shifting her body to face Sunset, placed a hand on her shoulder once more. “Don’t give up, Sunset. I mean, there were lots of times in the Battle of the Bands where it looked like it was all over, but we saved the day! And that was when we had the Sirens who were all actually evil and stuff. Since Crystal Prep Twilight isn’t evil, this should be way easier!” Sunset was still far from certain of that, but she gave a courtesy nod to wrap things up. “I hope you’re right. We should probably get going.” Pinkie leapt up, quickly making her way to the door and waiting expectantly. Sunset slowly got off the steps, but as she reached the floor, looking head-on at Pinkie, she stopped. Something gnawed at her. “I’m just not sure how I can talk to her. She looks so much like our Twilight, and she’s… I owe Twilight so much. Twilight’s the one who’s supposed to help me. How can I possibly help another Twilight?” Pinkie stared for a moment, then shrugged. “Seems easy to me. Just do what Twilight would do for you! Well, maybe not literally, I don’t think the school can afford to fill in any more craters, but you know what I mean!” Sunset wanted to object to that. She really did. Even putting aside the ending tangent, do what Twilight would do for you seemed naive, simplistic, and ridiculous to even try and imagine. But she couldn’t. Because somehow, it also seemed entirely correct. Pinkie was good at stuff like that. “I’ll try,” Sunset said, and walked forward to meet Pinkie at the door. The hallway was empty, and the light outside had begun to fade, heralding that the time before the next event was drawing short. Pinkie Pie bounded through the corridor leading to the exit, entranced by the idea of a pre-Games pizza as though it were a fresh-baked plate of cupcakes on a windowsill. And Sunset Shimmer followed, walking toward her destiny. PressuresIt was cold. It shouldn’t have been cold. It was spring, there were only two months left in the school year, the sun was still up, and any thermometer would have told Twilight it was warm out. Yet she could only feel a chill. The encounter flashed over and over again in her mind. You're supposed to be so smart, but did you ever think that you shouldn't be messing around with things you don't understand?! Slumped against the wall on the far side of Canterlot High, Twilight Sparkle held the magic detector – magic drainer, in practice – in her hand. Still around her neck. Light still blinking. It hung on her like a chain. And worst of all, you put the lives of my friends in danger! Her breath hitched. She didn’t understand. That girl (Sunset?) was right. She didn’t know what she was dealing with at all. She hadn’t tried. “What have I done?” she mumbled aloud. This should have been careful. This should have been considered. That device – that thing – was supposed to be for research. For science. And here she was, draining the very thing she’d meant to study. Stealing it from the world around her. Even leeching it from people. Exhaling, Twilight deduced the obvious conclusion. She should have been learning from those girls. She should be talking to them, interviewing them, collaborating with them. A gateway to another world of learning, and she’d squandered it. All because she couldn’t stop thinking about the Games. The rotten, accursed Friendship Games. Because for all her grades, all her academic awards, all her independent study, Twilight Sparkle knew that deep down, she was stupid. Too stupid to escape. Too stupid to find a way out. Too stupid to not get trapped like a rat. What was potentially the most dangerous power on the planet was right there, right in front of her, and all Twilight could think about was how to secure her Everton admission. To get out of Crystal Prep. To get away from Cinch. She grit her teeth, anger and loathing boiling within her. She grabbed the device, yanking the strap over her head and holding it in front of her face. Its light continued to swirl in silent mocking. With a scream, she hurled it with all the energy her fury could muster. It landed not even a meter from her, in the grass. The blinking light remained visible. And there Twilight once again felt her impotence, her uselessness. Thinking she could just toss the problem away, escape it. There it sat, all the power she’d thoughtlessly collected, waiting for someone to take responsibility over it. To do something. What was happening to her? She was used to hiding. Shying away. Trying to stay under the radar so her classmates forgot to sneer and laugh behind her back. But the lab was supposed to be different. The lab was where she could be in charge, where she could have control. And failures were an inevitable part of the scientific process, certainly, but in the lab, you owned up to them, improved on them. Right now, Twilight didn’t feel like she could own up to anything. But as the crushing words of Sunset bore down on her mind, as the vivid images of those girls being drained of magic flashed through her head, she knew she couldn’t just do nothing. What would Shiny do? Twilight inhaled, slowly, and exhaled equally slowly. She did it again. Gradually, she stood, and took a step forward. She could stop this. She could take back control. She could stop the cycle of deflecting and hiding. She could make things right. It wasn’t too late. Sunset might have been upset, but it was hardly unearned. The other girls had tried to reach out. Before she’d hurt them. If she helped them, if she undid what she’d done, it could be salvaged. All the opportunities, all the understanding. Maybe it wouldn’t be how she imagined, but what good discovery ever is? It wasn’t like working with these girls could be worse than dealing with the classmates that made her want to crawl into a ditch for existing. Really, it would be simple. All she had to do was– “Twilight Sparkle?” And then her blood turned to ice as she stopped in place, her head turning toward the all-too-horribly-familiar voice that had just come from around the corner, its steely monotone and refined accent draining any resolve Twilight had felt in that moment. Cinch. “I thought I might find you here. None of your classmates have seen you since the Tri-Cross Relay. Why is that, I wonder?” “Um…” The principal did not wait for a response. Instead, she stepped past Twilight, toward the detector. Twilight’s breaths grew ragged as Cinch reached down to grab it. “DON’T!” Unfazed by the shout, Cinch picked it up by the