Falling Downby Elk1ChaptersNight 1: A Lasting MarkNight 2: What had Happened?Night 3: The Time has ComeNight 1: A Lasting MarkTwilight sat alone in her chambers, the heavy silence pressing down on her like an unrelenting weight. The moon hung in the sky, its soft glow bathing the room in pale light. She’d taken on this duty years ago, replacing Luna when the princess had retired to a quieter life. Raising the moon had become second nature, yet every time Twilight performed the ritual, she felt the bitter sting of its solitude. Tonight was no different. Her gaze drifted to the corner of her desk, where a poorly glued-together snow globe rested. It was cracked and uneven, but to Twilight, it was priceless. It was the last tangible piece of Pinkie Pie she had—a gift from the earth pony during one of their many adventures. It shimmered faintly in the moonlight, casting fractured patterns across the walls. She reached out with her magic, levitating it gently in front of her. It was just as beautiful as the day she lost her. Twilight’s throat tightened, and her vision blurred with unshed tears. “Pinkie…” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her tears spilled over, streaking her cheeks as her breathing grew ragged. She didn’t know what to do anymore. That was a lie, of course. Twilight Sparkle always knew what to do. She was the Princess of Friendship, the ruler of Equestria. Her subjects depended on her guidance and wisdom. But this? This emptiness? This was something no amount of logic, friendship lessons, or royal decrees could solve. It was a chasm in her heart, one that seemed to grow wider with each passing year. Her thoughts spiraled, as they often did on nights like this. Why hadn’t she been there that day? Why couldn’t she have been more useful? More present? More… something? She clenched her jaw, her magic faltering as the snow globe wobbled in midair. She quickly steadied it, holding it close to her chest as if it might somehow bring her comfort. The memories of that fateful day were still vivid, etched into her mind like scars. She could still hear the distant echo of laughter, see the vibrant splash of pink against the backdrop of Ponyville, and feel the warmth of Pinkie’s presence. And then, it was gone. All of it. Stolen away in an instant. Twilight had been too far, too late, too useless to stop it. She gritted her teeth. Useless. That word had haunted her ever since. It didn’t matter how many ponies praised her leadership, how many problems she solved, or how many friendships she mended. In the dark corners of her mind, she was still that same failure who hadn’t been able to save her best friend. Maybe even more than that. Twilight placed the snow globe back on her desk and turned to her bed. It was neatly made, as always, but it looked cold and uninviting. She rarely found solace there anymore. Sleep was a fleeting thing, often replaced by restless nights spent pacing her chambers or poring over ancient texts. Anything to keep her mind occupied. The memories came flooding back, unbidden and relentless. She could see Pinkie Pie bouncing into her room, a tray of cupcakes balanced precariously on her back. “Twilight, you’ve been cooped up in here for *hours*! You need a break! And what better way to take a break than with cupcakes?” Pinkie’s grin had been infectious, her energy boundless. Twilight smiled faintly at the memory, but it quickly faded. Those moments felt like a lifetime ago, and the contrast to her current reality was almost too much to bear. She sank onto the edge of her bed, her wings drooping at her sides. The room felt too big, too empty. She hugged herself, as if that could somehow fill the void. She wished she could talk to Pinkie, just one more time. To hear her laughter, to feel her warmth, to see her smile. But those wishes were futile. Pinkie was gone, and no amount of magic or longing could change that. Twilight had searched for answers, of course. She’d scoured ancient tomes, consulted with the brightest minds in Equestria, even delved into forbidden magics. But nothing could bring her back. Nothing could undo what had been done. Twilight’s breathing grew heavier as the weight of her grief threatened to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. She had responsibilities. Ponies depended on her. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. But here, in the privacy of her room, there was nopony to see her. Nopony to judge her. Here, she could let the mask slip, if only for a little while. The darkness was her only comfort. It wrapped around her like a shroud, hiding her from the world and all its expectations. She lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The snow globe’s soft shimmer caught her eye again, and she turned her head to look at it. It was a reminder of everything she’d lost, but also of everything she’d loved. Twilight’s thoughts drifted to the rest of her friends. They’d all grieved in their own ways, but they’d moved on. Applejack threw herself into her work, Rainbow Dash channeled her pain into her Wonderbolts training, Rarity found solace in her designs, and Fluttershy leaned on her animal friends for comfort. Even Spike, ever her loyal assistant, seemed to find ways to cope. But Twilight? Twilight had built a castle of sorrow and locked herself inside. She’d tried to reach out, tried to let her friends in. But every time she did, the pain felt