Twilight Velvet cracked the door to her daughter’s room and peeked into the evening’s encroaching gloom. It sat there empty, of course, the same way it had for over a year now.
With Shining Armor graduating high school soon, she couldn’t make keeping this room tidy as part of his chores much longer. She’d have to do it herself. Another moment’s hesitation, and then she stepped in, softly closed the door behind her, and sat on the bed. On the wall, an old paint-by-numbers portrait of Star Swirl the Bearded watched her, every hue fastidiously within the lines. And beside the bed, a down-lined basket Twilight Velvet had bought in case Spike needed a place to sleep if the pair came for a visit, but the tag still hung from it. It might not even fit him anymore; she had no idea how big he’d grown.
She flopped against the pillow, rumpling the nice, smooth bedspread. It had long since stopped smelling like Twilight Sparkle’s shampoo. The dying sun caught a glint of icicle on the eaves outside and shone a glare onto the trophies topping the bookshelf on the far wall. For spelling bees, science fairs… for reciting the most digits of pi at the math challenge booth the year they’d held the Summer Sun Celebration at the School for Gifted Unicorns. Only in kindergarten, and she’d continued on for another hundred or so digits past the next competitor before the judge cut her off.
My precious daughter, kind and good, I never really understood.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a mother when you needed me.
No toys lying around, no photos with friends. That bookshelf, with every possible spot on it taken. One summer, Twilight Sparkle had organized it differently each day. Alphabetically by the cover’s color, reverse order of page count (she’d nearly knocked herself silly putting the heaviest books on the top), publication date, author’s astrological sign (she naturally scoffed at astrology but had run out of other ideas by that point).
How many times during summer breaks had she asked her daughter to go play outside and enjoy the weather? She would head out the door mechanically, as if she had no possible loves or hates in the world, but with a book in tow. And if Twilight Velvet happened to pass by the park down the street on the way to the market, her daughter would be under a tree reading.
At least they did have books in common. Years ago, Twilight Velvet had co-authored and edited a number of the Daring Do novels, not that anypony knew. And she enjoyed a good read as much as the next pony. On quiet winter evenings just like this, she’d sit downstairs with a biography or anthology of Hearth’s Warming stories, her daughter across the coffee table on the sofa and poring over a textbook on subjects even Shining Armor hadn’t gotten to in school yet, and she’d try to think of something to say, some way of engaging. The words always died in her throat. She liked poetry, fiction, and socializing. Her daughter liked mathematical and scientific topics that nopony else around could follow. She still made the attempt sometimes, and then her eyes would go unfocused at all the formulas and statistics and equations floating past them, and she’d have to settle for a nod and smile. A mother should support, but better if she knew what she was supporting.
She sighed, and the thumps through the wall told her Shining Armor must be at his desk writing his letter to Santa Hooves. Yes, he knew it was made up for the foals, but he loved tradition. Twilight Sparkle used to write a list as well, and she’d also figured out early on it was just for show, but the one instance of fun she ever seemed to allow herself came at Hearth’s Warming. Baking cookies, watching out the window as the Wonderbolts ‘fended off’ windigoes, listening to carols on the radio until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. And that letter, always requesting things like a new tube of litmus strips, another bottle of ink, or a nicer slide rule.
Even gifts most foals would consider an indulgence, like a new set of boots, but Twilight Sparkle never cared about the fashion, simply the ones that provided the best insulation for the lowest price. One time Twilight Velvet had gone off script, she’d bought the Miss Smarty Pants doll, expecting the reaction most children would give to a boring pair of earmuffs, but they had become inseparable, her daughter imbuing her newfound assistant with the personality that eagerly took notes, made helpful suggestions, and hung on every word of her mentor’s latest theories.
And there the doll sat, on the linen chest at the foot of the bed. Spike had become her replacement assistant, the School for Gifted Unicorns her replacement home, and Princess Celestia her replacement mother. She never came home for visits, not once in the year and a half since she went away for school, and they couldn’t ever coordinate a time to visit her at school. She did write letters, but all with the formalism of another assignment. Come to think of it, the Hearth’s Warming cards Twilight Sparkle gave her as a filly had the same feel, but it was different when one hovered over in a puff of magic and her daughter peeked over the back of the sofa to keep on target, wearing a huge grin.
The filly whom I love so much but left me feeling out of touch,
I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a mother when you needed me.
The sun disappeared behind the rows of houses, and the shadows deepened. Twilight Velvet yawned—if she wasn’t careful, she’d fall asleep, but Hearth’s Warming Eve dinner needed making, Shining Armor’s jacket had a little tear on the cuff to fix, and Night Light invariably forgot something at the market, so she’d have to run back out and get whatever it was. And even if she didn’t help out Daring Do anymore, she still regularly submitted poems and short stories to magazines, and she’d remained stuck on the same troublesome piece of verse for a week now. Maybe the holiday spirit would lend her some inspiration.