strap, leaving it dangling from her hand as she turned to face Twilight directly. “Oh, you need not worry, dear. I merely saw that you’d… dropped this.” She walked toward Twilight, holding out her arm. Twilight took the strap from her, but did not put it back on her neck. A smirk crossed Cinch’s face. “There, now. I wouldn’t want you to lose something so important.” Twilight couldn’t bear to look at her smile. She turned away, and mumbled “It’s not important.” Unfortunately for her, Cinch heard that. “Oh, isn’t it? Surely, you wouldn’t have been carrying it around your neck the whole tournament if it was merely aesthetic. It certainly isn’t Crystal Prep regulation uniform, after all.” Instinctively, Twilight shook her head. She clenched her fists as she realized her mistake, nails digging into her skin. The chill felt so much stronger now. She glanced back, and found the principal's smile now had teeth. All at once, it became clear that Cinch knew. She must have. At the very least, she’d seen something that had happened. Something that linked all the strange occurrences back to her. For a brief moment, she wondered if Cinch had found Spike. Twilight had managed to evade him after the Relay, hiding once again as he ran off trying to find her. (While speaking in Pedestrian. Out loud. Because of her. Because she was stupid.) That seemed unlikely, however. If Cinch had hard evidence to throw in her face, she wouldn’t play coy about it. Not when they were alone. Instead, as was so often the case with Cinch, it came down to brute authority. “Twilight Sparkle, before you accepted my offer to join the Games, we made an agreement, did we not?” Twilight was silent. Her smile dissipating, Cinch leaned forward. Twilight, retracting the arm holding the device, backed up to the wall once more. Personal space had never been an idea the principal subscribed to. “Did we not?” Cinch repeated. “W-we did.” “I’m glad you recall. And you’ll also recall that should you fail to complete your participation – or fail to win – I simply will not be able to endorse your application to Everton, correct?” “B-buh-” Cinch’s stare was boring into her, and her icy words struck true. “But what?” Twilight gulped, whatever sentence had been intended falling away into oblivion. In its place, Twilight found there was only one word she could speak. “Correct.” The smile returned, worse than ever. “Good. It’s important we stay on the same page, after all.” The eye contact was unbearable, and Twilight broke it with haste, fast enough that it shook her glasses. “Of course, P-Principal Cinch,” she said as she adjusted them back with her free hand. Cinch nodded, triumph evident in her voice as she stepped back. “Now, won’t you come along? Preparations for the third event will be complete within the hour, and we wouldn’t want our opponents to get any more strategic advantages, would we?” Twilight looked back at her. She was holding out her hand, not for Twilight to take, but to give a gesture to beckon her compliance. Everything from minutes earlier flashed through her mind. Her disgust, her regret, her revulsion over what she’d so passively become. Her hopes of making things right. Her brother. She wanted to think Shiny could’ve said no. She wanted to think Shiny could’ve stopped this. But a cold thought ran through her mind. Shining Armor played in the Games. Shining Armor won. Shining Armor graduated. Shiny had been strong enough for Crystal Prep. To handle Cinch's domination, to thrive in her domain. Twilight only wanted to weasel her way out. As always. Because she was too stupid to do anything else. Thus, without a word, Twilight took a tentative step forward. “Very good.” Cinch held her position until Twilight was right beside her, then pointed to the device once again. “Won’t you put that on, Twilight? I wouldn’t want you to risk dropping it again.” Twilight lifted her arm up again, staring into the device. And in its swirl she no longer saw the pain it had caused. The fear it had made her feel. The desire to destroy it. She could only see her one way out. The one way she could hope to flee Crystal Prep for good. Cinch’s way. In the end, nothing else mattered. She put it on. Before them, the sun landed in the west and began to settle below the horizon. A small gust of wind brought a chill to the air as Cinch led the way to the courtyard, where the third event of the Friendship Games would be held. And Twilight Sparkle followed, walking toward her doom. PathwaysIt was over. The night had been long. It had been life-changing. It had been devastating. It had been renewing. Somehow, it had ended with joy. Yet amidst the celebrating, two girls had retreated to the bleachers, sitting alone. Five others had offered to join them, but had been politely declined. A loyal dog had remained down below with the dean, as requested. Sunset knew Twilight needed room to breathe. She sat about half a meter from her, far enough that Twilight wasn’t trying to inch away anymore. Occasionally, she looked toward the crowd of students below, who were slowly trickling away to go home, as casual as if there had been nothing unusual at all. But mostly, she kept her eyes trained on Twilight. They hadn’t said anything since sitting down. Twilight seemed to be staring at a particular point in the air, even though there was seemingly nothing special to notice. It took Sunset a moment to recognize that it was right over the center of the courtyard – and right where the device had detonated. She’d noticed Twilight had also shifted forward a few times, as though trying to make sure her back wouldn’t rest against the bleachers. Sunset had a suspicion as to why. One thing was certain – Sunset wasn’t thinking of her like the Princess anymore. She thought back to her own night. When she’d finally returned to her apartment after hours of bricklaying, aching all over, the scars beneath her shoulders still horribly fresh. She’d let out a primal scream, smashed nearly everything in sight that was smashable, cranked her shower to the hottest and highest-intensity settings, and sat in it, sobbing uncontrollably, as the water blasted down on her. The emotions were there, she knew, inside Twilight. They were fighting to rise to the surface, as the shock wore off and the horrible sense of comprehension replaced it. A telltale tremble told Sunset she might not have long to wait before that happened. As the noise from below continued to die down, Sunset heard a