sharper, the memories more vivid. It was easier to keep them at arm’s length, to bury herself in her duties. It wasn’t healthy, she knew that. But it was the only way she knew how to survive. “Pinkie,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible. “I… I don’t know how to do this without you.” The tears came again, unbidden and unstoppable. She buried her face in her hooves, her sobs muffled by the silence of the room. The hours dragged on, and eventually, exhaustion claimed her. Twilight drifted into a restless sleep, her dreams haunted by memories of pink curls and bright laughter. She saw Pinkie Pie in the meadow, surrounded by balloons and confetti. She was laughing, her eyes sparkling with joy. Twilight tried to reach her, but no matter how fast she ran, the distance between them never seemed to close. When she woke, the moon had shifted in the sky, signaling the approach of dawn. Twilight sat up, her heart heavy and her body weary. She glanced at the snow globe again, its fractured beauty a testament to both her love and her pain. With a deep breath, she rose from the bed and approached the window. The first rays of sunlight were beginning to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. It was a new day, another chance to keep going. She didn’t know how she would do it, but she would. For Pinkie. For herself. For all the ponies who depended on her. Twilight closed her eyes and let the sunlight wash over her. The warmth reminded her of better days, of the love and friendship that had once filled her life. It was a small comfort, but it was enough to keep her going. For now. Night 2: What had Happened?Twilight sat in the quiet solitude of her room, the air heavy with the weight of memories she wished she could escape. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow over the snow globe on her desk. It depicted two tiny figures: Pinkie and herself, locked in a joyful embrace. That little trinket, fragile and imperfect, had become both a comfort and a torment. A constant reminder of the good times they once shared and the loss that now consumed her. She sighed deeply, her gaze lingering on the snow globe. Tonight, she decided she would try again. Reliving the memory was a torment she had been advised to face—a battle she knew she wouldn’t win, but one she felt compelled to fight nonetheless. With a trembling breath, Twilight shut her eyes, the image of the snow globe’s tiny figures seared into her mind. It was a rainy day when it happened. Twilight had been reading in the comfort of her castle, the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the windows providing a soothing backdrop. She could still hear Pinkie’s cheerful voice calling from downstairs. “I’m going to get some baking supplies, Twi! You wanna come?” Pinkie’s voice was as bright as ever, even in the dull grayness of the storm outside. Twilight didn’t even look up from her book. “No thanks, Pinkie, but I’ll definitely want to help when you get back!” she called back, her tone warm but distracted. She could still see Pinkie’s radiant smile in her mind, the way her energy seemed to light up even the darkest days. And yet, she had let her go. It was the worst decision she ever made. The memory shifted. Twilight heard the sound of the front door shutting as Pinkie left. She remembered the faint smell of rain that wafted in before it closed. Then, everything blurred. The phone rang. Past Twilight picked it up, her heart sinking the moment she heard the frantic voice on the other end. Her hooves trembled as she clutched the phone. Her eyes darted to the snow globe Pinkie had gifted her when she first arrived in Ponyville. It was sitting on her desk, an emblem of their bond. In her shock, she dropped the phone, and the globe fell to the floor with it. The delicate glass shattered, scattering shards and glitter across the room. Twilight’s tears blurred her vision as she stumbled out into the rain, her mind racing with dread. The scene outside was chaos. Medics were gathered near the scene of the accident, their voices urgent but distant, drowned out by the pounding rain and Twilight’s own panicked thoughts. And then she saw her. Pinkie Pie—her vibrant pink coat now matted with rain and blood, her usually boundless energy replaced with stillness. The sight was unbearable. Past Twilight let out a scream that seemed to echo through the storm. She collapsed to the ground, the rain soaking her to the bone. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All she could do was watch as the medics worked desperately to save her best friend. Her mind tried to skip past this moment, but she forced herself to stay. She had to face it. The memory shifted again, this time to the hospital. Past Twilight sat beside Pinkie’s bed, her hoof clutching Pinkie’s limp one. Machines beeped steadily, a cruel reminder that life still clung to her friend, but only barely. Twilight’s tears dripped onto the bed, her sobs quiet and broken. She whispered apologies over and over, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt. “I should have gone with you,” she murmured. “I should have been there…” But it was too late. The damage was done, and nothing she said or did could change that. Her mind couldn’t take it anymore. The memory skipped forward again, this time to her castle. Past Twilight sat at her desk, the shattered snow globe in front of her. Her magic wavered