Impossible Dreams

Dear Starlight Glimmer,

I hope this letter finds you well, and I know you may be expecting to hear more from me like usual, so please don’t panic that this letter is quite brief. I have good news! Although it has been a couple years since my move to Canterlot, I never forgot about our little research project. Suffice to say, I would be honored if you would make the time to join me in Canterlot Castle one week from now, just after sunrise. I promise it’ll be worth your while.

Your Dear Friend,
Twilight Sparkle

PS. I’m really looking forward to catching up face to face. When was the last time you and I got together for anything other than work?

PPS. Spike says hi!

Starlight clutched the letter to her chest, the world outside the window of the train flashing by in dark and hazy blur. She had to stop looking at the letter or else she would cry on it again, so she traded it for that view, pulsing black silhouettes against navy blue haze, the faintest trim of orange staining the furthest distances. It was an auspicious time. Twilight.

She found it hard to let herself believe what she imagined the letter could mean. It hadn’t been a research project to her, it had been a ritual. It had been quiet and meditative and intimate and warm and all the things she so desperately missed now. They had kept it up until the day Twilight moved to Canterlot, and then it was gone. She had never expected it to actually work, her foalhood dream of having wings forever unrealized, and that had been fine. Adults left behind silly dreams like that.

It’s not as if she didn’t see Twilight anymore, either. There was always business with the school, or diplomats, or parents of students from the other nations. And of course there were meetings with the Council of Friendship, which were always wonderful, but not exactly very personal. She was always self-conscious about taking up too much of her time at those. Nothing like how things used to be.

Her mind wandered back to the old days, she hadn’t even known to appreciate it at the time and suddenly it was all different, and now she actually was crying, and she could only be relieved that there was practically nopony on the extra early morning train to Canterlot. It’s not like things were bad now, they were great, she had great friends in Ponyville and a fulfilling if busy job. A week of ruminating and obsessing over the letter had just wound her up tight as a spring. Better to get it all out before she saw Twilight, at least.

The shriek of brakes lurched her from her thoughts. She sniffled and ran her hooves down her cheeks, then hastily stuffed the letter back into her saddlebags. There wasn’t much else in them. A book, in case she felt like reading, which she definitely hadn’t. A tin of cookies from Sugarcube Corner. A wing brush she probably wouldn’t mention she brought.

She rose from her seat, wobbling on sleepy hooves, and trotted off the train. The walk to the palace wasn't so long, and it was before sunrise still, and she certainly wasn't stewing on the acidic emotions blooming in her stomach. She decided to get her steps in.

It had become instinct to poke and prod at her emotions. With changeling students, you couldn't just let those feelings lie unexamined. She was surprised to find frustration at the center of it all. Life had been stable, routine. Work as Headmare was stressful, and consumed much of her time, but it was equally rewarding in return. Her friends in Ponyville were wonderful, the castle was hardly empty with Sunburst and Trixie around– even if she insisted on sleeping in her wagon on the front lawn still– and she had almost been ready to start considering… What?

Considering what, she interrogated herself, what was it that she had been holding out for on those dark and quiet evenings spent preening her princess to perfection? What had she daydreamed about with her former mentor, her ruler, her savior? Daydreamed, because Tartarus take her if even Luna saw.

It wouldn't be proper. Some things belonged only to flights of fancy.

Besides, the school was too important and Canterlot too far.

So thank you very much, Twilight Sparkle, for throwing her world into turmoil once more. For making her stomach churn into knots and her brain chase itself in endless loops of deprecation and denial. For burying a seed of hope at the center of it all. She really didn't want it.

Her eyes didn't lift from the cobbles underhoof. The path to the palace was ingrained in muscle memory– most creatures without magic didn't love to be teleported around by a school Headmare, even a politically important one.

She didn't acknowledge the guards, crossing through the palace gates. All of them were familiar with her, and she knew most of their names and faces, but she wasn't quite on the friendship ball that morning.

The shadows shifted, Twilight’s sun made its slow climb over the horizon, and Starlight tried not to pay that any mind either.