buzz; the source became clear when Twilight took out her phone, quickly typing something before putting it back. Sunset ventured a question. “Do you have a ride home?” Twilight nodded. “My brother. He works late, but he’s on his way over. My parents are out of town.” After a moment, Twilight shuddered violently. Sunset scooted a bit closer. “My parents,” Twilight repeated, her voice quavering. “What am I gonna tell them? What will I tell Shiny? I– I can’t…” Twilight’s hands clenched into fists, and she pressed them into her forehead as she began to heave. “Nonononono… I just wanted to get away, and all I did was hurt people… I hurt everyone! What have I done? Why couldn’t I say no? I was a monster– I am a monster!” Having now closed most of the distance between them, Sunset considered reaching out and placing a hand on Twilight’s shoulder. But it only took a quick thought back to that night for Sunset to reconsider how much the gesture would be appreciated. At this stage, if someone had done that to her, Sunset probably would have bitten off a finger; Twilight would more likely just run away again. She couldn’t risk Twilight running. Instead, she just spoke. “Twilight, you’re not a monster. Trust me.” Lifting her head off her hands, Twilight stared at her – into her. “How can you say that? How… how can you even want to help me? You were right, I put your friends’ lives in danger! And now I put the whole world in danger!” There were tears welling up in Twilight’s eyes, and it hurt to see them. Just as it hurt to hear her voice melt into a blubber. “I knew it was wrong! I s-saw what that thing I made was doing, I listened to wh-what you said—and I wanted to fix it! I wanted to come and find you! But then Cinch f-found me first and… I failed. I let them control me. I didn’t fight. I c-could’ve said no, but I didn’t. What does it m-matter if I didn’t mean it? It still happened. Because you were right. I’m not smart. I didn’t think, and now… n-now…” From behind the glasses, liquid streamed down Twilight’s face. She was hyperventilating; she tried to keep speaking, but no words could get past the rapid, gasping breaths. Her hands were clasping her temples, and though it was hard to tell in the dim lighting, Sunset could see what looked like snot running down from her nose. At this point, there was little chance of Twilight running, if only because she physically couldn’t. Sunset seized the moment, scooting directly next to Twilight and pulling her into a hug. Unable to resist, Twilight reciprocated, burying her head in Sunset’s shoulder. Sunset pressed her arms tight around the shaking body, keeping them lower to avoid where it was likely most tender. Ugly, agonized sobs coursed out of Twilight, and Sunset absorbed each and every one of them. It hurt. It hurt to hear, and it hurt to feel. But it had to happen. She knew it must. She’d been there before. And she’d been alone. She couldn’t let Twilight be alone through this. At some point, following what must have been at least several minutes and felt far longer, she started to feel things calm down. Twilight’s breathing was relaxing, her body stilling. After a few moments, though, there was another surge, and the sobs were even heavier than before. Even as her shoulder began to ache, and even as her heart broke, Sunset took it. “Let it out,” she said. “Let it all out.” At this point, there were only a few students remaining below. Some looked, some for too long, but Sunset deployed a vicious glare that sent most of them retreating. At one point, Rarity started to climb up toward them, but Sunset waved her away. She had no doubts at this point about Rarity’s ability to comfort, but she couldn’t ask Twilight to empty her soul out to two strangers in one night. Eventually, the stop-restart cycle concluded, and Twilight’s breathing issues were reduced to a recurring hiccup. She pulled her head back, her cheeks lined with wet streaks, her eyes raw and red as her glasses slid from her bangs down to their proper position. As she looked closely, Sunset could still see a glimpse of the Princess in this Twilight. The earnesty with which she expressed herself, the weight of responsibility in her words, the shame that ate at her when she disappointed herself. And yet they were still so far apart, in a different way than Sunset had realized. So… haunted. Crushed. Absolutely defeated in a way she couldn’t imagine the Princess ever being, even in her darkest hour. This was a Twilight who’d never found the Magic of Friendship. Who’d given up on ever finding it. All of you reached out to her, and I chased her away. The guilt throbbed in Sunset’s head, but she drew her focus elsewhere, determined not to let it get to her. Self-flagellation wouldn’t help Twilight. Instead, she focused on something else that had been said that evening, something that had already been her guiding principle at her most critical moment. Just do what Twilight would do for you. As Twilight sniffled and tried to manage her hiccup, Sunset gave the kindest smile she could muster. “Did you want me to answer your question?” “Qu-Question?” “About why I want to help you.” “Oh…” Sunset relaxed her grip, so that Twilight could withdraw if she wished. She didn’t, and held herself close to Sunset, who felt a swell of confidence. “You’ve felt alone for a long time, haven’t you?” Sunset asked. “When you talk about wanting to get away, I can hear it. You and I aren’t exactly the same, I’ll admit, but there’s a lot there that’s familiar. Getting shunned hurts.” Twilight looked baffled. “Who would shun you? You– you were an angel!” That remark got Sunset to jolt. She hadn’t exactly gotten the chance to look in the mirror during her transformation that night, but if Twilight was being literal… angel was definitely something to dwell on later. “Maybe,” she said, “but once not so long ago, I was a demon in more ways than one. And when I tried to change that, I wasn’t accepted for a long time. I’d earned that, unlike you, but it hurt. If things hadn’t turned out the way they did at the Battle of the Bands, I’d probably have done anything to get away from my school, too.” Sunset took one of her hands from Twilight’s back and clasped it around a purplish arm. Twilight glanced down, startled, but ultimately didn’t resist, looking back up toward Sunset. There was the barest hint of a smile on her face, which was enough to glue Sunset’s heart back together. “But the reason I’m here today,” Sunset