as she tried to piece it back together. The glue smeared messily, her hooves trembling with every movement. She worked through the night, her tears falling freely as she tried to restore the one thing she could—the fragile representation of what she had lost. When she was done, it was imperfect, but it was whole. Another skip. Twilight found herself at the funeral. It was after the crowd had dispersed, after her friends had left to grieve in their own ways. She stood alone before the headstone, a black umbrella shielding her from the drizzle. Her face was a mask of calm, but her eyes… her eyes were hollow. The inscription on the headstone blurred as Twilight’s vision swam with tears. She couldn’t remember what she had said that day, couldn’t remember if she had said anything at all. All she remembered was the overwhelming emptiness that swallowed her whole. With a gasp, Twilight woke up, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. She glanced at the snow globe on her desk, its fragile figures still locked in their eternal embrace. Her bed was damp with tears, a stark reminder of the pain she could never seem to escape. Twilight sighed, running a hoof through her tangled mane. She felt drained, both physically and emotionally. She had tried to face the memory, tried to confront the guilt and grief that haunted her. But it was too much. It was always too much. Maybe one day she would find a way to move forward, to carry the weight of her loss without letting it crush her. But that day was not today. For now, all she could do was survive. And so she waited, the darkness her only companion as the hours dragged on. Night 3: The Time has ComeTwilight sat at her desk once again, her eyes fixated on the snow globe. The moonlight streaming through the window felt a little brighter this time, casting a soft glow over the room. The globe rested in her hooves, its tiny figures of Pinkie Pie and herself frozen in their eternal embrace. She traced a hoof along the glass, her heart aching with longing. If only she could replace the tiny Twilight within—to be inside that perfect little world where Pinkie was still with her. Her gaze shifted to the bed across the room. Memories, warm and bittersweet, began to flood her mind. She could see her past self, engrossed in a book, her mane slightly disheveled from a long day of studying. Pinkie Pie had bounded into the room, her energy as infectious as ever. Without hesitation, she had wrapped her hooves around Twilight in a playful embrace. Past Twilight had blushed, fumbling for words, likely muttering some awkward remark about personal space or concentration. Twilight couldn’t make out the exact words anymore; they were lost to time. But what she could see was the way Pinkie laughed, her joy lighting up the room like sunshine breaking through a storm. And then, for just a moment, Pinkie turned her head, as if she could see the present Twilight watching from afar. Her cerulean eyes sparkled with warmth and understanding, and she gave Twilight a reassuring smile before turning back to her past self. The scene played out like a dream, vivid and fleeting. Twilight watched, her chest tightening with emotion. The blush on her cheeks deepened as she remembered how flustered she had been in that moment. But her expression quickly shifted, her eyes welling with tears as the memory began to fade. She sniffled, clutching the snow globe tighter. Maybe it was time to let go. Maybe it was time to move on. It’s what Pinkie would have wanted, wasn’t it? Pinkie had always been the embodiment of joy, of hope, of finding the silver lining even in the darkest of times. She wouldn’t have wanted Twilight to live like this—to spend every night consumed by grief and guilt, unable to move forward. Twilight closed her eyes, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. The memory of Pinkie’s smile lingered in her mind, a beacon of comfort in the sea of sorrow. It wasn’t easy to think about moving on, to even consider a future without Pinkie Pie. But maybe… maybe she could try. Not all at once, but in small, hesitant steps. She rose from her desk, the snow globe still cradled in her hooves. The room felt quieter than usual, the silence no longer oppressive but oddly soothing. She made her way to her bed, the familiar comfort of the mattress calling to her. As she climbed in, she noticed something she hadn’t felt in a long time: warmth. The bed felt unusually cozy, as if it were wrapping her in a gentle embrace. Twilight lay back, clutching the snow globe to her chest. She allowed herself to close her eyes, her mind still swirling with thoughts of Pinkie. But for the first time in what felt like forever, the memories didn’t overwhelm her. They didn’t suffocate her. Instead, they felt like a soft, glowing light, comforting and kind. “The time will come,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. “The time will come when we meet again.” And with that thought, she let herself drift off to sleep. For the first time in a long time, her sleep was peaceful, unbroken by nightmares or restless tossing. The snow globe sat on the nightstand beside her, its tiny figures illuminated by the moonlight, a quiet reminder of the bond that could never be broken. Twilight didn’t know what the future held. She didn’t know how long it would take to fully heal, or if she ever truly would. But tonight, she had taken a step forward, however small. And that, she realized, was enough.
