It was at the exact moment that the door swung shut after the departing customers that the stomping began in the little apartment up above the storefront.
Gingerbread rolled her eyes heavenward, completely unimpressed with the display of theatrics. It was something she’d witnessed a thousand times over the years, something that had only bothered her in the very beginning.
The first time she’d seen one of Gusty’s tantrums, she’d been appalled that anypony could act in such a way. The unicorn had gone clomping through the room as if she intended to bring down the floorboards, stomping her hooves, tail swishing angrily, her steely blue eyes narrowed to little slits. At the time, she’d been whining about something so trivial that Gingerbread couldn’t even remember what it was, though it had apparently been awfully important to Gusty herself. The earth pony had stepped away from her seething friend, eyes wide, heart pounding. She’d never seen anypony as angry as Gusty was at that moment.
It was the first of many such outbursts.
Gusty, Gingerbread had long since learned, had a hair-trigger temper. It didn’t take much to rile her or send her into a snit; she was an impatient, spoiled, stubborn mare with a deep-seated sense of entitlement. The littlest things rubbed her the wrong way and nopony could ever be certain what might set her off.
As a result, she wasn’t very popular around town.
The angry hoofsteps from above continued and Gingerbread shook her head, turning back to her work. At the moment, she wasn’t feeling much like Gusty’s biggest fan either.
-
In the cozy apartment upstairs, a certain unicorn was pacing, purposely stomping her hooves as hard as she could, hard enough to rattle the picture frames on a nearby end table. Her short mane bounced around her face, tail lashing as she moved, each step tense and tightly controlled.
She was annoyed. She was beyond annoyed. And it wasn’t even about the cookie any more. How dare Gingerbread embarrass her like that in front of other ponies, implying she couldn’t pay for things? It had been humiliating, the other mare talking to her in such a way. It was one thing when they were alone; when it was teasing and banter. But for Gingerbread to speak to her like that in front of others!
She was mortified.
Disgraced. Embarrassed. Shamed. Demeaned. Horribly, terribly, entirely…
She paused, one hoof still lifted in the air, poised to slam down on a particularly squeaky floorboard.
She was…
…Acting like a spoiled brat.
Again.
Gusty let her hoof fall quietly back to the floor, her shoulders drooping.
-
Gingerbread stepped out from behind her sales counter at the same time every evening. At precisely six o’clock, she turned the hoofmade “open” sign on the door and shut off the lights before ascending to her home above.
The last hour was usually occupied by tidying up, prepping some of the next day’s ingredients and mixing batches of her famous gingerbread batter to chill before she would roll and cut the cookies in the morning. Customers rarely entered during that twilight hour, leaving her able to take her time with the chores – Something she found remarkably perfect, given her love of an orderly, organized kitchen. She was a little bit finicky about her workspace; everything had to be just so.
Turning back from the now-locked door, she trotted back to the display case, looking over the remaining goods. Though she didn’t do as brisk a business as Sugarcube Corner did, the day’s sales had been good; only a few muffins, one loaf of zucchini bread, and a handful of cookies remained – She would sell those for half price the next day. There were always one or two ponies who came in sniffing around for a deal, looking to save a bit here or there and they would eagerly snap up the day-olds.
The door was secure, the lights shut off. Gingerbread rounded the counter again, wandering through the kitchen towards the back staircase.
-
Gusty was curled on the well-worn sofa, back to the room. Her two-toned tail hung limply, spilling over the side of the cushions in a teal and maroon waterfall. She didn’t look up when the other mare entered the room, nor did she speak.
Gingerbread passed her silently, uncertain as to whether or not the unicorn was even awake.
She made her way to the kitchen -thinking for a moment how she often abandoned one kitchen in favor of occupying another- and started making dinner.
Though both her cutie mark and special talent branded her a baker, she was a decent cook as well. And she honestly didn’t mind being the one to worry about all of their meals; Gusty was a disaster in the kitchen. Her few attempts at preparing food had been inedible and Gingerbread often found herself wondering how the unicorn had managed not to starve before they started living together.
She suspected that a lot of applebutter sandwiches had been involved.
Gingerbread was a simplistic cook; she never made anything elaborate. She didn’t have the skillset required for fancy cuisine, nor did she think her companion would even appreciate it, were she to put the effort into making something beyond the usual fare. Gusty, for all her faults and strange ideas about a unicorn’s place in the world, was surprisingly unrefined and rough around the edges.
Dinner was vegetable barley soup, made completely from produce purchased in the Ponyville marketplace. The baker prided herself on using only local ingredients, both in her shop and her home, and never ordered from a mass market supplier in a bigger city. Her parents –bakers themselves- had always taught her that the best ingredients were the ones grown with love.