went on, “is because there are people who didn’t give up on me. And I can tell you don’t have that. Not your classmates, and definitely not that principal.” She felt a shudder from Twilight that more than confirmed the depth of that statement’s accuracy. “And I want to help. I want to be that person who can be there for you. I know who Twilight Sparkle is. I know she’s a good po– person. I know she’s smart. I know she’s strong. And I know she’s not a monster. She never has been.” Twilight frowned, sliding her arm out of Sunset’s grip. “You must be thinking of a different Twilight Sparkle, then.” “Maybe,” Sunset replied. “But I like this one, too. And I don’t think I’m wrong about her.” A look of confusion crossed Twilight’s face, but it didn’t last long when Sunset once again pulled her in tight with both arms. She felt a momentary squirm, but it soon gave way to a hug in return. There was a whisper in Sunset’s ear. “Thank you.” And then there were tears in Sunset’s eyes, too. All happy moments must come to a close, and eventually, Twilight’s phone buzzed once more to alert her that her brother was moments from pulling into the parking lot. Their embrace ended, but the bond forged that night would only grow from there. Sunset asked for Twilight’s phone number, and quickly received it. She wished her a good night’s rest, one that Twilight would be unlikely to get but had more than earned. Twilight asked how Sunset was getting home, and while Sunset assured her she could handle the trek back to her apartment, Twilight insisted her brother would be willing to drive her home. Eventually, she acquiesced. Before she left with Spike, Twilight spoke briefly to Dean Cadance. She was assured that Cinch would not be coming back. Before she put her phone away, Sunset sent one message to Pinkie Pie. She thanked her for everything. And finally, Twilight Sparkle and Sunset Shimmer clasped their hands together, and walked towards their future.
PrinciplesIt was dark. Sunset had made it that way. Once she’d found the music room was empty, she’d slipped inside, closed the curtains, and turned off all the overhead lighting. The room wasn’t pitch black, thanks to some noticeable blinking lights from the equipment as well as what sunlight still trickled in from behind said curtains, but it was enough. Enough for Sunset Shimmer, sitting alone on the steps, to think. Unfortunately, the thoughts that came were of a familiar variety. Not so long ago, they would have been whispered to her by a cackling voice, a twisted mockery of her own. The same one that haunted her for months after the Fall Formal, feeding her endless doubts, endless fears, endless shame. That voice wasn’t there anymore; it had been quiet ever since the Battle of the Bands. In a way, Sunset almost missed it. At least she could recognize when the demon’s words were absolute horseapples. It was a lot harder to parse when it was her own voice telling her she’d failed. Failed the school. Failed her friends. Failed everybody. Failed Twilight. Which Twilight? Sunset wasn’t sure if it mattered. The answer was probably both. That said, the one she’d sent running off in tears and carrying five friends’ worth of magic was probably the more pressing concern at present. “What have I done?” she asked no one. She remembered the rage that had boiled in her, when she’d watched Twilight – Twilight Sparkle – drain Rainbow Dash of her magic. The searing, burning anger she’d felt when Twilight insisted she had no idea how she’d done it. The lava in her veins when she looked at the face of the person who should have been the person they’d needed the most, the one who’d saved her, the one who’d shown her there was another way, the path to true strength and a magic she’d never known – and instead found a panicking, blubbering disaster cowering under her gaze, pleading for her understanding. She remembered the moment she’d snapped. “I was supposed to be better than this,” she said, as the memory of her fury ebbed away, and those thoughts of shame took their place. “I needed to be better than this.” She jolted when she heard the door creak. “Helloooooo? Anyone in there? Hello? Oh, wait, why am I asking the dark? If anyone’s in there they should probably close their eyes!” Sunset quickly wished she’d taken that advice, because the overhead lights came on fast and they were bright. Immediately she shut her eyes, slowly reopening them to find Pinkie Pie opening the door the rest of the way and waving to her. “Oh, hi Sunset! You are in here! Applejack sent me to look inside the building for you. You know we have to be ready for the third event soon, right?” Sunset waved back, and nodded. “I know, Pinkie. I was gonna head over in a few minutes.” “Great!” Pinkie replied, though her cheerful tone subsided when she seemed to look more closely at Sunset. “Buuuuut why were you in here? Especially in the dark? That seems like a big tripping hazard. I mean like with all the equipment and cables and also inexplicable racks of clothing that Rarity managed to pull from nowhere that might or might not still be here somewhere and stuff like that.” Sunset fished her phone out of her side bag and held it up for Pinkie to see. “Flashlight setting. Besides, it wasn’t that dark.” “Oooh, clever! But also if it wasn’t that dark, why are you still rubbing your eyes?” It occurred to Sunset that she was indeed still doing that with her free hand, and put it down. “LED lights, I guess. Way too bright in here.” “Eh,” Pinkie shrugged, “I like it bright.” “You would.” Pinkie either didn’t register or chose to ignore the remark, and skipped her way over to the steps. She sat down to Sunset’s right, leaning forward and silently looking up at her from the side. Sunset had a feeling Pinkie was trying to coax her into saying something first. She opted not to take the bait. By this point, Sunset had more than enough Pinkie experience to know her friend was never going to win The Quiet Game, and she was right. “......Sooooo what’s on your mind?” She answered with a sigh. “You can probably guess.” “Oooh I know! It’s how you yelled at Twilight Sparkle and she panicked and ran away with the thing holding our magic!” “Ding ding ding,” Sunset replied with the flattest affectation she could manage. Pinkie’s face had lit up for a moment, but it quickly dimmed down. “And you’re upset at yourself for that.” Sunset nodded. “Pretty upset.” She’d meant to keep it at those two words, but something