Night 1: A Lasting MarkTwilight sat alone in her chambers, the heavy silence pressing down on her like an unrelenting weight. The moon hung in the sky, its soft glow bathing the room in pale light. She’d taken on this duty years ago, replacing Luna when the princess had retired to a quieter life. Raising the moon had become second nature, yet every time Twilight performed the ritual, she felt the bitter sting of its solitude. Tonight was no different. Her gaze drifted to the corner of her desk, where a poorly glued-together snow globe rested. It was cracked and uneven, but to Twilight, it was priceless. It was the last tangible piece of Pinkie Pie she had—a gift from the earth pony during one of their many adventures. It shimmered faintly in the moonlight, casting fractured patterns across the walls. She reached out with her magic, levitating it gently in front of her. It was just as beautiful as the day she lost her. Twilight’s throat tightened, and her vision blurred with unshed tears. “Pinkie…” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her tears spilled over, streaking her cheeks as her breathing grew ragged. She didn’t know what to do anymore. That was a lie, of course. Twilight Sparkle always knew what to do. She was the Princess of Friendship, the ruler of Equestria. Her subjects depended on her guidance and wisdom. But this? This emptiness? This was something no amount of logic, friendship lessons, or royal decrees could solve. It was a chasm in her heart, one that seemed to grow wider with each passing year. Her thoughts spiraled, as they often did on nights like this. Why hadn’t she been there that day? Why couldn’t she have been more useful? More present? More… something? She clenched her jaw, her magic faltering as the snow globe wobbled in midair. She quickly steadied it, holding it close to her chest as if it might somehow bring her comfort. The memories of that fateful day were still vivid, etched into her mind like scars. She could still hear the distant echo of laughter, see the vibrant splash of pink against the backdrop of Ponyville, and feel the warmth of Pinkie’s presence. And then, it was gone. All of it. Stolen away in an instant. Twilight had been too far, too late, too useless to stop it. She gritted her teeth. Useless. That word had haunted her ever since. It didn’t matter how many ponies praised her leadership, how many problems she solved, or how many friendships she mended. In the dark corners of her mind, she was still that same failure who hadn’t been able to save her best friend. Maybe even more than that. Twilight placed the snow globe back on her desk and turned to her bed. It was neatly made, as always, but it looked cold and uninviting. She rarely found solace there anymore. Sleep was a fleeting thing, often replaced by restless nights spent pacing her chambers or poring over ancient texts. Anything to keep her mind occupied. The memories came flooding back, unbidden and relentless. She could see Pinkie Pie bouncing into her room, a tray of cupcakes balanced precariously on her back. “Twilight, you’ve been cooped up in here for *hours*! You need a break! And what better way to take a break than with cupcakes?” Pinkie’s grin had been infectious, her energy boundless. Twilight smiled faintly at the memory, but it quickly faded. Those moments felt like a lifetime ago, and the contrast to her current reality was almost too much to bear. She sank onto the edge of her bed, her wings drooping at her sides. The room felt too big, too empty. She hugged herself, as if that could somehow fill the void. She wished she could talk to Pinkie, just one more time. To hear her laughter, to feel her warmth, to see her smile. But those wishes were futile. Pinkie was gone, and no amount of magic or longing could change that. Twilight had searched for answers, of course. She’d scoured ancient tomes, consulted with the brightest minds in Equestria, even delved into forbidden magics. But nothing could bring her back. Nothing could undo what had been done. Twilight’s breathing grew heavier as the weight of her grief threatened to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. She had responsibilities. Ponies depended on her. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. But here, in the privacy of her room, there was nopony to see her. Nopony to judge her. Here, she could let the mask slip, if only for a little while. The darkness was her only comfort. It wrapped around her like a shroud, hiding her from the world and all its expectations. She lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The snow globe’s soft shimmer caught her eye again, and she turned her head to look at it. It was a reminder of everything she’d lost, but also of everything she’d loved. Twilight’s thoughts drifted to the rest of her friends. They’d all grieved in their own ways, but they’d moved on. Applejack threw herself into her work, Rainbow Dash channeled her pain into her Wonderbolts training, Rarity found solace in her designs, and Fluttershy leaned on her animal friends for comfort. Even Spike, ever her loyal assistant, seemed to find ways to cope. But Twilight? Twilight had built a castle of sorrow and locked herself inside. She’d tried to reach out, tried to let her friends in. But every time she did, the pain felt sharper, the memories more vivid. It was easier to