The apartment was unusually quiet when Bistrena stirred awake. She shifted on the couch, the blanket barely clinging to her as she stretched her legs. The cushions felt stiff under her, and the pillow carried the faint scent of Current—salt, snow, and something faintly smoky that lingered.

She sat up slowly, her mane dishevelled and her mind hazy. The living room was still shadowed in early morning light, curtains drawn tight against the sun. The faint clink of mugs and soft murmurs drifted from the kitchen, grounding her in the moment.

Then, it hit her.

He’s gone.

The thought tightened her chest. No note, no goodbye—just the quiet finality of his absence.

Her ears swivelled toward the kitchen. She could make out Glimmer’s voice, soft and murmuring, and Willow’s sharper, lilting reply. The sound of their familiar rhythm should have been comforting, but Bistrena felt only a creeping unease.

She rolled off the couch, landing lightly on her hooves, and padded toward the kitchen.

Willow noticed her first, her gaze flicking up from her coffee mug. “Well, look who’s alive,” she said, her tone wry but heavy with implication.

“Morning to you, too,” Bistrena muttered, trying to mask the sting.

Glimmer turned from the stove, a plate balanced delicately between her hooves. “Eggs?” she offered, her voice neutral but her eyes a little too knowing.

“No, thanks,” Bistrena replied, lowering herself onto one of the mismatched cushions around their small dining table. She tried to focus on the grain of the wood, the faint scratches and stains from countless late-night meals and hastily scrawled notes. Anything but the way Willow was watching her.

“So…” Willow began, her voice casual but cutting. “Did you even bother to say goodbye before he ran off, or was that part of the ‘no time’ plan, too?”

Bistrena stiffened, her ears flattening. “I didn’t know he’d leave so early,” she shot back, defensiveness sharp in her tone.

“Oh, come on, Bi,” Glimmer said, setting the plate down with a clatter. “We were all there last night. It was pretty clear we were throwing him an impromptu farewell. Did you honestly think he’d stick around after that?”

Bistrena’s jaw tightened. “I just thought—” she broke off, her words faltering under their pointed gazes. “I don’t know what I thought. I figured we’d have the morning, at least. That’s all.”

Willow leaned forward, her expression unreadable. “You really thought last night was the time to…y’know. Get him in bed?”

Bistrena’s eyes flashed. “Oh, please don’t start with that.”

“Well, what were you thinking?” Glimmer pressed, her voice softer but no less firm. “You barely gave yourselves time to talk before you jumped into something like that. Why not wait?”

“Wait?” Bistrena’s voice rose, incredulous. “Wait for what? For him to be halfway across the country, or dead in some trench?” Her hooves struck the table as she leaned forward. “I didn’t want to regret it, alright? I didn’t want to send him off and spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. For a moment, neither Willow nor Glimmer responded.

Then Glimmer spoke, her voice quiet. “But did you think about him? About how he might feel, waking up and knowing he couldn’t stay? Or did you just…do it because it was convenient?”

Bistrena recoiled as if struck. “Convenient?”

Willow snorted, not unkindly, but sharply enough to cut through the tension. “Yeah, convenient. You bought him, what, four, five drinks last night? Were you trying to make it easier for him to say yes?”

“We were all drinking,” Bistrena snapped. “Don’t act like I was the only one buying rounds.”

Glimmer’s expression softened, but her gaze remained steady. “That’s not the point, Bi. You rushed it. You didn’t stop to think about what it would mean—not for him, not for you.”

Bistrena’s chest heaved as she fought the anger bubbling inside her. “Screw your moral superiority,” she said, her voice trembling. “You sound like my parents. You know that? Always criticizing, always acting like I don’t know what I’m doing with my own life.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t,” Willow said bluntly, earning a sharp glare from Bistrena.

“Willow,” Glimmer said softly, though there was no reproach in her tone.

“What?” Willow continued, her voice gentler now but no less direct. “Look, Bi, we love you. But sometimes it feels like you don’t think things through—not really. You just…react.”

Bistrena’s ears flattened, her gaze darting between them. “So what? I’m just some impulsive mess to you?”