clicked in her head as she said them. Before Pinkie could say anything in return, there was more spilling out. “I… I’m trying to imagine myself ever yelling at our Twilight like that. For anything. And I mean myself today,” she added; Pinkie withdrew the finger she was raising in objection. “But with her, it’s… it’s like seeing Twilight’s face on the person who’s doing all this just made me so much angrier. Like she’s not just a problem, she’s not just being dangerous, but she’s a traitor on top of it. I couldn’t get past that. And I ruined everything.” Her fists were clenched tight, and while her body was stiff, her arms were trembling. Pinkie sat quietly, waiting to see if there was more Sunset wanted to say. There wasn’t, though, and after a few moments Sunset released the tension, hands uncurling as her head drooped, looking down at the steps. All of a sudden, there was a hand on her back. She glanced upward. Pinkie wasn’t smiling, but was looking at her with obvious sympathy. Sympathy Sunset hadn’t earned, but she knew better than to try arguing against it. “Are you mad because you think you were acting like a bully again?” she asked. It was as blunt a question she could have expected Pinkie to ask, but it was regrettably a valid one. “I don’t know,” Sunset replied, looking away towards the floor. “I want to think this was different, but just because it didn’t make me feel good doesn’t mean it wasn’t the same kind of tactic. And either way, I did it, and I did it without even having to think about it. My first instinct was to terrify her. That… that doesn’t really make me feel like I’ve changed.” She swallowed. “I can only imagine what Fluttershy felt, watching me act that way again.” The hand on her back gave her a soft pat. To her right, Pinkie scooted closer until she was next to her. Sunset’s head perked up at the sensation of their bodies meeting. “Sunset,” Pinkie said, “none of us are upset at you. Really. The only thing I heard Fluttershy say about it was that she hoped you weren’t stressing yourself out.” The only thing she said out loud, Sunset thought. “And I know I don’t think you were being a bully. You were sticking up for us. Maybe it wasn’t the best way you could’ve, but that’s okay. It doesn’t make you a monster that you got angry because other people were getting hurt.” Sunset felt Pinkie’s arm wrap around her shoulders. She squirmed. It was wrong. She knew Pinkie wanted to help, but the last thing she needed was appreciation for what she’d done. “No,” Sunset said, firmly. “That’s still not right. I mean you all… all of you met her. At least most of you have, I think. And were perfectly nice to her. All of you reached out to her, and I chased her away.” That got a quick objection from Pinkie. “But she wasn’t doing anything dangerous when I met her, or when Fluttershy met her. At least not at first. But you saw her suck up the portal. And then you saw her draining Rainbow Dash! She was doing all the kinds of things that someone evil would’ve been doing! Of course you’d be angry seeing that happen!” Sunset shook her head. “And I jumped to a conclusion.” “Sometimes we need to act fast. I mean, what if you hadn’t jumped in and helped Twilight close her magic thingy? Then things might’ve been way worse!” Pinkie took her hand off Sunset and threw both her arms into the air for effect. “We could’ve had more holes like that one, or more bike-eating plants, or maybe some kind of goat-head monster that can make it rain chocolate or candy or lollipops or fudge ripple ice cream, or, um…” That got a small laugh out of Sunset. “A little hungry, Pinkie?” “Maybe. I heard Vice-Principal Luna ordered pizza for the CHS team before the third event!” Sunset looked at her watch. “I guess it is getting a bit close.” “Exactly! So we need to get back and figure out our game plan with our friends!” “Our game plan for what, exactly?” Pinkie smiled. “For getting our magic back from Crystal Prep Twilight’s thingy! And maybe winning the Friendship Games, too.” There was an unavoidable sense of warmth emanating from Pinkie Pie, but Sunset couldn’t find it in herself to absorb any of the optimism. “I can’t imagine we’ll be able to get anywhere near her before the next event. And even if she wasn’t probably trying to hide from us, she’s got her whole team and that principal of hers surrounding her by now. And Cinch knows about magic; who knows what they might do? That might’ve been our last chance to talk to her, and I blew it!” Pinkie shook her head and, shifting her body to face Sunset, placed a hand on her shoulder once more. “Don’t give up, Sunset. I mean, there were lots of times in the Battle of the Bands where it looked like it was all over, but we saved the day! And that was when we had the Sirens who were all actually evil and stuff. Since Crystal Prep Twilight isn’t evil, this should be way easier!” Sunset was still far from certain of that, but she gave a courtesy nod to wrap things up. “I hope you’re right. We should probably get going.” Pinkie leapt up, quickly making her way to the door and waiting expectantly. Sunset slowly got off the steps, but as she reached the floor, looking head-on at Pinkie, she stopped. Something gnawed at her. “I’m just not sure how I can talk to her. She looks so much like our Twilight, and she’s… I owe Twilight so much. Twilight’s the one who’s supposed to help me. How can I possibly help another Twilight?” Pinkie stared for a moment, then shrugged. “Seems easy to me. Just do what Twilight would do for you! Well, maybe not literally, I don’t think the school can afford to fill in any more craters, but you know what I mean!” Sunset wanted to object to that. She really did. Even putting aside the ending tangent, do what Twilight would do for you seemed naive, simplistic, and ridiculous to even try and imagine. But she couldn’t. Because somehow, it also seemed entirely correct. Pinkie was good at stuff like that. “I’ll try,” Sunset said, and walked forward to meet Pinkie at the door. The hallway was empty, and the light outside had begun to fade, heralding that the time before the next event was drawing short. Pinkie Pie bounded through the corridor leading to the exit, entranced by the idea of a pre-Games pizza as though it were a fresh-baked plate of cupcakes on a windowsill. And Sunset Shimmer followed, walking toward her destiny.
