No Equality in Desire

“My mom says she has a plan for us to get married someday.”

“Bleh—no way! I’m going to marry a cute filly! Doesn’t she know you’re going to marry a handsome colt?”

“I keep trying to tell her! But… with how much she and Dad have been fighting lately, I think it makes her feel better to imagine me ending up with a friend.”

Their shared blanket canopied above their heads, a shelter against the demands of the controlling adult world. It couldn’t reach them here, when they were small. Sunburst lay beside her, his nervous breaths warming the covers. His teeth worried his lower lip.

“I’m scared, Starlight. What if they… break up? Can moms and dads do that?”

Starlight, who had only ever known a life with her father, said, “I guess so.”

“Dad talks about leaving. I don’t want him to.”

“I won’t leave.”

Starlight crossed the equal distance between them, pulling Sunburst close. “No matter what happens. You're my best friend, Sunburst, and friends don't leave. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Yeah,” Sunburst sniffed. “I’ll always be here, too!”

—

Starlight’s morning apple juice was bitter. The taste had her thoughts spiraling between then and now and what could be. What she saw in her imagination felt more vivid than a memory. Light blooming through her window, Sugar Belle bending to pull a tray of steaming fritters from the oven, her mane loose from sleep.

It's coily again, soft as cotton. Her coat is a berry-sweet pink.

She turns with a smile warmer than the sun. It's a beautiful morning in Our Town—a name belonging to just the two of them.

Starlight’s hunger festered like an illness.

—

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Starlight was smiling on Sugar Belle’s doorstep, her cheeks aching.

“Just me?” Sugar Belle giggled. Her horn shimmered as she finished tightening her bun, preparing for the day's empty work. “Wouldn’t that be unfair to all our friends?”

All their friends could rot. “Not at all! It’s no different than the time we already spend one-on-one. That’s important for friends. To strengthen their bond.” Starlight swallowed. “To bring them closer.”

Sugar Belle smiled, a polite expression that implied nothing. She approached and Starlight almost flinched when she playfully butted her head into her neck. Her mane lacked the sweet scent of spice; it didn’t smell like anything.

“Then, I accept,” Sugar Belle said with a grin. “But let’s at least cook together!”

—

Warm candlelight danced off the vase of native golden poppies on the dining table. They were elegant, but not flashy, and sat in sweet accompaniment to the spread Starlight prepared ahead of time. Sugar Belle gasped when she entered, steaming vegetables and buttered dinner rolls already on her plate.

“I know what you said before, but I wanted to surprise you!” Starlight babbled, sweeping a rag down her chest to banish any remaining flour. “I made dessert, too! It probably won’t compare to the pastries you used to bake, but it’s an old tea cake recipe that’s been in my family, and…”

It caught Starlight off guard when Sugar Belle said, “I’ve never been taken care of like this.”

She sunk into her chair, spearing a forkful of carrot. Her mane was still pulled back in a limp bun and there was an exhausted slope to her shoulders. But the look on her face as she chewed belonged to a mare of divinity.

“This has all been so nice. Everything you did for me was so nice,” Sugar Belle kept saying as she finished dessert. She sipped what remained of her wine, giggling with effervesce. “It’s funny, I guess. I’ve spent so much of my life caring for the needs of other ponies—even when they didn’t ask. I paid attention, noticed little things that are important to them. That's the whole reason I came here. So my friends could be happier without me.”

“You must have loved them a lot,” Starlight murmured.

“I did. I do.” Sugar Belle swirled her glass, turning her eyes downcast into its depths. “Can I tell you a secret? I regret it, sometimes.”

Starlight’s heart was pounding, her pulse felt in the tips of her ears. Her own wine rippled from the jig of her leg. “You… regret it?”

“I regret not being selfish. But, selfishness always felt like cruelty.”

Sugar Belle went quiet. She drained her glass.

“I know what you mean,” Starlight blurted. “It’s uncomfortable—wanting something.” There was a dry patch in her throat she couldn’t wet. “It’s why I founded Our Town. So nopony would want for anything. So nopony would feel the pain of desiring friendship in their loneliness. Because having desires… it’s impossible to have them equally.”

Starlight started to laugh, wiping a hoof down her snout. “That’s why friendship—true friendship—is equal. It’s the purest form of love. Because otherwise, when you want somepony, one of you has to push; one of you has to be pushed.” A pause. “And that scares me.”

Sugar Belle’s hoof slid across the table, quiet as air. She touched Starlight’s pastern, and asked, “Why?”

A longing as physical as an organ squeezed within her. “If you push too hard, you push them away. And they leave.”

“I won’t leave.”

That was her imagination, shaping itself fiendishly around Sugar Belle’s voice. But reality was far crueler, for it showed her an image of Sugar Belle bringing Starlight’s hoof to her cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” Starlight’s voice gasped.

“Oh,” Sugar Belle whispered. “Would that be—”

“It’s fair. It’s okay.”

“It is? Can I be selfish...?”

Sugar Belle’s nearness came next, the tartness of her breath from the wine. Her lips were pursed, like she was sipping. Such a delicate press, overwhelmed by the needful slack of Starlight’s wolfish tongue.

“Can I hold you?” Starlight panted. “Can I touch you?”