“No,” Glimmer said, moving closer, her voice warm but firm. “You’re our friend. And we see how much you’re struggling—how much you want to prove something. To yourself, to your parents, to…everyone. But, Bistrena, rushing into things isn’t going to fix that.”

“And it’s not going to fix how you feel about Current,” Willow added, softer now. “If you’re scared, admit you’re scared. If you’re not sure, say so. But don’t…don’t hide behind what you think you’re supposed to do. It’s not fair. To him or to you.”

For a moment, Bistrena didn’t respond. She stared down at the table, her thoughts a tangle of defensiveness, guilt, and something raw and aching she couldn’t quite name. Her mind raced with all the ways she could explain herself—shut it down, deflect, retreat—but it wasn’t enough this time.

Finally, she looked up, her voice quiet but steady. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she said, her eyes fixed on the table. “I didn’t even think it would—”

“Hurt him?” Glimmer finished, her eyes softening. “No, Bi. I don’t think you meant to hurt him. But you have to think about what you want. Not just for today. For tomorrow, too.”

Bistrena’s hooves clenched against the edge of the table, and she let out a long, ragged breath. The words that spilled out felt almost too raw, too vulnerable, but she couldn’t stop them now. “What I wanted... I wanted to have fun. I wanted to sleep with him. I wanted to send him off with good memories, so maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when he was gone.” She paused, her throat tightening. “I know what that sounds like. But I wanted to know for sure. You know, if we were really... compatible. I didn’t want to think I loved him, and then he comes back—if he comes back—and it’s... not even right. I’ve had enough of fumbling stallions and bad experiences. You can’t build anything on that.”

She felt her cheeks flush, but her jaw stayed set. Her friends didn’t get it—how could they? This wasn’t just about the war or their friendship; this was about her. About knowing what she wanted, even if it felt selfish.

Willow opened her mouth to say something but stopped, clearly surprised. Glimmer blinked, her ears flat against her head. Neither of them seemed to know how to respond. For a few heartbeats, the air felt thick, charged with a silence that made Bistrena uncomfortable in her own skin.

Finally, Glimmer shook her head, her voice low and cautious. “Bi, that’s— that’s not the kind of thing you do just to prove something to yourself. It’s not... a test.” She glanced at Willow, who nodded quietly. “You can’t just use someone like that. Not if you care about them.”

“I didn’t use him,” Bistrena snapped, feeling her chest tighten with frustration. “I— I wanted to be sure. I’ve been uncertain about everything for so long, and I’m not going to feel bad because I wanted to take control of one thing.”

Willow leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. “That’s the problem, though. If you really cared about him, you wouldn’t think of it like that. This isn’t just about you, Bi. It’s about him, too. He deserves more than just some ‘fun’ night before a war.”

The words hit her like a cold wave, and for a moment, Bistrena felt her throat catch. But she was done listening to their judgement.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said firmly, her eyes flashing as she met both their gazes. “I don’t want to hear that I’m wrong, or that I’m selfish. I made my choice. I did what I thought was best. If you don’t get it, that’s on you.”

The tension in the room thickened, the weight of Bistrena’s defiance hanging heavy in the space between them. Glimmer exchanged a look with Willow before both turned their attention back to Bistrena. The silence that followed felt almost unbearable.

Willow spoke first, her voice quieter now, more measured. “If you don’t get it, Bi... then I guess that’s on you too.”

Bistrena glared at them both, but deep down, she knew they were right. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not yet.

Bistrena stood up abruptly, her frustration rising again. “I said drop it,” she muttered, her voice sharp. “I don’t need you telling me what I already know. I need to figure this out on my own.”

She turned toward the door, eager to escape the room and the weight of their words. She didn’t want their sympathy or their advice. She just wanted to be alone.

But as she reached the door, Glimmer’s voice stopped her.

“Bi, hold on.”

Bistrena paused, her hoof on the handle, but she didn’t turn around. Glimmer and Willow both appeared in the doorway, their faces soft but firm.

