It was nothing short of preposterous for Starlight to think he had ulterior motives behind his burst of enthusiasm over the book she gave him.

Purely speaking—all action, cool fight scenes, a daring adventure. That was it. Nothing else on his mind. The rating provided all the necessary grit in that regard. She was the one thinking poorly of herself.

However Spike couldn't fault her in earnest, glancing over as she scratched away at work that didn't need working on, the quill droning evenly with each stroke. Summer had just creaked its sweltering head, and the mare chose to stress on case studies than face the impending doom of… speaking with Twilight, he figured.

No matter. The bean bag sank slightly as he ran his fingers over the paperback’s texture. In bold red text and dusted pages—he dove into the opening.

The scene began on a moving train, two stowaways hiding behind haystacks at the farthest end of a cab.

Flip.

The point-of-view character ogled through broken wooden holes. Her eyes caught every slap of wind and dust. The optic is stubborn and refuses to yield. But that's just it; the sting of sliced onions carried a strange sort of comfort.

The secondary protagonist blew raspberries in rhythm with the thrumming cab beneath them. Hours had gone with the books. Thoroughly read, dried up like food supplies in the winter. She was hungry.

“Come on, Starshine Flicker, there's no need for any of that!” She coyed, prodding against lilac fur. One could even say that the kingdom was experiencing a famine.

“Right. Need I remind you, Princess Nightfall Radiance…”

“Nightfall is fine," she interjected, swatting at Starshine’s bangs.

She drew in a steady breath. "...That my duty as your royal guard will remain upheld for the well-being of Equestria.”

The Shadow King conquered the capital in an ambush. Starshine’s magical prowess allowed for a quick escape—a feat she slipped into quite naturally. As royal guard protocol demanded. While Nightfall was reluctant, she knew she had to leave home behind if they wanted a fighting chance.

Routine had managed to quell that strife, up until the train ride had exhausted what little study they'd manage to sneak in from abandoned libraries. So, much to the dismay of Starshine, meager banter permeated the rest of the trip.

Flip.

Both unicorns came to a staggering halt when the train's engine fizzled. Without a moment's notice, Starshine bucks the decrepit wall as it rammed open from the force.

"Stand behind me!" she barked, directing the command in haste, which was obliged leisurely. There was, in fact, a need for any of that.

The steam of slightly sweet train oil goes rancid pretty quickly, and as though on cue, embittered passengers emerged from the railway vehicle they had been lurking in.

But on closer inspection—clearly a shade darker, with the most telling sign: glowing green eyes. Danger signals. He knew their whereabouts.

Nightfall wordlessly roused herself to equal footing, assuming the battle stance with her royal guard. This is out of line, Starshine wanted to say. The urge, the instinctive duty to tell her off, vanished the second it met with her violet eyes.

Time granted them a grace period through their shared gaze, diluting her qualms to a nonplussed scoff.

There was a curt nod—an “I'm with you on this” look that was deeply, almost fondly, detested.

Flip.

A barrier was put up in full measure to keep the mind-controlled ponies at bay. A lush magenta, brightly colored in contrast to the danger outside.

“They're still innocent civilians,” Nightfall said, horn brimming with power. No incentive to harm them crossed her mind either; It was keeping the princess safe that muddled most of Starshine’s priorities.

One of the larger stallions hurled himself towards the dome, causing it to wobble slightly. Nightfall's dainty frame belied any pretense of helplessness, enough to spark an idea in Starshine that could save their hides.

But it wouldn’t hold for long once they started swarming the barrier in overwhelming numbers.

Burp.

Spike blinked a couple of times when he finally caught the stray letter. His breath hung tactlessly, dissolving the immersion into plain dark text. He makes a mental note to switch out his grainy Stallion's Only toothpaste.

Then he looks at Starlight, the brief reprieve from paperwork misshapes her wry demeanor. It seemed like she knew what it was about. Spike opened the letter and quietly read:

Dear Spike, my Royal Advisor and number one assistant,

I've perched myself on the balcony. I forgot how nice it is up here. Would you mind getting Starlight for me?

Yours truly, Twilight Sparkle.