She spent the next half-hour peeling and chopping, prepping all of the vegetables with the same methodical care she employed in her bakery. Everything was diced to precisely the same size to regulate the cooking time –it was no good if the potatoes went to mush while the carrots were still raw in the middle- and placed carefully in the pot full of broth. Gingerbread was an efficient worker, quickly slicing her way through the pile of vegetables and setting the pot of soup to simmer.
As the scent of spices and onions filled the air, she washed the prep dishes, humming mindlessly to herself. Compared to clean up in the bakery, a chopping board and a knife were nothing.
And now…with dinner started and Gusty napping, it was time for some peace and quiet.
Except…
When she turned away from the sink, there was Gusty, standing quietly in the doorway.
-
Gusty had never actually been asleep.
When Gingerbread had come upstairs, the unicorn had been entirely too embarrassed by her behavior to face the other mare and had thusly feigned sleep, forcing her breathing to a slow, shallow pace, squeezing her eyes shut, and praying that the other pony would just leave her alone for the time being.
And when Gingerbread did indeed glide right past her like a silent specter, she found herself simultaneously relieved and disappointed.
In her heart of hearts –in the deepest recesses of her soul- she had wished that the other mare would have sat beside her, brushed back her mane and just…been there. Gingerbread had a way of doing that; of just putting her soothing presence in place and working some bewitching magic without really even doing anything. It was probably because she was so calm and easy-going, the exact opposite of Gusty herself. That was what the unicorn suspected, in any case, and it was a sound enough theory for her not to question why or how it happened.
Willing away the disappointment, Gusty slid from the couch, pushing her messy bangs from her face. Once standing, she closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to center herself and chase off the last vestiges of her earlier annoyance.
It was when she opened her eyes again that she noticed the state of the livingroom; in her irritation, she had made a bit of a mess, completely disrupting the casual sense of order in which the room usually existed. Throw pillows were scattered about the room. A picture was overturned, face down on the floor. The area rug was bunched, tucked under itself. Everything looked a little windswept; pictures on the wall were crooked, the lampshade cockeyed.
Gusty knew better than to attempt using her horn to aid in the cleanup effort -- it would have only resulted in more mess. Her magic was useless in most situations; where the typical unicorn could envelop an item in their own particular magical aura and manipulate it, Gusty’s magic only blew things about. She had little to no control over her magical aura and almost anything wrapped in her silvery-blue shine went sailing through the air as if of its own accord.
Her ability was not seated in raw magic, like most others of her kind. It bore more resemblance to earth pony magic, though it flowed forth from her horn, rather than being channeled through her to the world around her. There was little she could do with her magic that was deemed acceptable by traditional unicorn standards; she was better suited for a job doing menial labor and working hoof-in-hoof with the weather service, a fact which drove her crazy.
And it didn’t help that, once upon a time in Canterlot, when her struggle to master her own magic had only begun, the other unicorns in magic school had teased her, laughing at her strange ability to manipulate the wind. There was nothing magical about her power, they said. There was nothing useful for her to do with her special talent, for what was a unicorn without proper magic? She had never learned to manipulate objects with her aura, or to perform spells, or to even do much beyond her failed attempts at the basics.
She could wink in and out with the best of them, but that was something every unicorn could do. And her inability to control her magic usually only caused problems for unsuspecting pegasi or made messes like the one she was currently dealing with in the livingroom.
By the time everything was back in place, the smell of food was wafting from the kitchen and her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since much, much earlier in the day.
-
When their eyes met from across the kitchen, Gingerbread offered a tentative smile, taking a few steps forwards to close the distance between them. Once the unusually forlorn unicorn was within reach, Gingerbread pressed close, nuzzling against her neck, offering the kind of quiet comfort she gave best. Gusty sighed, her entire body shuddering with the release of breath, as if she would shrivel away, her very life force escaping on the exhale. She leaned against the earth pony, shutting her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Her voice was a very un-Gusty-like whisper, thick and choked. She turned, pressing her face into Gingerbread’s multi-hued mane, hot tears leaking from her eyes. “I don’t know why you haven’t told me to get lost yet,” she mumbled, “but I am so glad you haven’t.”
Gingerbread didn’t say anything. What could she possibly say that would make it all better? Neither of them had a particular way with words; for Gusty, action said everything. And for Gingerbread…the whispers of her heart meant much more than mere spoken words ever could.
Rather than trying to put the sudden ache of her heart into words, she simply nudged the other mare towards the bedroom they shared.
Dinner could wait.
-
Gingerbread flopped back on the featherbed, pushing her matted bangs out of her face and peering up at the ceiling through unfocused eyes. She was trying desperately to calm herself; to slow the frantic pounding of her heart, to come back to herself and the world of rational thought, not that darkly wanton place of heat and passion that she had been sucked into by Gusty’s desperate need for assurance.