PressuresIt was cold. It shouldn’t have been cold. It was spring, there were only two months left in the school year, the sun was still up, and any thermometer would have told Twilight it was warm out. Yet she could only feel a chill. The encounter flashed over and over again in her mind. You're supposed to be so smart, but did you ever think that you shouldn't be messing around with things you don't understand?! Slumped against the wall on the far side of Canterlot High, Twilight Sparkle held the magic detector – magic drainer, in practice – in her hand. Still around her neck. Light still blinking. It hung on her like a chain. And worst of all, you put the lives of my friends in danger! Her breath hitched. She didn’t understand. That girl (Sunset?) was right. She didn’t know what she was dealing with at all. She hadn’t tried. “What have I done?” she mumbled aloud. This should have been careful. This should have been considered. That device – that thing – was supposed to be for research. For science. And here she was, draining the very thing she’d meant to study. Stealing it from the world around her. Even leeching it from people. Exhaling, Twilight deduced the obvious conclusion. She should have been learning from those girls. She should be talking to them, interviewing them, collaborating with them. A gateway to another world of learning, and she’d squandered it. All because she couldn’t stop thinking about the Games. The rotten, accursed Friendship Games. Because for all her grades, all her academic awards, all her independent study, Twilight Sparkle knew that deep down, she was stupid. Too stupid to escape. Too stupid to find a way out. Too stupid to not get trapped like a rat. What was potentially the most dangerous power on the planet was right there, right in front of her, and all Twilight could think about was how to secure her Everton admission. To get out of Crystal Prep. To get away from Cinch. She grit her teeth, anger and loathing boiling within her. She grabbed the device, yanking the strap over her head and holding it in front of her face. Its light continued to swirl in silent mocking. With a scream, she hurled it with all the energy her fury could muster. It landed not even a meter from her, in the grass. The blinking light remained visible. And there Twilight once again felt her impotence, her uselessness. Thinking she could just toss the problem away, escape it. There it sat, all the power she’d thoughtlessly collected, waiting for someone to take responsibility over it. To do something. What was happening to her? She was used to hiding. Shying away. Trying to stay under the radar so her classmates forgot to sneer and laugh behind her back. But the lab was supposed to be different. The lab was where she could be in charge, where she could have control. And failures were an inevitable part of the scientific process, certainly, but in the lab, you owned up to them, improved on them. Right now, Twilight didn’t feel like she could own up to anything. But as the crushing words of Sunset bore down on her mind, as the vivid images of those girls being drained of magic flashed through her head, she knew she couldn’t just do nothing. What would Shiny do? Twilight inhaled, slowly, and exhaled equally slowly. She did it again. Gradually, she stood, and took a step forward. She could stop this. She could take back control. She could stop the cycle of deflecting and hiding. She could make things right. It wasn’t too late. Sunset might have been upset, but it was hardly unearned. The other girls had tried to reach out. Before she’d hurt them. If she helped them, if she undid what she’d done, it could be salvaged. All the opportunities, all the understanding. Maybe it wouldn’t be how she imagined, but what good discovery ever is? It wasn’t like working with these girls could be worse than dealing with the classmates that made her want to crawl into a ditch for existing. Really, it would be simple. All she had to do was– “Twilight Sparkle?” And then her blood turned to ice as she stopped in place, her head turning toward the all-too-horribly-familiar voice that had just come from around the corner, its steely monotone and refined accent draining any resolve Twilight had felt in that moment. Cinch. “I thought I might find you here. None of your classmates have seen you since the Tri-Cross Relay. Why is that, I wonder?” “Um…” The principal did not wait for a response. Instead, she stepped past Twilight, toward the detector. Twilight’s breaths grew ragged as Cinch reached down to grab it. “DON’T!” Unfazed by the shout, Cinch picked it up by the strap, leaving it dangling from her hand as she turned to face Twilight directly. “Oh, you need not worry, dear. I merely saw that you’d… dropped this.” She walked toward Twilight, holding out her arm. Twilight took the strap from her, but did not put it back on her neck. A smirk crossed Cinch’s face. “There, now. I wouldn’t want you to lose something so important.” Twilight couldn’t bear to look at her smile. She turned away, and mumbled “It’s not important.” Unfortunately for her, Cinch heard that. “Oh, isn’t it? Surely, you wouldn’t have been carrying it around your neck the whole tournament if it was merely aesthetic. It certainly isn’t Crystal Prep regulation uniform, after all.” Instinctively, Twilight shook her head. She clenched her fists as she realized her mistake, nails digging into her skin. The chill felt so much stronger now. She glanced back, and found the principal's smile now had teeth. All at once, it became clear that Cinch knew. She must have. At the very least, she’d seen something that had happened. Something that linked all the strange occurrences back to her. For a brief moment, she wondered if Cinch had found Spike. Twilight had managed to evade him after the Relay, hiding once again as he ran off trying to find her. (While speaking in Pedestrian. Out loud. Because of her. Because she was stupid.) That seemed unlikely, however. If Cinch had hard evidence to throw in her face, she wouldn’t play coy about it. Not when they were alone. Instead, as was so often the case with Cinch, it came down to brute authority. “Twilight Sparkle, before you accepted my offer to join the Games, we made an agreement, did we not?” Twilight was silent. Her smile dissipating, Cinch leaned forward. Twilight, retracting the arm holding the device, backed up to the wall once more. Personal space had never been an idea the principal subscribed to. “Did we not?” Cinch repeated. “W-we did.” “I’m glad you recall. And you’ll also recall that