He let out a low, resonant hum, and his expression soured.

"She's here," he said.

"Oh." Like clockwork.

"On the balcony," Spike added, pointing upward with a claw. He was absolutely annoyed at the prospect. All day, his efforts to lift Starlight's spirits had been undermined by the mere hint of Twilight’s arrival—only to be the bearer of bad news. As if she couldn't use the entrance like a normal pony.

“...Do you want me to come with?" The pity seeped in a little earlier than anticipated. It was hard with the face she was making.

"No, it's fine!" Starlight piped up. "I can walk myself there. Thank you, Spike.”

Without another word in tow, she ambled towards the impending doom. Of speaking with Twilight. And the bean bag sank further.

Ah, well, he thought. The novel was picking up speed—might as well let the show go on and all that jazz. He became so engrossed that the afternoon passed by, omitting the family dinner he had planned.

Flip.

From plain dark text—a flash away from the barrier—to slideshows, a beam of powerful magic, and finally, the colorful burst of action—the scene unfolding in his mind's eye.

The fight waged on, though walking on eggshells than onslaught, when Starshine narrowly dodged skewers for horns, ones that are essentially useless under mind control. Served The Shadow King right, as they carried themselves with the dignity of sacks of potatoes.

Nightfall lingered behind the deserted railway, the diversion successful for Starhsine to lead the horde isolated. It helped that they looked exactly alike. Not exactly. Almost.

She barreled through ponies sporadically—those who managed to gain on her, along with those who flew past the ground, flinging themselves at Starshine as she bucked them flightless. She made an effort to minimize the damage, which proved to be strenuous under all the pressure.

The plan worked as well as it did because she had asked to wear Nightfall's crown. “We have to play our cards right, princess. I'm sorry for asking this of you,” she had said.

“Don't be silly, it's a brilliant idea!" Nightfall haphazardly slapped the golden headpiece onto her like an ordinary yellow cap.

Flip.

Starshine loses steam, her hooves growing numb with each step, each momentum, that her vision nearly swims. In the distance, a yawning hole shone by Celestia’s sun slipped past her sidelong glance—a waypoint, a way out.

She steered herself toward the landform with great effort, ignoring everything else as the world blurred into darkness. Slaps of wind and dust, and optics that refused to yield. The pain is a needless comfort.

As she neared the steep edge, Starshine vaulted over the hole, while a waterfall of civilians slid deeper into the gloaming below, engulfed by shadows under sunlight.

She started plummeting. It was not enough to reach safer ground, but that didn’t matter. Midair, she teleported—snapped right to where she had just jumped from.

And collapsed.

Flip.

A warm crackle of fire stirred Starshine awake. The royal guard found herself lying on a makeshift mattress—though she was using the term generously. It was a bundle of haystacks, coddled together with care.

Beside her, the princess lay, reading through her supply for the umpteenth time.

“Nightfall?” she grumbled, sitting upright.

She turned her head lazily, beaming from a sphinx position opposite Starshine. “Oh, good, you're alive.”

Healing residue laced her horn, deeming it knackered from the spells she'd cast in quick succession. The headache, thankfully, was mild. A slight pinch at best.

So it all worked out in the end. Relief washed over her like a tidal wave.

The setting had shifted. No longer the flat, dusted plains and endless railroads of nowhere. Beneath a canopy’s decorum, under starless skies, she began to think.

Nightfall perked up after a quiet while, her face unrecognizable. She stared, whites glistening in moonlight.

“How are you?”

“I'm okay. Thank you, princess.”

“I should be thanking you. And don’t give me that ‘just doing my job’ line—I want my gratitude accounted for.” Nightfall smiled, leaning in. Oh, how she detested it.

Starshine nodded and thought harder—which, in itself, was difficult. What was so hard about thinking, all of a sudden? It's like she wasn’t. Thinking. And then, she leaned in too.

They were well on their way to half-lidded eyes when she jerked, dragging her rump backward—only to stop with a thud against a barked wall.

She wasn’t. Thinking.

"Sorry!"

