Love In Tears

Outside, Sweetie Belle heard a group of Hearth’s Warming carolers start up one of the classics and slowly raised her head, blinking at the late-afternoon sun slanting through the window. Her neck had a crick, her eyes felt heavy and gummy, and she could feel where the piano’s keys had left indentations in her cheek. She hadn’t even realized she was falling asleep.

Another merry verse rose from outside and Sweetie Belle groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Go away!” she half-screamed, half-sobbed, though she knew it was unlikely the carolers were performing for her specifically, or that they would hear her over their own singing through the house’s sturdy walls and closed windows. “Just go away and leave me alone…”

Before, she would have been right out there with such a group. This year, though, she felt like Snowfall Frost from the old novel A Hearth’s Warming Tail, wanting nothing more than for the holiday to vanish and take with it all its reminders of the warmth and closeness she had lost.

Pearlescent meowed from the kitchen and Sweetie Belle let out a soft groan, pushing herself up from the piano’s bench and shaking her muzzy head. “Okay, girl, I’ve got you,” she called, walking slowly from the parlor. Lost in her swirling emotions, she barely noticed a soft, flashing light on the end table in the hallway. The “call crystal”, a three-inch crystal ball, was the latest thing in communication magic, only standardized enough in the last few years to be affordable for every household to have one.

The call crystal’s soft, pulsing white light meant someone had left a message for her. I must have been sleeping so hard I didn’t hear it ring, Sweetie Belle realized, feeling her breath catch in her throat again as she remembered how excited she, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom had been to buy the magical device. At the time, it had felt like a big step together, another sign of the life they were building; now, with the weight of her recently-dissolved marriage, it just looked like…like a thing, with no value or meaning of its own. With a sigh, she gave it a tap in passing to play back the message.

Her older sister, Rarity, appeared in the crystal, her expression carefully composed, though Sweetie Belle noticed a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. The glasses adorning her face and the gray streak in her mane added maturity to her elegant beauty, but for once, even Rarity seemed uncertain. Her expression was soft with worry as she began to speak. “Sweetie Belle?” she said, her voice following the young mare as she continued toward the kitchen to assuage her hungry pet, taking a can of minced fish from the refrigerator and preparing its contents on a plate as the message played. “Darling, if you’re there, please answer me.”

A short pause, then Sweetie Belle heard her sister sigh as she set down the plate of cat food for Pearlescent. “Sweetie Belle, I…I want to say I know how you feel, but the truth is, I don’t,” Rarity said in the message, her soft tone laced with love and sympathy. “My first love has always been my work, as you know. Despite some of my own youthful dreams of romance, it seems the stars never aligned.”

After another brief hesitation, Rarity continued, her tone slightly quieter and more rueful. “I seem to be a better partner to my sewing machine than anypony else. I still hold out hope of finding somepony to spend my life with, but…well, you can imagine how difficult it can be to meet an eligible pony in Yakyakistan, particularly at my age and with my work schedule.”

Sweetie Belle sat down at her kitchen table, staring at a small, rectangular envelope. The postmark was stylized as a sprig of holly for the Hearth’s Warming season, and the blocky, utilitarian mouthwriting was so classically Apple Bloom that it was almost like hearing her voice–steady, grounded, practical. Though she had received the envelope three days before, Sweetie Belle hadn’t found the courage to open it, particularly since the unusual thickness indicated it carried more than just a normal holiday card.

“I just want to say, Sweetie Belle…if you need me, you need only call,” Rarity’s message continued. “I’m currently planning to spend Hearth’s Warming in Canterlot with the others, and you’re more than welcome to join us. Or, if you want me to come to you, I know they’ll understand why I can’t be there.”

A short pause, and then Rarity said in a softer, quieter tone, “I love you, little sister. I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through, but I hope you know that if you need anything, you need only ask.”

A soft chime sounded to indicate the end of the message and Sweetie Belle swallowed the lump in her throat with difficulty, rubbing her eyes. “If I need anything…” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “What I need is my wives back…my life back…” A soft, dry sob punctuated her murmured thought.

Of course, that was the problem. Rarity couldn’t give her those things, and Sweetie Belle hadn’t spoken to the two mares who could in months…might never speak to them again, for all she knew. Even if she wanted to, the thought was just too painful, much less carrying it out.