The palace hallways had a warm orange tint that flooded in through the large stained glass windows. It swirled with the gently fading blue of the castle’s nighttime lighting, all magical. The scene demanded a pause, just to take it in, a slow procession down the hall from one window to another. Starlight wasn't sure she had ever seen the palace at quite this hour.

Twilight probably saw it like this every morning.

The thought was traitorous, it nearly choked her. It took everything to restrain herself from galloping the rest of the way down the hall. Her heart nearly burst when she pushed into the next room– an antechamber, not even the throne room itself– and there Twilight was.

She’s tall. It was the first thing that hit her, numb, dumb.

Of course she was tall, she's an alicorn! This wasn't even a surprise, Starlight saw her at every meeting and delegation and ambassadorial dinner. It wasn't news that Twilight had grown fast since her ascension in Canterlot. Wondering about the how and the why was an occasional topic of conversation amongst the Council of Friendship.

She hadn't ever really looked though, had she? It was so easy to let those gradual changes slip through the cracks, let them pass unacknowledged until the day you suddenly can't help but see the difference. Starlight was serious about her work, as much as she would love to be distracted from her meetings by admiring from across the table, she was too professional for that.

Now though, the dam had burst, and she had to clench her jaw or else let it slip open, drinking in the sight of Princess Twilight Sparkle. She wasn't quite Celestia-sized, more comparable to Luna or Cadance. Her mane, though, had lengthened. Faintly, just at the edges, it took on that ethereal flow possessed by the former diarchs. Her stance was poised and powerful, carrying herself suitably for her station.

It took every ounce of self control to not look at Twilight's wings, folded neatly at her side. Certainly they would be properly preened, perfectly primped for the princess, and that would cut Starlight like a dagger. Or else, they'd be a mess, Twilight too caught up in her work to care for them properly– still– and would that feel worse?

She didn't look. Mercy from that keen cutting edge found by drowning in the differences that caught her eye. Who was this mare? Where was her former mentor, her old friend, the pony that had saved her?

Here, of course, surely, right in front of her. Twilight through and through, she had to be, right there, Starlight held the fraying thought like a prayer. The black bile in her stomach knew the truth though. Ponies could change. She knew it better than anyone.

All that was left between them was history now. History, and work.

All this flashed through her mind in an instant. Most of it never struggled out of the depths of subconscious and into the light, she felt it all as a knot in her stomach, a tightening of her chest, a catch in her breath.

Then, Twilight smiled. Not a Princess's smile, not a diplomat’s smile, but her own. A broad and goofy grin, too open, too genuine for Starlight to protect herself from the way it twisted her guts and watered that little seed of hope.

“Starlight!” She said, her joy pouring out of two simple syllables. The princess pranced towards Starlight, and relief ran like a current through her, along her spine and down each of her limbs. Immediately, her worries seemed so ridiculous, and she hoped her warming cheeks weren't sporting a blush to match.

Unfortunate hopes and flights of fancy aside, she was still Twilight Sparkle, she was still Starlight's friend. She was not changed beyond recognition by the rigors of running a kingdom. Not yet, thought that small, sick part of Starlight, but how long until she is?

To escape her thoughts, Starlight smiled and stepped forward, “Hey Twi!” She went to offer a small hug, which quickly turned into a very big one when Twilight yanked her up in her forelegs and wrapped her broad wings around them both. The alicorn spun them both around once, Starlight's legs dangling, before she suddenly seemed to remember herself.

Starlight's back hooves hit the ground first as Twilight set her gently back to the floor. She wobbled a moment, and the other two followed quickly after. Twilight giggled, and from the corner of her eye, Starlight could see Twilight's cheeks were as red as her own felt.

“Sorry! I got a bit carried away,” Twilight leaned her head down and brushed their burning cheeks together, an apologetic little nuzzle, completely unbecoming of a princess and a school headmare, but a perfectly welcome relief between friends, “It's easy to forget how much I've grown. Celestia had some theories, something about morphic resonance and perception of power in the collective unconscious, but I'm not convinced that's anything but– oh, I'm rambling!”