keep them at arm’s length, to bury herself in her duties. It wasn’t healthy, she knew that. But it was the only way she knew how to survive. “Pinkie,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible. “I… I don’t know how to do this without you.” The tears came again, unbidden and unstoppable. She buried her face in her hooves, her sobs muffled by the silence of the room. The hours dragged on, and eventually, exhaustion claimed her. Twilight drifted into a restless sleep, her dreams haunted by memories of pink curls and bright laughter. She saw Pinkie Pie in the meadow, surrounded by balloons and confetti. She was laughing, her eyes sparkling with joy. Twilight tried to reach her, but no matter how fast she ran, the distance between them never seemed to close. When she woke, the moon had shifted in the sky, signaling the approach of dawn. Twilight sat up, her heart heavy and her body weary. She glanced at the snow globe again, its fractured beauty a testament to both her love and her pain. With a deep breath, she rose from the bed and approached the window. The first rays of sunlight were beginning to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. It was a new day, another chance to keep going. She didn’t know how she would do it, but she would. For Pinkie. For herself. For all the ponies who depended on her. Twilight closed her eyes and let the sunlight wash over her. The warmth reminded her of better days, of the love and friendship that had once filled her life. It was a small comfort, but it was enough to keep her going. For now.
Night 2: What had Happened?Twilight sat in the quiet solitude of her room, the air heavy with the weight of memories she wished she could escape. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow over the snow globe on her desk. It depicted two tiny figures: Pinkie and herself, locked in a joyful embrace. That little trinket, fragile and imperfect, had become both a comfort and a torment. A constant reminder of the good times they once shared and the loss that now consumed her. She sighed deeply, her gaze lingering on the snow globe. Tonight, she decided she would try again. Reliving the memory was a torment she had been advised to face—a battle she knew she wouldn’t win, but one she felt compelled to fight nonetheless. With a trembling breath, Twilight shut her eyes, the image of the snow globe’s tiny figures seared into her mind. It was a rainy day when it happened. Twilight had been reading in the comfort of her castle, the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the windows providing a soothing backdrop. She could still hear Pinkie’s cheerful voice calling from downstairs. “I’m going to get some baking supplies, Twi! You wanna come?” Pinkie’s voice was as bright as ever, even in the dull grayness of the storm outside. Twilight didn’t even look up from her book. “No thanks, Pinkie, but I’ll definitely want to help when you get back!” she called back, her tone warm but distracted. She could still see Pinkie’s radiant smile in her mind, the way her energy seemed to light up even the darkest days. And yet, she had let her go. It was the worst decision she ever made. The memory shifted. Twilight heard the sound of the front door shutting as Pinkie left. She remembered the faint smell of rain that wafted in before it closed. Then, everything blurred. The phone rang. Past Twilight picked it up, her heart sinking the moment she heard the frantic voice on the other end. Her hooves trembled as she clutched the phone. Her eyes darted to the snow globe Pinkie had gifted her when she first arrived in Ponyville. It was sitting on her desk, an emblem of their bond. In her shock, she dropped the phone, and the globe fell to the floor with it. The delicate glass shattered, scattering shards and glitter across the room. Twilight’s tears blurred her vision as she stumbled out into the rain, her mind racing with dread. The scene outside was chaos. Medics were gathered near the scene of the accident, their voices urgent but distant, drowned out by the pounding rain and Twilight’s own panicked thoughts. And then she saw her. Pinkie Pie—her vibrant pink coat now matted with rain and blood, her usually boundless energy replaced with stillness. The sight was unbearable. Past Twilight let out a scream that seemed to echo through the storm. She collapsed to the ground, the rain soaking her to the bone. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All she could do was watch as the medics worked desperately to save her best friend. Her mind tried to skip past this moment, but she forced herself to stay. She had to face it. The memory shifted again, this time to the hospital. Past Twilight sat beside Pinkie’s bed, her hoof clutching Pinkie’s limp one. Machines beeped steadily, a cruel reminder that life still clung to her friend, but only barely. Twilight’s tears dripped onto the bed, her sobs quiet and broken. She whispered apologies over and over, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt. “I should have gone with you,” she murmured. “I should have been there…” But it was too late. The damage was done, and nothing she said or did could change that. Her mind couldn’t take it anymore. The memory skipped forward again, this time to her castle. Past Twilight sat at her desk, the shattered snow globe in front of her. Her magic wavered as she tried to piece it back together. The glue