should you fail to complete your participation – or fail to win – I simply will not be able to endorse your application to Everton, correct?” “B-buh-” Cinch’s stare was boring into her, and her icy words struck true. “But what?” Twilight gulped, whatever sentence had been intended falling away into oblivion. In its place, Twilight found there was only one word she could speak. “Correct.” The smile returned, worse than ever. “Good. It’s important we stay on the same page, after all.” The eye contact was unbearable, and Twilight broke it with haste, fast enough that it shook her glasses. “Of course, P-Principal Cinch,” she said as she adjusted them back with her free hand. Cinch nodded, triumph evident in her voice as she stepped back. “Now, won’t you come along? Preparations for the third event will be complete within the hour, and we wouldn’t want our opponents to get any more strategic advantages, would we?” Twilight looked back at her. She was holding out her hand, not for Twilight to take, but to give a gesture to beckon her compliance. Everything from minutes earlier flashed through her mind. Her disgust, her regret, her revulsion over what she’d so passively become. Her hopes of making things right. Her brother. She wanted to think Shiny could’ve said no. She wanted to think Shiny could’ve stopped this. But a cold thought ran through her mind. Shining Armor played in the Games. Shining Armor won. Shining Armor graduated. Shiny had been strong enough for Crystal Prep. To handle Cinch's domination, to thrive in her domain. Twilight only wanted to weasel her way out. As always. Because she was too stupid to do anything else. Thus, without a word, Twilight took a tentative step forward. “Very good.” Cinch held her position until Twilight was right beside her, then pointed to the device once again. “Won’t you put that on, Twilight? I wouldn’t want you to risk dropping it again.” Twilight lifted her arm up again, staring into the device. And in its swirl she no longer saw the pain it had caused. The fear it had made her feel. The desire to destroy it. She could only see her one way out. The one way she could hope to flee Crystal Prep for good. Cinch’s way. In the end, nothing else mattered. She put it on. Before them, the sun landed in the west and began to settle below the horizon. A small gust of wind brought a chill to the air as Cinch led the way to the courtyard, where the third event of the Friendship Games would be held. And Twilight Sparkle followed, walking toward her doom.
PathwaysIt was over. The night had been long. It had been life-changing. It had been devastating. It had been renewing. Somehow, it had ended with joy. Yet amidst the celebrating, two girls had retreated to the bleachers, sitting alone. Five others had offered to join them, but had been politely declined. A loyal dog had remained down below with the dean, as requested. Sunset knew Twilight needed room to breathe. She sat about half a meter from her, far enough that Twilight wasn’t trying to inch away anymore. Occasionally, she looked toward the crowd of students below, who were slowly trickling away to go home, as casual as if there had been nothing unusual at all. But mostly, she kept her eyes trained on Twilight. They hadn’t said anything since sitting down. Twilight seemed to be staring at a particular point in the air, even though there was seemingly nothing special to notice. It took Sunset a moment to recognize that it was right over the center of the courtyard – and right where the device had detonated. She’d noticed Twilight had also shifted forward a few times, as though trying to make sure her back wouldn’t rest against the bleachers. Sunset had a suspicion as to why. One thing was certain – Sunset wasn’t thinking of her like the Princess anymore. She thought back to her own night. When she’d finally returned to her apartment after hours of bricklaying, aching all over, the scars beneath her shoulders still horribly fresh. She’d let out a primal scream, smashed nearly everything in sight that was smashable, cranked her shower to the hottest and highest-intensity settings, and sat in it, sobbing uncontrollably, as the water blasted down on her. The emotions were there, she knew, inside Twilight. They were fighting to rise to the surface, as the shock wore off and the horrible sense of comprehension replaced it. A telltale tremble told Sunset she might not have long to wait before that happened. As the noise from below continued to die down, Sunset heard a buzz; the source became clear when Twilight took out her phone, quickly typing something before putting it back. Sunset ventured a question. “Do you have a ride home?” Twilight nodded. “My brother. He works late, but he’s on his way over. My parents are out of town.” After a moment, Twilight shuddered violently. Sunset scooted a bit closer. “My parents,” Twilight repeated, her voice quavering. “What am I gonna tell them? What will I tell Shiny? I– I can’t…” Twilight’s hands clenched into fists, and she pressed them into her forehead as she began to heave. “Nonononono… I just wanted to get away, and all I did was hurt people… I hurt everyone! What have I done? Why couldn’t I say no? I was a monster– I am a monster!” Having now closed most of the distance between them, Sunset considered reaching out and placing a hand on Twilight’s shoulder. But it only took a quick thought back to that night for Sunset to reconsider how much the gesture would be appreciated. At this stage, if someone had done that to her, Sunset probably would have bitten off a finger; Twilight would more likely just run away again. She couldn’t risk Twilight running. Instead, she just spoke. “Twilight, you’re not a monster. Trust me.” Lifting her head off her hands, Twilight stared at her – into her. “How can you say that? How… how can you even want to help me? You were right, I put your friends’ lives in danger! And now I put the whole world in danger!” There were tears welling up in Twilight’s eyes, and it hurt to see them. Just as it hurt to hear her voice melt into a blubber. “I knew it was wrong! I s-saw what that thing I made was doing, I listened to wh-what you said—and I wanted to fix it! I wanted to come and find you! But then Cinch f-found me first and… I failed. I let them control me. I didn’t fight. I c-could’ve said no, but I didn’t. What does it m-matter if I didn’t mean it? It still happened. Because you were right. I’m not smart. I didn’t think, and