Starlight was just grinning. That, more than anything, was the Twilight she knew. Two breaths in and she was already lecturing. “That's okay, I'm really interested actually, but maybe we can walk and talk?” She gave a pointed look around the empty, echoing antechamber.

Twilight followed Starlight's gaze, “Right. I think I can manage that.” She turned and playfully flicked her tail at Starlight's nose, sending a frisson shiver up her spine, “Come on, I don't think you've ever seen much of the royal chambers.”

Starlight had to tear her eyes away from Twilight's flanks, but it wasn't much effort to catch up alongside her. The princess moved at a languid pace, accommodating for the much smaller ponies she was typically accompanied by. Twilight was right though, besides a couple visits back when she was still nominally Twilight's student, Starlight had never really seen the spaces where Twilight now lived her life– however much of that she could sneak in between meetings and holding court. Starlight's recent visits to the castle had mostly kept her in the throne room, or in vast dining halls and tense diplomatic chambers.

“Did you get around to redecorating them?” Starlight asked, “I remember you mentioned that, er, somewhat recently.”

She couldn't help but think the smile she got from Twilight there was a guilty one. “That was maybe a year and a half ago, you know.” It was Starlight's turn to look guilty, but Twilight laughed and bumped her shoulder gently, “We only got around to it about six moons ago. We could have delegated, but Spike and I really wanted to make it our own.”

“Hey, that's great! I'm glad you found the time. Can't imagine you're any less busy running a kingdom than I am running a school.”

Twilight looked curious, “What about your castle? Still living out of that dinky guest room you picked the day you moved to Ponyville?”

She had to force a smile past the sting. Her castle now. “Please, it's hardly my castle, and only really a castle in looks. These days, it's more like a hotel for adjunct professors and guest lecturers.” She artfully dodged Twilight's second question. They both knew the answer anyway.

“Might be the fanciest hotel in Equestria.”

Starlight rolled her eyes dramatically, “Room service is awful though.”

They both broke into fits of giggles. Far ahead, a pair of guards stood at attention next to an arch that led to the furthermost wing of the castle, the royal chambers. Logically, she knew they contained a full complement of living spaces for not just one princess, but at least two. Rationally, she knew they must contain a dining area, a kitchen, perhaps a lounge and a library. A bedroom. Emotionally, she was feeling a little odd about that one. Twilight had cleaned most of her belongings out of her room in the Ponyville castle. Starlight hadn't moved even a single thing that was left behind.

And suddenly she was back in her feelings of regret and missed opportunities. She knew exactly what she wanted, what she couldn't have, what she wouldn't allow her brain to put into words and face the reality that this rekindling of their friendship could never end with anything other than all the grit and muck at the bottom of her heart being kicked up and clouding everything all over again.

Their conversation drowned in it and Starlight barely noticed the silence that followed them all the way to the door. It was plain, painted white to match the walls, and it whisked open in a swirl of magic.

“My personal library. It's no Royal Archive, but I think you'll be impressed by the collection anyways. Being a princess has some perks, at least.” Twilight motioned her in first.

Entering the library was like hitting a brick wall. She had been so caught up in ridiculous, immature pining that it had completely slipped her mind why Twilight had invited her here in the first place. Faced with mountains of scrolls bearing complex spellwork, tomes with bookmarks spilling out, it was harder to tell herself it hadn't really been that important to her, that it was just a foal’s idle fantasy. She couldn't deny that even still, every time she flew her kites, she imagined herself alongside them.

Her daydreams were really out to get her today.

Hooves clopped a few steps behind her, the door clicked shut, a couple seats were cleared of clutter by magic, and Twilight said, “Sorry for the mess, I'm usually the only one in here. Spike technically has his own, which, I didn't even know so many comic books existed.”

“You didn't have to do all this for me,” She said it quietly, any louder and she worried her voice might crack.

Twilight walked past her and took a seat, smiling, “I wanted to, for my friend. Not that I'm perfectly selfless either, it’s the most interesting spellwork I've ever researched.”

“And,” she hesitated, resenting the way she dared to hope, “You think you've done it? You've found a breakthrough?” Even leaving her fantasies aside, such a feat would represent an unheard of advancement in magical study. When they first began their efforts, the only information they could find flatly stated the impossibility of their goal.