“Look, we’re not saying you’ve got to figure everything out right now,” Willow said, her tone gentle but concerned. “But—” she glanced at Glimmer before looking back at Bistrena, “—it’s cold out. Don’t leave without a coat and scarf. You’ll catch something.”

Bistrena’s chest tightened, and she opened her mouth to argue, but Glimmer spoke next, her voice much quieter. “We’re your friends, Bi. We don’t want you getting sick out there.”

Bistrena stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring at the floor. She was exhausted, emotionally drained, and the last thing she wanted was to stand there and listen to them lecture her more. But their concern was there, hanging in the air, and it was hard to ignore.

With a sigh, she turned back to face them, and they both gave her a quiet but expectant look. She hesitated, then nodded, her voice barely a whisper.

“Alright,” she muttered. “I’ll take it.”

Willow hurried over, grabbing a scarf from the nearby coat rack and draping it gently around her neck, while Glimmer fetched a heavy coat. They both moved with a kind of quiet care that softened the edges of Bistrena’s frustration, making her feel, for just a moment, like they truly saw her.

When she was bundled up, she gave them both a tight-lipped smile, still distant but no longer as combative.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice quieter now, but the words still carrying weight. “I’ll… be fine.”

With that, she turned and stepped out the door, the cool night air biting at her face. But as the door clicked shut behind her, she didn’t feel entirely alone anymore.

The chill of the morning air hit Bistrena’s face as she stepped out into the street. The building door shut behind her with a heavy thud, and for a moment, she stood still, letting the quiet weight of the world press down on her.

Her hooves carried her down familiar streets, though she barely registered the turns. The city was waking up, the distant clatter of carts and chatter blending with the sharp cry of seagulls overhead.

Before she knew it, she was standing at the docks.

The sea stretched out before her, grey and restless, the waves lapping against the wooden pilings below. She leaned against the worn railing, the rough grain of the wood pressing into her chest, and stared out at the horizon.

The salt air stung her nose, sharp and bracing. It reminded her of last night, of the way Current’s scent had lingered on her fur, mingling with the tang of spilt drinks and the faint smokiness of the bar.

Her throat tightened.

What was she supposed to feel?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to sort through the mess inside her. There was regret, sure—but for what? For the fact that he was gone? For the way she’d rushed things? Or was it just the sinking, gnawing guilt of knowing she’d taken something from him, something she wasn’t sure she could give back?

A sharp gust of wind whipped at her mane, tugging it across her face. She didn’t bother brushing it aside.

What did I even want from him?

She exhaled sharply, the sound almost a growl. Did she care about him, or was it just…easy? He was there, he was familiar, and he was leaving. It had felt like the right thing to do. Like it would mean something.

But now? Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Her mind drifted to Willow and Glimmer’s words, their voices echoing in her ears. “You rushed it…you didn’t stop to think…” They’d said it like it was so simple, as if she could just pause life and weigh every decision like some kind of scale.

But life wasn’t like that. It was messy and short and full of things you couldn’t take back.

Her hooves scraped against the railing as she shifted, her movements restless.

Would I even wait for him?

The thought hit her like a punch to the gut.

It was an ugly question, one she didn’t want to answer. But it hung there, insistent and cruel. Did she really believe he’d come back? Or was some part of her already counting on his absence to make things easier?

She hated herself for even thinking it.

“Selfish, impulsive asshole,” she muttered under her breath, the words bitter on her tongue.

But wasn’t it true? Wasn’t that what everyone thought? Her parents, her friends, maybe even Current himself? She acted without thinking, she took what she wanted, and she left everyone else to deal with the fallout.

Her chest tightened, her breath hitching. She pressed her forehead against the railing, the cool wood grounding her, even as her thoughts spiralled.

Why is everything so damn hard?

The sea didn’t answer. It just kept moving, restless and uncaring, the same way it always had.

When her house came into view, Bistrena’s steps slowed, her eyes narrowing at the unexpected sight of two uniformed Baltimare Police Department officers standing at the front gate. Their polished badges gleamed in the pale afternoon light, catching the sun as they stood by the faded gate. Her mother was just inside the property, speaking quietly with them.