Rarity’s offer seemed to hang in the air, warm, sincere and well-meaning, but her words felt distant, like winter sunlight struggling to break through heavy clouds. Sweetie Belle loved her sister, she truly did, but the thought of joining Princess Twilight and the Council of Friendship in Canterlot only filled her with dread. Hearth’s Warming was supposed to be about friendship and family, togetherness and joy. How could she celebrate when everything only seemed to remind her of the family she had lost?

Sweetie Belle’s gaze drifted back to the envelope, her mind involuntarily sifting through the possibilities for what its message might contain. What could Apple Bloom possibly say that Sweetie Belle hadn’t already heard? That she was sorry? That she wished her well? That she hoped they could still be friends? That thought brought a sad, bitter laugh to Sweetie Belle’s lips; right now, the very concept of friendship seemed a mockery of everything they had once shared.

Pearlescent jumped up on the table and gave the envelope a sniff, nudging it with her paw. “Curious, huh?” Sweetie Belle murmured, reaching out to stroke her cat absently. “You probably think I should just open it and get it over with. Rip off the band-aid.” Pearlescent purred softly and leaned her head into Sweetie Belle’s hoof.

Sweetie Belle picked the envelope up in her telekinesis, reading the addresses on it for what felt like the thousandth time, her magical “touch” exploring the texture of the paper, the slight indentations left by Apple Bloom’s pen. Apple Bloom had always favored plain, neat mouthwriting over the elaborate cursive and calligraphic hornwriting that Sweetie Belle had learned from Rarity. Of course, while Scootaloo was a decent artist, her own mouthwriting had always been frenetic, almost illegible, reflecting her energetic personality.

Sweetie Belle had considered returning the envelope unopened, letting Apple Bloom wonder if she had even seen it…or even sending it back with a note telling her not to write anymore. She had even thought of burning it, letting the flames and smoke consume the unwelcome reminder of her shattered heart. Any of those ideas had felt satisfying when she first considered them…final, even freeing. But wasn’t that the problem? Finality meant there was no going back, no chance to see what Apple Bloom had to say, no hope for answers…maybe no hope for reconciliation.

Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Sweetie Belle started to open the envelope…but before she had torn the top seam more than half an inch, the doorbell rang, catching her off-guard and yanking her from her swirling thoughts. Sweetie Belle quickly grabbed a tissue in her telekinesis to blow her nose, glancing toward the front door. “Who in the world could that be?” she muttered to herself, irritation and curiosity warring for control of her mood.

Pinkie Pie and her family had dropped off a plate of Hearth’s Warming/sympathy fudge the day before, but Sweetie Belle wasn’t expecting any other company. Of course, it would be just like Rarity to cancel her Canterlot plans on a whim to check on Sweetie Belle, but even for her, less than an afternoon between extending an invitation and dropping in on the one she invited was fast, especially with the expense of portal spells.

For a few moments, Sweetie Belle considered ignoring the doorbell in the hope that whoever it was would leave. A second ring made her annoyance spike, and she pushed herself up from the table with a low growl. “Right,” she said to Pearlescent as she started toward the door. “Let’s get rid of whoever this is, then see what Apple Bloom’s card says.”

The doorbell rang again as Sweetie Belle stalked down the hall, her hooves landing with unusual force and making her steps echo through the entryway. Her horn glowed as she reached the door, swinging it open with a flick of her telekinetic magic and sending Pearlescent scampering away from the sudden rush of winter cold. “All right, what do you wa…?” Her demand died in her throat, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her breath felt caught in her chest as if the wind had struck her with a block of ice, leaving her frozen in place.

“Hey, Sweetie Belle,” murmured the athletic, orange-coated pegasus mare standing on the porch. Her voice was quiet, almost tentative, as she shifted her weight from hoof to hoof, and a winter breeze ruffled her short, tomcoltish purple mane. Her amethyst eyes carried a strange mix of sad wariness and hope, and her stunted, undersized wings twitched nervously where she kept them folded against her sides. She still wore the black jacket Apple Bloom had given her for her birthday a few years before everything fell apart, the soft apple leather scuffed at the elbows and creased at the joints from constant wear, and her ears were pinned back in nervousness. “I…” Her voice wavered and she glanced down at her hooves, as if searching for the right words to be written there. “I…Can I come in?”

Sweetie Belle’s lips parted, words caught in her throat. She wanted to slam the door, to turn away, to shield herself from whatever her second great love had come to say—but her hooves wouldn’t move, and the name hung on the edge of her trembling breath. "Scootaloo…"