“I think so, but I haven't tested it,” Her warm smile changed to something a bit more hesitant, “I can't exactly try it on myself, and anypony here would do it just because I asked, which doesn't seem fair.”

I'm not any different, Starlight thought, I'd do it just because you asked.

“I figured if anypony was up for a little bit of science– and a little bit of a risk– it would be you.” Her expression had advanced to pure nerves now.

“How much risk?”

“Well, a completely untested spell that can only be tested on a unicorn, to turn a unicorn into a pegasus, and of course the spell to turn that pegasus back into a unicorn. You know magic, you can do the math.” There was a quiver on her lips now.

A little bit of risk was well beyond a mild way to put it. This was mad scientist stuff, the sort of spellwork that Celestia’s school had ethics and safety courses for. It was an easy fact to ignore when it hadn't seemed like it would ever be possible to try.

“This is crazy, Twi, like something I would've tried back in the–” She almost said good old days, she didn't– “When I was still your student. I can't even count the ways this could go wrong.”

“Oh don't worry,” A long list, gently pushed by magic, unrolled itself to the floor, bouncing a good distance across the room, “I already did.” Starlight could spot entries like ‘irreversible change?’ and ‘fundamental alteration of cutie mark application’ in bold. Luckily, other entries, such as ‘death’ and ‘horrific disfigurement’ were very firmly struck through.

“There's no other pony I'd feel comfortable even asking, but I don't want to pressure you. I've spent moons making sure it's as safe as I can get it. That doesn't mean it's safe though.”

Starlight felt trapped, choked. Of course Twilight didn't want to pressure her, but how could it be anything but? The lengths she would have had to go to to get this far went beyond casual study, crammed between all of her other royal duties. Had the mare even found time to sleep?

“Why?” The word left her lips almost unconsciously, but she knew she had to follow through, “Why all this? I didn't ask you to go this far for me.” She didn't feel as angry as that sounded. Or maybe she was angrier than she thought she felt. Her head was too busy spinning.

“I told you, you're my–”

“Friend, sure, but friends write each other letters and invite each other to tea or lunch from time to time. They don't usually spend years trying to break the laws of magic for each other! This is crazy, and not regular Twilight crazy, this is brand new princess crazy!”

Only silence followed, for too long. Twilight's mouth was a frown now. She blinked, and suddenly her eyes were glossy and wet. “I missed you, I guess,” Twilight finally said. She paused to swallow, her throat bobbing, “I miss all my friends but I– That first week in Canterlot, they made me choose my staff, I kept almost everypony Celestia had, but they wanted me to pick my own attendant. That's a personal sort of role, you can imagine.”

Twilight sighed and stretched one wing out wide. Starlight didn't have a chance to not look, to not connect the dots between the scattering of misaligned feathers. “I thought you'd notice, but maybe more has changed than I thought. She's a lovely little mare, I adore her and I'd be a mess without her, but something about the way she does it just doesn't sit right. I asked her not to bother this morning,” Another excruciating pause for Twilight to swallow, “Just in case.”

Emotion crawled up her throat, tasting like jealousy and regret, and found its way free as a quiet croaking, “Oh.” Her bag flap flipped open. She lifted the brush out and wordlessly set it on the table between them. It would have been a lovely bit of sentiment if it was the same brush as all those years ago, but that one had been misplaced. Lost. This one was brand new.

Maybe that was a different sort of sentiment. The hope in her was desperate to sprout.

They both stared at it, as if it might explode. Twilight cleared her throat, “Maybe I could walk you through the details of the spell. Even if we don't cast it, you'll find it interesting.”

Starlight's eyes stayed trained on the brush. She wouldn't be able to keep it together if she saw Twilight's face right now. “You're sure? I mean, you're so busy, and–”

“And I cleared my whole schedule for today. Do you know how hard it is to get a day off?” Starlight risked a glance, there was a small ring of dark wet fur beneath her eyes, but the princess was smirking, “I wouldn't want it to go to waste.”