The shorter officer, his mane silvered with age, was scribbling something in a notepad suspended in his magical grasp. The taller one, a stallion with a bristling moustache that seemed to move with every word, wore a calm but serious expression. Her mother nodded at something he said, her posture composed, though her lips pressed into a thin line.

Bistrena ducked instinctively behind the low stone wall of her neighbour’s property, her heart hammering.

What if it’s about Cinereus? The thought leapt to her mind, unbidden, freezing her in place. What if he’s…

She gritted her teeth, forcing the rest of the thought away. No. That didn’t make sense. If something had happened to her brother, it wouldn’t be the local police at their door; it’d be uniformed military messengers bearing sealed letters.

Still, the sight of the officers filled her with unease.

Her mother’s calm demeanour finally registered, pulling her from her spiralling thoughts. There was no panic in the way she stood. No frantic gestures or desperate tears. The taller officer even cracked a faint smile before the two turned to leave, trotting briskly down the street. Her mother lingered at the gate for a moment, glancing toward the wall to her left before heading back inside.

The front door clicked shut, and Bistrena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She stepped out from behind the wall, her hooves carrying her slowly toward the gate. As she reached it, her gaze fell on the spot her mother had looked at before going inside.

The propaganda poster was impossible to miss, plastered against the stone wall with its lurid colours and ominous message: Beware the Changeling Threat! They’re Everywhere! A single, glaring eye loomed from the centre, its cold stare fixed on shadowy figures that crept along the edges.

But the poster had been defaced.

Bright red graffiti slashed across it in wild, jagged strokes, transforming the once-authoritative message into something subversive, even furious. The bold letters now read: The Real Threat is the War. Beneath it, an accusatory scrawl added: Canterlot's Game, Our Lives in Play.

The margins were crowded with smaller words and phrases, angrily crammed wherever there was space: Farce, Lies, Profit. The defacement turned the entire wall into a chaotic manifesto of bitterness and dissent.

Bistrena stopped in front of it, her ears twitching as she scanned the angry words.

For a moment, she felt a strange sense of detachment, as if the poster and its vandalism existed in a world separate from her own. But that feeling didn’t last. The words, jagged and haphazard as they were, struck something deep in her chest—a complicated tangle of emotions she didn’t quite know how to unravel.

She understood the frustration behind the graffiti. Not every family in their neighbourhood had it as good as hers. Her parents both had steady work, and that meant decent ration tickets, warm meals, and the small comfort of stability. But others weren’t so lucky. Some families were barely scraping by, their able-bodied sons and daughters sent off to war while those left behind were consigned to dwindling supplies and hollow promises from the Royal Crown.

Her gaze lingered on the words Canterlot’s Game, a bitter taste rising in her throat.

Is that how the neighbours see this war? How my family might be seen?

And then there was Cinereus. Her brother wasn’t just “playing Canterlot’s game.” He was out there, risking his life, doing what he thought was right. Bistrena wanted to support him—she did—but staring at the jagged red letters, she couldn’t help but wonder if she truly believed in the cause he was fighting for.

Her hooves shifted uneasily on the cobblestones, her chest tight. She hated how uncertain it all felt.

Finally, she turned away from the poster, her eyes following the faint trail of hoofprints in the frost near the wall. Had her mother been looking at the graffiti? Or was it something else? A break-in, maybe? With so many families struggling, desperation wasn’t uncommon. It was hard to keep that in mind, though, when the thought of thieves or vandals so close to home made her stomach churn.

Her mother’s voice rang faintly in her head, scolding her from years past: We’re lucky, Bistrena. Not everyone has what we do. Remember that.

It didn’t make her feel better.

When she reached the front door, Bistrena paused, her hoof hovering just above the handle. She glanced back at the defaced poster one last time, the red scrawls standing stark against the stone wall. She didn’t know what to think. About the poster. About the war. About anything.

With a sharp exhale, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

When Bistrena stepped through the front door, her mother was waiting just inside the entryway, forelegs tucked beneath the edge of a heavy winter shawl. Her expression was neutral but watchful, her eyes flicking over Bistrena with a knowing gaze.