smeared messily, her hooves trembling with every movement. She worked through the night, her tears falling freely as she tried to restore the one thing she could—the fragile representation of what she had lost. When she was done, it was imperfect, but it was whole. Another skip. Twilight found herself at the funeral. It was after the crowd had dispersed, after her friends had left to grieve in their own ways. She stood alone before the headstone, a black umbrella shielding her from the drizzle. Her face was a mask of calm, but her eyes… her eyes were hollow. The inscription on the headstone blurred as Twilight’s vision swam with tears. She couldn’t remember what she had said that day, couldn’t remember if she had said anything at all. All she remembered was the overwhelming emptiness that swallowed her whole. With a gasp, Twilight woke up, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. She glanced at the snow globe on her desk, its fragile figures still locked in their eternal embrace. Her bed was damp with tears, a stark reminder of the pain she could never seem to escape. Twilight sighed, running a hoof through her tangled mane. She felt drained, both physically and emotionally. She had tried to face the memory, tried to confront the guilt and grief that haunted her. But it was too much. It was always too much. Maybe one day she would find a way to move forward, to carry the weight of her loss without letting it crush her. But that day was not today. For now, all she could do was survive. And so she waited, the darkness her only companion as the hours dragged on.
Night 3: The Time has ComeTwilight sat at her desk once again, her eyes fixated on the snow globe. The moonlight streaming through the window felt a little brighter this time, casting a soft glow over the room. The globe rested in her hooves, its tiny figures of Pinkie Pie and herself frozen in their eternal embrace. She traced a hoof along the glass, her heart aching with longing. If only she could replace the tiny Twilight within—to be inside that perfect little world where Pinkie was still with her. Her gaze shifted to the bed across the room. Memories, warm and bittersweet, began to flood her mind. She could see her past self, engrossed in a book, her mane slightly disheveled from a long day of studying. Pinkie Pie had bounded into the room, her energy as infectious as ever. Without hesitation, she had wrapped her hooves around Twilight in a playful embrace. Past Twilight had blushed, fumbling for words, likely muttering some awkward remark about personal space or concentration. Twilight couldn’t make out the exact words anymore; they were lost to time. But what she could see was the way Pinkie laughed, her joy lighting up the room like sunshine breaking through a storm. And then, for just a moment, Pinkie turned her head, as if she could see the present Twilight watching from afar. Her cerulean eyes sparkled with warmth and understanding, and she gave Twilight a reassuring smile before turning back to her past self. The scene played out like a dream, vivid and fleeting. Twilight watched, her chest tightening with emotion. The blush on her cheeks deepened as she remembered how flustered she had been in that moment. But her expression quickly shifted, her eyes welling with tears as the memory began to fade. She sniffled, clutching the snow globe tighter. Maybe it was time to let go. Maybe it was time to move on. It’s what Pinkie would have wanted, wasn’t it? Pinkie had always been the embodiment of joy, of hope, of finding the silver lining even in the darkest of times. She wouldn’t have wanted Twilight to live like this—to spend every night consumed by grief and guilt, unable to move forward. Twilight closed her eyes, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. The memory of Pinkie’s smile lingered in her mind, a beacon of comfort in the sea of sorrow. It wasn’t easy to think about moving on, to even consider a future without Pinkie Pie. But maybe… maybe she could try. Not all at once, but in small, hesitant steps. She rose from her desk, the snow globe still cradled in her hooves. The room felt quieter than usual, the silence no longer oppressive but oddly soothing. She made her way to her bed, the familiar comfort of the mattress calling to her. As she climbed in, she noticed something she hadn’t felt in a long time: warmth. The bed felt unusually cozy, as if it were wrapping her in a gentle embrace. Twilight lay back, clutching the snow globe to her chest. She allowed herself to close her eyes, her mind still swirling with thoughts of Pinkie. But for the first time in what felt like forever, the memories didn’t overwhelm her. They didn’t suffocate her. Instead, they felt like a soft, glowing light, comforting and kind. “The time will come,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. “The time will come when we meet again.” And with that thought, she let herself drift off to sleep. For the first time in a long time, her sleep was peaceful, unbroken by nightmares or restless tossing. The snow globe sat on the nightstand beside her, its tiny figures illuminated by the moonlight, a quiet reminder of the bond that could never be broken. Twilight didn’t know what the future held. She didn’t know how long it would take to fully heal, or if she ever truly would. But tonight, she had taken a step forward, however small. And that, she realized, was enough.