Beside her, Gusty had been reduced to a curled, shivering ball, her breathing ragged, her muzzle wet with her own tears. She unfurled, crawling shakily forward, and pillowed her head against Gingerbread’s chest, listening for the comforting beat of the other mare’s heart.
There was some cruel voice whispering in the back of her mind, telling her how this was right; that only an earth pony could love a failed unicorn like her. After all, hadn’t the old joke at school been ‘what do you call an earth pony with a horn? Gusty!’? No self-respecting unicorn –no unicorn from the world she had grown up in- would ever want a magical burnout as their special somepony.
“Gusty?”
But with Gingerbread running a hoof through her mane and down her back; with Gingerbread pressing a kiss to her forehead, right beside her useless horn…Gingerbread, who gave everything she had to everypony, but especially to Gusty, without expecting a single thing in return. Who put up with her terrible attitude, her tantrums, her snide remarks, and her slightly prejudicial tendencies towards pegasi and earth ponies.
Gingerbread, who loved her despite all the horrible things about her.
She felt her throat closing, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. And then she was crying again, sobbing into Gingerbread’s chest with abandon, clinging to the other mare as if she would disappear. Why? Why did Gingerbread love her? Why was she allowed to stay in this warm, wonderful place that she didn’t deserve?
“Gusty, it’s okay.” Gingerbread’s voice was soft, sad. She hated seeing Gusty so upset; the unicorn was usually a firecracker, all energy and emotion wrapped in a white coat. And though she was rough around the edges, the baker knew that all diamonds started out as coal; all gems started life housed in ugly rock. And Gusty was indeed a diamond buried beneath layers of grime – There were so many beautiful things inside of her, even when she was being ugly.
“It’s not okay.” Gusty whimpered, pawing behind her for a blanket, pulling it up and over her head so that she was completely hidden, words muffled. “It’s never gonna be okay and I don’t get why you love me at all.”
Gingerbread hugged her, blanket and all, smiling faintly, “And I can’t really tell you why I love you.” It was the same old song and dance; they’d had this conversation innumerable times before. Gusty was so insecure and all of her bluster was just a cover, a defensive wall she’d built to keep from being hurt. “I just know that you are the only pony to ever give me butterflies and fill up my heart. Because you need to be loved and I’m the one to love you. I know how to do it right.”
“You’re wasting your time.” Gusty rolled away, still wrapped in the blanket. She hated these moments more than her time at magic school, more than her failed attempts to harness her power and unlock the magic she knew flowed through her. She hated it, because Gingerbread deserved so much better than she could give. But mostly, she just hated herself. “Nothing changes. I haven’t changed at all.”
The other mare pushed herself up, her long mane cascading over her shoulder in a silky swirl of blues and pink. The ribbon that usually held her mane back was lost somewhere amongst the bedding, untied and cast aside by Gusty. “I don’t want you to change.” She lowered her head, mane curtaining and hiding her face.
When Gusty peeked out of the blanket, gazing up at Gingerbread through red-rimmed eyes, the other mare looked back at her, eyes lit with an unusual bleak desperation. “How could I love you, if you were to change?”
-
Gusty ate her dinner quietly, staring down at her bowl.
Other unicorns could manipulate a spoon with their magical aura. She didn’t have that ability and instead drank from the bowl like anypony else, lifting it carefully between her front hooves and taking a careful sip.
She had hated eating in front of other ponies while living in Canterlot; by her age, the typical unicorn had been dining in a more ‘civilized’ manner for years. The upper crust found her to be crass at the best of times; she was loud and opinionated, stubborn and impatient. Already those traits put her at a disadvantage, but she had been born into a good family and was given the benefit of the doubt – Until the snobby unicorns had seen her eating like a common earth pony and realized her magic was still sealed somewhere within her, never to come out.
It didn’t seem to matter anymore, and not just because of Gingerbread being mercilessly unconcerned with her lack of proper magic. There in Ponyville, all three types of pony intermingled, sharing and learning from one another in a blend of racial harmony. Nopony made fun of Gusty for her inability to wield her magic; most of them didn’t even notice it. She was just like anypony else, free to be herself and go about her business.
It was a thought that somehow offered very little comfort.
-
They cleaned up together, Gingerbread washing while Gusty toweled everything dry.
“Gingerbread?”
The aforementioned mare glanced up from scouring the sink, her brightly blue gaze questioning. The unicorn was toweling the last bowl, swiping it halfheartedly – She hated that kind of chore, but still helped anyway, because she knew it would make Gingerbread happy.
Gingerbread couldn’t stop the tender swell of emotions that washed over her at her companion’s uncertain tone. Seeing Gusty vulnerable always made her fiercely protective; she knew the other mare couldn’t help the way she was. She had known from the day they met that the unicorn was temperamental and brash and it was those imperfections that had caught her interest in the first place. “Yes?”