Sugar Belle was nodding. The squeak of the chair, hooves striking the floor. They crossed the threshold of the stairs, ascending into Starlight’s unmade bed, the sheets billowing around their sudden pressure on the mattress. Hair floating down, elastic tugging free of Sugar Belle’s bun. Touching the rhythm of her breath; the fuzzed edges of her pale coat parting like a hoof swept through frosting.

Breath loud in ears, tongue on an elegant neck, lips concealing teeth. Sugar Belle’s high, sweet noises, the flexing of her throat.

Starlight floated above Sugar Belle, above herself. She took in the moment as a witness, saw the two bodies on the bed, side by side. Perfectly equal.

And she would have kissed from her chest to her belly, would have eaten past the barrier of their flesh and pressed them into one—when Sugar Belle’s head tipped backward.

And Starlight met Sunburst’s eyes.

“Do you kiss all of them like this?”

Starlight crashed down into her body, inescapably herself. Clumsy, guilty Starlight, no longer a uniform line paralleling another. A scream ripped from her throat. She scudded backward, thumping onto the floor, panting hard.

“What’s wrong?” Sugar Belle was gasping.

But Starlight could only scream, “Get out!”

Her horn flared, an awful popping sound. Sugar Belle flinched, crying out. She scrabbled for the sheets, concealing herself.

“Get out of here!” Starlight shrieked. “Go away!”

Whimpering, eyes wide, Sugar Belle vaulted from the bed. Her hooves were a distant clatter on the stairs. The bedroom door swung ajar.

For a long time, Starlight panted on the floor. Her hooves scraped the woodgrain, a faint whistle rasping in her throat.

Then she turned, facing Sunburst.

“I told you to be quiet!”

A bright crash rang out as books and picture frames erupted into fine particles. Her horn glowed with violent light, a corona of destruction blooming across the floor.

Sunburst was unmoved. He sat, pert and exact, in the middle of her room.

Starlight stalked toward him, glass chips crunching underhoof. “Tonight was perfect. I had everything I wanted. And you ruined it!”

Her nostrils flared, inches from his face. And he had the temerity to frown.

“Then why aren’t you happy?”

Starlight didn’t answer.

“I think you know it’s wrong.”

“The world is wrong.”

“The one you’re trying to make is.”

An unnatural cold gripped the room. Starlight’s hoof throbbed, a line of blood running from her sole.

“You can’t love a pony in Our Town. Not in a way that’s good.”

“She wanted me just as much as I wanted her!” Starlight was shouting. “You think that’s not good? It could have been worse. I could have enchanted her mind to make her love me; I could have forced her in any number of ways. But I never would have done that! We chose each other! Because we’re equal.”

Sunburst didn’t speak. He shook his head and pointed.

Starlight looked behind her. There was a smudge of lilac on the sheets. Her flank was streaked with gray, horrible wisps of turquoise rising beneath the powder.

“Not while you have that. And she doesn’t.”

Starlight bared her teeth—and bit down on his neck.

She shook him with the thoughtless ferocity of a dog, raking his weightless body along the floorboards. Stamping flat, panting quick, she ripped and tore, peeling back the wretched image of his sun, chewing down—until there was nothing left.

Wet dots darkened the floor.

—

“Be your best by never being your best…”

Alone in the cottage reserved for dissenters, Starlight’s own voice recited her doctrine in monotone. Rocking on her haunches, she beat her head against the ground.

She spent the night there, smiling into the dirt.

—

It was a grand day in Our Town. All of Starlight’s friends were here, equal in their love for one another. And she could want for nothing more.

She trotted down the thoroughfare with a jaunt in her step, teeth exposed in a wide grin. Double Diamond rose a shaky hoof to wave at her, eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. Party Favor was tying knots in a frayed length of rope, chin jerking to smile as she passed. Night Glider paced in a circle, wingtips grazing the sand. Feather Bangs chatted with a vacantly smiling mare. His eyes were sunken and he laughed when she did, his belly tightening.

“Starlight.”

When Sugar Belle approached, she was quivering. Her mane was still loose, tousled and unbound.

“Good morning, Sugar Belle!” Starlight exclaimed.

“Hi.”

Sugar Belle’s eyes were flicking, searching her face for a lingering glimpse of that wretched inner mare who’d let herself slip so carelessly into civil life. “About last night. I wanted to—”

“It’s all right, Sugar Belle! You're not in trouble. I forgive you for leading me on, but I expect better from you from now on.” The wind licked Starlight's gums. “You're a good friend.”

Sugar Belle flinched as though lashed.

And she fell at Starlight’s hooves.

“I love you, Starlight!” she gasped in the weeping tones of the desperate. “I love you more than a friend. I don’t care if that means I’m loving wrong. I want to be with you forever—because lovers don’t leave!”

But that was Starlight’s imagination, shaping itself fiendishly around Sugar Belle’s voice. Reality was far crueler.

“Okay, Starlight.” Sugar Belle grinned. It didn't reach her eyes. “I'd better head to the bakery.”

As she left, Starlight glimpsed in her a twin hunger. It was the voice of all the secrets she shared; the gentle reaching out of her hoof; the begging, disbelieving question: “Can I be selfish?”

They would starve together, equal in their desire. They would pass one another and do no more than smile. They would exchange pleasantries in the language spoken by Our Town. And this would go on for another year, their identical holding pattern of longing deferred.

Starlight should have anticipated, then and there, Sugar Belle’s betrayal.