“What’s wrong, Bistrena?” her mother asked, her tone light but probing.

Bistrena shrugged as she unwound the borrowed scarf from her neck, shaking out her mane with a sigh. “A lot is wrong,” she murmured, avoiding her mother’s eyes. “But the world keeps turning anyway.”

Her mother frowned faintly, tilting her head as if studying her. “That habit of yours—pushing everyone away. It doesn’t suit you.” Her voice softened, carrying just enough concern to needle at Bistrena’s defences. “You never used to keep so much to yourself.”

Bistrena froze, caught between the urge to brush it off and the ache of words she couldn’t hold back anymore. Before she could think, the confession tumbled out: “I slept with him.”

Her mother blinked, clearly shocked. Her expression faltered for a moment, her brows knitting together in confusion. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if unsure of how to respond. But then, realization dawned, and her eyes softened with understanding.

“Ah,” her mother said quietly. “And now you’re not sure how to feel about it?”

Bistrena let out a sharp laugh, bitter and raw. “Not sure? No, I’m completely sure—I feel like a total idiot. I didn’t think about what it meant. Not for him, not for me. And now he’s gone, and I don’t know if it even mattered.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she glanced away, swallowing hard. “Do you think I’m impulsive? Or stupid? My friends sure seem to think so.”

Her mother didn’t answer immediately. She watched Bistrena closely, her gaze searching. Finally, she sighed, stepping forward and resting a hoof gently on Bistrena’s shoulder. “Impulsive? Maybe. Stupid? No. But, Bistrena… it sounds like you weren’t thinking about much of anything except yourself.”

Bistrena’s ears pinned back as her mother’s words hit her squarely in the chest. “That’s not fair,” she said defensively. “I cared about him. I do care.”

“I don’t doubt that,” her mother replied, her voice still calm. “But caring isn’t enough. Actions have consequences, Bistrena. You made a choice—not just for yourself, but for him, too. And now you’re here, worrying about how it made you feel, while he’s the one who’s out there risking his life.”

Bistrena flinched, her mother’s words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. “I didn’t think it would turn out like this,” she muttered. “I thought… I thought we’d have more time.”

Her mother softened slightly, her hoof dropping away as she let out a slow breath. “That’s the thing about time, Bistrena. You don’t get to decide how much of it you have. But you do get to decide what you do with it.” She paused, tilting her head. “So, what are you going to do now? Keep wallowing in guilt? Or use it to grow?”

“I don’t know,” Bistrena admitted quietly. Her voice was small, hollow, and she hated how it sounded.

Her mother regarded her for a long moment, then gave her a small, firm nod. “Then start by being honest—with yourself, and with others. If you care about Current, don’t let this be the last thing he remembers of you. Write to him. Tell him how you feel. Or, if you don’t know how you feel, tell him that, too. But don’t keep hiding from it. You owe him that much.”

Bistrena hesitated, her throat tight as she tried to process her mother’s words. They stung, but in a way that felt… right. Necessary.

Her mother straightened, her briskness returning. “Now, go change into something more comfortable,” she instructed lightly. “And bring more refreshments to the front room while you’re at it. Current’s parents are here, and your father is boring them half to death with his engineering talk.”

Bistrena let out a soft, exasperated huff but didn’t argue, heading for the stairs. As she changed and prepared the tea and lemonade, her mother’s words replayed in her mind, settling deep into her chest like stones. She didn’t like what they revealed about her—but maybe, just maybe, she needed to hear it.

Author's Note

After reflecting on some recent feedback, I realized that I wasn’t being as definitive with Bistrena’s character as I should have been. I didn’t fully explore her internal thoughts, motivations, or emotional reactions, which led to a disconnect between her actions and her deeper struggles. This chapter represents a conscious effort to dive deeper into her inner world—her conflicting feelings, her impulsive decisions, and her struggle to reconcile her desires with the reality of the situation. I hope this chapter helps to clarify her character, her emotions, and where she’s coming from. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the read!