“Right,” Starlight closed her eyes and breathed a shaky sigh, “It'll be just like old times. Let's talk about mad science.”

They transitioned from library to lounge, Twilight hauling with her only a couple piles of materials from the broader disaster area that covered the room. The lounge was well-appointed in purples and pinks, large cushions adorned with the six-pointed star, cutie mark turned heraldry for her reign.

Windows like towers from floor to ceiling let the morning light pour in, the view overlooking not the city of Canterlot, but the vast expanse of plains and forests that formed Central Equestria, pocked with villages and towns where an untold number of creatures– not just ponies anymore– lived simple, easy lives in joy and friendship.

Starlight stared in wonder at the world that stretched on to infinity and wished her life could be simpler and easier. Wished she could step out across the threshold, into the sky, and forget how much her heart hurt.

Instead, she turned to face Twilight, who had kept one eye on her while sorting through her stacks. The alicorn had dragged a cushion away from the fireplace and into the wash of sunlight from the windows. Her wings were spread loose and limp across the floor.

The moment Starlight stepped away from the window, one wing lifted invitingly, revealing another cushion. She took her place on it, and the wing settled itself back across her forelegs. Her breath caught. Twilight looked her way with a raised brow.

Starlight had no excuse, so she didn't try to make one. Twilight didn't press. She couldn't decide if the feathers felt softer, or if it had just been that long. Maybe both, she couldn't fathom what sort of product you would buy for a princess, but it had to be fancy.

Her horn lit, sliding the brush off a nearby table and floating it through the air. After a moment, she recalled the other contents of her saddlebags, and soon the tin of cookies joined the brush in the air. The brush went to her hoof, the cookies settling in front of Twilight.

“I didn't tell her what to make, just that it was for you. It'll be a surprise to both of us.” She clamped the brush between two hooves as she clamped down on her nerves. How many times had they done this in the past? She had been happy to let it be what it was, whatever it was, and let unreachable dreams play out in the theater of her mind.

Now one dream was right there by her hooves, where it had always seemed impossible. The only thing left standing in the way was the leap of faith, the possibility of utter ruin in the attempt, the chance to leap and plummet, or catch the current and fly. She couldn't tell where the wind was blowing.

Twilight had wanted this. Starlight held the thought close, tenderly watering the seed inside her. More than just wanted, she had anticipated it, prepared for it, she was disappointed when Starlight hadn't taken notice. It could mean nothing. It could mean everything.

Twilight let out a squeal of delight, floating cookies from the tin. Sugar cookies, each lovingly rendered to resemble Twilight and her friends. Not just the Council of Friendship, but so many more, they just kept coming as Twilight bore them aloft in her aura. She spotted Zecora, the Cakes, Big Mac and Sugar Belle, more and more, each detailed with precision, colors a perfect match.

“I almost feel guilty wanting to eat these, they're wonderful,” Her eyes darted to the side, fixing Starlight in her gaze. The unicorn’s cookie counterpart floated to the fore, and she could barely think straight when Twilight opened her mouth and bit the horn clean off with a cheeky wag of her brow, “Almost. They're delicious, too.”

Starlight had to tear herself away, cheeks burning. Her eyes found Twilight's wing in front of her, and was surprised to see it halfway preened already. Her hoof had been brushing idly along while she mulled over her thoughts.

“You're teasing,” She said, indignant.

“I am. Is it helping?”

“Helping what?” Her eyes stayed fixed on the wing, brush gently working through each misaligned feather in turn.

“Maybe I'm overthinking it. You just seem tense, you can barely look at me, you keep going all quiet and serious,” Twilight paused, Starlight felt the way she shook her head, “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pressured you into this, you're not comfortable, I shouldn't have assumed.”

Her wing began to slide away, slithering back to her side. Starlight had to pounce on it, pinning it to the floor hard enough to make Twilight wince as Starlight yelped out, “No!” She scrambled back instantly after.

Twilight was staring, frowning, “Then talk to me, Starlight, I don't know what I'm doing wrong. This was supposed to be relaxing and we're both anything but!”