She levitated Miss Smarty Pants over and hugged her. The doll still smelled like her daughter. But she could barely see anything now except the sliver of light under the door, and the hoofsteps downstairs said Night Light had arrived home, so she’d better get going. Twilight Velvet stood and returned Miss Smarty Pants to her sentry post, then opened the door and squinted at the rush of light in the hall.
How do you mother a genius? How does she learn anything from you when she knows more than you do? Try to serve as an example of a good pony, maybe, but there’s nothing left to teach her.
She sighed and knocked on Shining Armor’s door. “Dinner in half an hour.” A grunt came back through the door.
Yes, how do you mother a genius? You entrust her to somepony more worthy. Somepony who maybe should have been her mother in the first place.
But that doesn’t change how fiercely you love her.
My one and only daughter dear, I never was enough, I fear.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a mother when you needed me.
Twilight Velvet’s eyes had finally adjusted, and she slouched down the steps. In the den, Night Light sat on the sofa and unfolded today’s newspaper. The groceries he’d picked up lay on the kitchen counter, and he’d started a pot boiling for the vegetables. As she checked over the ingredients, the only missing one was scallions, but she still had some in the refrigerator. Less than the recipe called for, but it wouldn’t hurt anything.
He’d left the front door ajar, so she walked over to close it, and… a suitcase?
She glanced up, not quite registering the purple body backing through the door levitating another bag. “Thanks for carrying that for me, Dad!” Twilight Sparkle said. Spike perked up on her back.
“T-Twilight?”
Her daughter whirled around as she shut the door. “Hi, Mom! Exams finished yesterday, so I thought I’d come home for Hearth’s Warming break.”
“But… you’ve always stayed at school.” It sounded like an argument. It sounded like she wasn’t thrilled to have her only filly home for Hearth’s Warming.
Twilight Sparkle raised an eyebrow. “Dad said it’d be okay.”
He did, did he? Night Light hid his smirk behind the newspaper. “No, no, it’s not—” Twilight Velvet hugged her daughter. Hard. “Welcome home.” She didn’t let go. Eventually, her daughter began to fidget. “I’m sorry.”
Twilight Sparkle wore a sheepish grin and glanced at Spike. “You might not remember her, but that’s your nana.”
“Nana!” he repeated, reaching for her with one hand while sucking the thumb on the other.
Twilight Velvet levitated him over and held him the crook of an arm. “Wow, you’ve gotten big!”
“Can I help?” Twilight Sparkle said, gesturing to the kitchen as she lugged the bags toward the stairs.
“No, I just…” She ran to hug her daughter again, and Spike gave both of them an uncertain gape. “I’m glad you still call this home.”
Twilight Sparkle let the bags drop and smiled. “I always wanted to visit, but I had too much schoolwork, plus raising Spike added so much more. But that was part of the learning process, too. I think Princess Celestia planned it that way.”
“I’m glad she’s good to you.”
Her daughter turned to face her directly. “Yes. She’s a wonderful mentor and teacher. I can ask her questions, go to her with problems. But as kind as she is, she’s not a mother. And what I learned by raising Spike is how much work and sacrifice it takes. It made it that much harder when I couldn’t come home every holiday, but now I’ve got everything squared away, so I made time.”
Twilight Velvet tightened her grip, and her tears dripped down her face. “Nana?” Spike said.
“Mom, you did a great job with me. All those spelling bees and science fairs you took me to, all the trophies in my room. You encouraged me. You supported me in whatever I wanted to do. You’d listen to me when I’d spout off some scientific discovery, and it showed me that you cared.
“When we’d read together in the evenings, and you knew just to let me stew in my thoughts and not interrupt. When you told me to get out of the house, and I’d go sit in the park and read there for a change of scenery—I met a friend who liked to do the same. We never talked much, but we’d trade books, and now she’s in my classes! Moondancer, my first friend, and I only know her because of you.
“You gave me the perfect example of how to nurture Spike, and he’s become an eager little research assistant”—he giggled in Twilight Velvet’s ear—“and I’m glad at long last we can spend time with family.”
Her mane smelled of the same shampoo she always used. “How’d my girl of nine grow up so much?”
Shining Armor poked his head into the stairwell and gasped. “Twily!”
Twilight Velvet let them go. Spike ran upstairs, where Shining Armor showed him to their room. “See, you get your own soft basket to sleep in!” Shining called, and Spike squealed. But Twilight Sparkle only made it up a few steps before turning around again.
”A mom who knew me best of all and gave me strength so I’d stand tall,
you somehow knew just what to do to love me when I needed you.
“A mom who kept an open ear to where my boggled brain might steer,
you somehow knew just what to do to love me when I needed you.
“My one and only mother dear, you far surpassed in making clear
you somehow knew just what to do to love me when I needed you.”
Author's Note
Written for FulmonThe, who requested a story with Twilight Velvet.
For a gimmick I've done once before on a Jinglemas story, I made the word count the same as the year.