now… n-now…” From behind the glasses, liquid streamed down Twilight’s face. She was hyperventilating; she tried to keep speaking, but no words could get past the rapid, gasping breaths. Her hands were clasping her temples, and though it was hard to tell in the dim lighting, Sunset could see what looked like snot running down from her nose. At this point, there was little chance of Twilight running, if only because she physically couldn’t. Sunset seized the moment, scooting directly next to Twilight and pulling her into a hug. Unable to resist, Twilight reciprocated, burying her head in Sunset’s shoulder. Sunset pressed her arms tight around the shaking body, keeping them lower to avoid where it was likely most tender. Ugly, agonized sobs coursed out of Twilight, and Sunset absorbed each and every one of them. It hurt. It hurt to hear, and it hurt to feel. But it had to happen. She knew it must. She’d been there before. And she’d been alone. She couldn’t let Twilight be alone through this. At some point, following what must have been at least several minutes and felt far longer, she started to feel things calm down. Twilight’s breathing was relaxing, her body stilling. After a few moments, though, there was another surge, and the sobs were even heavier than before. Even as her shoulder began to ache, and even as her heart broke, Sunset took it. “Let it out,” she said. “Let it all out.” At this point, there were only a few students remaining below. Some looked, some for too long, but Sunset deployed a vicious glare that sent most of them retreating. At one point, Rarity started to climb up toward them, but Sunset waved her away. She had no doubts at this point about Rarity’s ability to comfort, but she couldn’t ask Twilight to empty her soul out to two strangers in one night. Eventually, the stop-restart cycle concluded, and Twilight’s breathing issues were reduced to a recurring hiccup. She pulled her head back, her cheeks lined with wet streaks, her eyes raw and red as her glasses slid from her bangs down to their proper position. As she looked closely, Sunset could still see a glimpse of the Princess in this Twilight. The earnesty with which she expressed herself, the weight of responsibility in her words, the shame that ate at her when she disappointed herself. And yet they were still so far apart, in a different way than Sunset had realized. So… haunted. Crushed. Absolutely defeated in a way she couldn’t imagine the Princess ever being, even in her darkest hour. This was a Twilight who’d never found the Magic of Friendship. Who’d given up on ever finding it. All of you reached out to her, and I chased her away. The guilt throbbed in Sunset’s head, but she drew her focus elsewhere, determined not to let it get to her. Self-flagellation wouldn’t help Twilight. Instead, she focused on something else that had been said that evening, something that had already been her guiding principle at her most critical moment. Just do what Twilight would do for you. As Twilight sniffled and tried to manage her hiccup, Sunset gave the kindest smile she could muster. “Did you want me to answer your question?” “Qu-Question?” “About why I want to help you.” “Oh…” Sunset relaxed her grip, so that Twilight could withdraw if she wished. She didn’t, and held herself close to Sunset, who felt a swell of confidence. “You’ve felt alone for a long time, haven’t you?” Sunset asked. “When you talk about wanting to get away, I can hear it. You and I aren’t exactly the same, I’ll admit, but there’s a lot there that’s familiar. Getting shunned hurts.” Twilight looked baffled. “Who would shun you? You– you were an angel!” That remark got Sunset to jolt. She hadn’t exactly gotten the chance to look in the mirror during her transformation that night, but if Twilight was being literal… angel was definitely something to dwell on later. “Maybe,” she said, “but once not so long ago, I was a demon in more ways than one. And when I tried to change that, I wasn’t accepted for a long time. I’d earned that, unlike you, but it hurt. If things hadn’t turned out the way they did at the Battle of the Bands, I’d probably have done anything to get away from my school, too.” Sunset took one of her hands from Twilight’s back and clasped it around a purplish arm. Twilight glanced down, startled, but ultimately didn’t resist, looking back up toward Sunset. There was the barest hint of a smile on her face, which was enough to glue Sunset’s heart back together. “But the reason I’m here today,” Sunset went on, “is because there are people who didn’t give up on me. And I can tell you don’t have that. Not your classmates, and definitely not that principal.” She felt a shudder from Twilight that more than confirmed the depth of that statement’s accuracy. “And I want to help. I want to be that person who can be there for you. I know who Twilight Sparkle is. I know she’s a good po– person. I know she’s smart. I know she’s strong. And I know she’s not a monster. She never has been.” Twilight frowned, sliding her arm out of Sunset’s grip. “You must be thinking of a different Twilight Sparkle, then.” “Maybe,” Sunset replied. “But I like this one, too. And I don’t think I’m wrong about her.” A look of confusion crossed Twilight’s face, but it didn’t last long when Sunset once again pulled her in tight with both arms. She felt a momentary squirm, but it soon gave way to a hug in return. There was a whisper in Sunset’s ear. “Thank you.” And then there were tears in Sunset’s eyes, too. All happy moments must come to a close, and eventually, Twilight’s phone buzzed once more to alert her that her brother was moments from pulling into the parking lot. Their embrace ended, but the bond forged that night would only grow from there. Sunset asked for Twilight’s phone number, and quickly received it. She wished her a good night’s rest, one that Twilight would be unlikely to get but had more than earned. Twilight asked how Sunset was getting home, and while Sunset assured her she could handle the trek back to her apartment, Twilight insisted her brother would be willing to drive her home. Eventually, she acquiesced. Before she left with Spike, Twilight spoke briefly to Dean Cadance. She was assured that Cinch would not be coming back. Before she put her phone away, Sunset sent one message to Pinkie Pie. She thanked her for everything. And finally, Twilight Sparkle and Sunset Shimmer clasped their hands together, and walked towards their future.