A bitter tonic of shame and guilt spilled into her gut. She couldn't cope with the truth, so she mustered her most honest lie, “I'm nervous. Terrified. About this spell. It's crazy, and I feel crazy for thinking I might just say yes!”

“I'm sorry if I got your hopes up,” Twilight reached a hoof towards her, Starlight couldn't stop herself from shrinking away from it. Twilight let her hoof drop. “Let me show you the spell at least. I don't want you to rush into this.”

“Okay, walk me through it,” She nodded, trying to force her muscles into relaxation. She started brushing again, and that helped.

“Right. Obviously you know that what we generally call magic is really just unicorn magic, earth ponies and pegasi both channel their own unique forms of magic, as do many other creatures besides. The trouble really hasn't ever been giving you wings, that's a hefty transmutation spell, but straightforward. The problem is just having wings doesn't mean you can fly.”

Starlight nodded again, “Birds have hollow bones, but pegasus bones are stronger than average, if anything.”

“Exactly. Unicorn magic goes through the horn, but for pegasi, it's mostly their wings. Giving you wings isn't enough, we also need to change the way magic flows through your body.”

“Which is impossible.”

Twilight nodded gravely, “A lot of very knowledgeable unicorns agreed. Celestia wasn't so sure. I spent about a year mapping out the flow of magic in everypony that would let me, my guards, my attendant, even the Wonderbolts during their performances.” She spread three papers from the top of the stack across her wing.

Vitruvian ponies, one of each tribe, popular renderings from antiquity, now scribbled over with lines that traced through each limb and throughout the whole body. Clusters formed at the pegasus’s wings, the unicorn’s horn, the earth pony’s hooves.

“The first ever map of pony magic.” Twilight's chest puffed with pride.

She looked between the unicorn and the pegasus. The lines weren't even close. Another paper slid into view, immediately recognizable as a spell. Most of its component elements were unrecognizable, though Twilight's knowledge of theory had always dwarfed hers, Starlight had to guess that this was bespoke. You wouldn't find it in any book.

“This is how you'll rewire me?”

“Only once you're certain. Once you know the risks.”

“Your list.”

Twilight nodded, “My list. My biggest concern is, well, the unknowns. Your cutie mark, your talent, is magic. Unicorn magic. What happens if you don't have your magic? If we fundamentally change you as a pony? Could we invalidate your cutie mark?”

Like the ponies at Our Town. No cutie mark, no passion for life, no joy. She winced, and this time Twilight reached the whole way and patted her hoof.

“Cutie marks are resilient, I've seen all sorts of strange things. It could simply adapt. I have no clue.”

Starlight didn't move her hoof, “And your other worry?”

“I mess up, in one direction or the other, and you lose your magic permanently.”

She shuddered at the thought. No more magic. It was what she lived for. Could she risk losing that forever? This was crazy, absurd, never in a thousand years would it be a good idea, so much could go wrong for so little to go right, she could say no, she could spend a normal day with Twilight Sparkle and go home and resume her normal life at the school and finally put herself out there and fill the hole that was left, the hole in her that kept widening with every second she let Twilight stare at her with endless pity and–

“Let's do it.”

Twilight blinked, “Are you sure?”

“Magic is everything to me, Twilight. You've come to me with one of the biggest magical findings of our time, maybe ever, and you say I'm the only pony who can help you test it. There are unicorns in this city that would kill to be in this room right now, seriously end actual lives!” Starlight laughed, it probably sounded manic, she probably was, “This is mad science and I can't help myself. I have to see what happens!”

“Have you been listening to me? If it goes wrong–”

“I'll still be me. You don't need to cast spells to have a passion for magic, look at Sunburst.” She stood to pace, kicking the brush off. It rasped across the tile as it slid. “If I walk away from this, I will never ever stop wondering. You wouldn't either, or we wouldn't even be entertaining this!”

Twilight chewed on her lip, brow furrowed deep with serious consideration. “Fine,” She said, “But we're not doing it alone. I want another pony in the room, in case…” She didn't say whatever the in case was, but Starlight knew. In case somepony had to run for help, it wouldn't be either of them.