Nightfall cocked her head, startled by the commotion. A pine cone dropped on her, and the slight pinch escalated into something akin to being battered by the mighty palm of a bugbear.

Uncomfortable silence descended between them before Nightfall spoke gently. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not. I just…" Starshine grinded her temples. The princess giggled, scooting to her side once more.

"It's okay," she said, cupping her cheek—rekindling the fire Starshine had snuffed out in a panic. Which she wanted to snuff out again, holding hoof in hoof before any advances could be made.

"I just can't. Not to you."

She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Starshine held it tight. She was soft. Familiar. And clearly not the mare she deserved to go gallivanting with.

"Come on… Don’t you see?" And tighter. "You’re a princess.”

Nightfall snorted, quite abruptly. “So?”

She seemed bewildered, a picture perfect expression of somepony who couldn't see the wrong in things, despite said wrong dangling over their horns.

Like how right now, this was all too idyllic, too precious for reality, when it's been falling apart by the seams of conquerors and mind controlled innocents.

The silence stretched on as Starshine had nothing to rebuttal, and Nightfall pulled her hoof away to her head, where the crown sat.

She threw it like a frisbee, landing unceremoniously against the prickly mattress.

"There, you can forget about our roles. It's just us now," Nightfall huffed.

“But…” It was careless.

She'd cast royalty aside for her, for her affections. And what if she let it? Throw herself to the embrace of such a dire outcome. Just this once.

“All right,” Starshine said plaintively. That got a smile out of Nightfall, returning brighter than ever. Brighter in violets, reflecting the heat.

The air was thick with flowers and firewood. Suffocating, with the way she couldn't tell. Perhaps it was one and the same. As their breathing slowed, Starshine stooped one final degree, closed her eyes, and—

“Spike!” Twilight's voice was muffled against white offsets and dust. Plain dark text as it were, lifting the book up groggily.

“Yeees?” Spike drawled and drooled all the same. He was now on the floor, apparently, his head resting on the bean bag that seemed to sink endlessly with each twist and turn and kick.

He saw his sister, furious—though maybe more upset than anything.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” Twilight blanched. “Why have both of you been sleeping on the floor?!” She'd enunciate the last bit as if hoping it would click with him.

Spike rubbed his eyes, hunching forward.

“What are you talking about?”

“I had to carry Starlight to bed.”

“Oh,” he blinked. “What, why?”

She's beyond exasperated, the poor Sparkle. “I don't even know! She stayed with me all night, which is ridiculous. Who does that? She was sprawled across the floor like a wet mop—a cold, wet mop. The balcony was freezing. I just... Ugh!”

Cladded hoof hammered against the crystal floor, echoing at the end of Twilight’s irate. Pretty telling. It didn’t go well.

Spike wanted to inquire further but decided against it, given the way she carried herself. He figured the recollection of events might spiral into more rambling nonsense. Starlight would have all the insight, he concluded.

“Lighten up Twilight, we still have a whole week's worth of hanging out to do.” He said, “I just know that Starlight will come around eventually.”

“Yeah, probably.” Twilight sighed.

She was downcast and defeated. Worse than she had looked through all the worse there was in the past four years. But by a smaller margin, of course.

Spike found it almost maddening. He'd seen enough frowny faces in his lifetime. This wasn’t at all the warm, fuzzy reunion he had imagined.

Then, a thought occurred—a premonition sparked by the very book that plopped on his claws by cyan magic.

“The kiss!” He squawked.

“What?”

Spike shook his head violently. “I mean, I have an idea.”

Twilight recoiled, dazed by the words she was hearing. Spike opened the book again, brushing her aside as he—

Flip.

Flip.

Flip.

Flip.

“Starlight's been unnerved for most of our stay so far, and I feel like it might have something to do with our jobs.”

“What are you suggesting?” The mare’s eyes gleamed with hope, her tired dissipating.

Spike flashes a toothy grin, fiddling with the golden medallion as royalty was cast aside—oh, so unceremoniously.

Author's Note

i thought it would be funny if i wrote about spike reading a book wherein the reader would be reading about spike reading a book.

happy hearts and hooves day, everypony!