“I don’t say it enough…” Gusty looked away, a pale blush staining her white muzzle pink, that fluttery feeling that Gingerbread sometimes talked about rising up in the pit of her stomach. She was emotional, yes, but not overly sentimental, and had a difficult time talking about her feelings. “But…I love you.”
The earth pony’s expression softened, a smile spreading across her face. She knew other ponies wondered how she put up with Gusty, especially if they found themselves on the receiving end of her incredible temper. But what they saw was only the surface, the angry, sarcastic wall that Gusty had put in place to shield herself from the cruelties of the world.
They didn’t know that beneath all of that bluster was a pony who struggled every day; a pony who could not live freely until the well of magic was unlocked from within her. They saw her as a spoiled brat with little respect for anypony else. Gingerbread saw that, too, but beyond all that, she knew…
Gusty was a wild soul, always windswept and cool, her own enchantment left unrecognized by most. She could feel the change in seasons coming; knew what weather the currents would bring. But her talent was outdated; in a world of manufactured weather, Gusty struggled to find a place where her magical connection to the wind would be worthwhile and she could put her talents to use in the same way as other ponies.
Gingerbread never wished her companion could do more, no matter how much easier it would make their life. The true magic in Gusty was her connection to the world around them, though most other ponies wouldn’t be able to appreciate that. Unicorns relied so heavily on their magic to help them with the most mundane, basic tasks. Gusty had adapted as best she could, learning to do those things without the aid of magic, a remarkable feat, considering she had grown surrounded by others who looked down on her for having to get her hooves dirty.
The baker leaned in, taking the towel from Gusty and drying her hooves on it. “I know.” She nuzzled against the unicorn, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “You don’t have to say it for me to know.”
The night was clear, crisp. The stars twinkled brightly overhead, hung in a rich, velvety sky, Luna’s crested moon visible above the treetops. The lingering scent of autumn clung to the air, the scent of ripe apples and decaying leaves. And overlaying that was the approaching winter, that peculiar smell that tickled the senses and left a pony with the feeling that snow was coming – and coming soon.
Brightly colored leaves crunched beneath Gusty’s hooves as she stepped slowly along behind Gingerbread through the night. She could easily have kept up with her companion; could have even surpassed her. But she had found herself, that night, lagging behind, lingering amongst the leaves that littered the path.
She had always loved this time of year, and autumns in Ponyville were so much more vibrant than what she’d experienced in Canterlot. The colors, a swirl of rich golds and bronzes and coppers, had dazzled her; here in Ponyville the trees were so lush with color it looked as if they’d burst into flame. That first autumn, she had found herself running through the forest with reckless abandon, prancing among the trees like a foal, watching as the leaves drifted in a slow dance to the ground.
And still, after living here for some time, that same sense of wonderment filled her heart, and Gusty found herself thundering past Gingerbread, on a mad dash towards…Towards what? She didn’t know, just that she had to run; had to feel the wind whistle through her mane and tail.
She ran hard, hooves pounding the ground and reducing the leaves in her path to mere dust.
And when she stopped, her heart was pounding, her lungs burning with each breath she took. The cool of the night settled on her sweat-soaked coat, chilling her to the very bone, and yet she felt warm; alive.
When Gingerbread caught up with her, Gusty was standing in a clearing, head tilted towards the night sky, eyes shut. Her horn was lit, glowing brightly in the night. Its silvery-blue cast made her coat shine; made everything in the nearby wood appear hauntingly beautiful. A gentle, magical breeze broke the stillness of the night, ruffling her mane and sending the fallen leaves swirling through the air. There, in the night, she looked ethereal, as if she had fallen from another world into this one, this place that was harsh and unforgiving, yet still full of beauty.
As if sensing the other mare’s approach, Gusty tilted her head, pale blue eyes snapping open, gaze resting squarely on Gingerbread’s face. For a moment, they just stared at one another, Gingerbread committing to memory the way Gusty looked in that moment, windblown and free, the way she was always meant to look. Then the unicorn tipped her head back up, letting her eyes slide shut once more. Her ears perked, one of them swiveling towards something only she could hear.
Gingerbread stepped closer, pressing her flank against Gusty’s and trying and failing to imagine what the other pony was feeling or seeing or listening to. “What do you hear?” She asked quietly, her own voice sounding too loud to her own ears, as if it would shatter the still serenity of the night and bring an end to this bewitching magic that surrounded them.
“Winter.” The reply was solemn, and Gusty turned, trotting swiftly towards a majestic maple tree, beckoning Gingerbread to follow after her. She gazed up at the tree for a moment, pushing her magic towards the last few leaves still stubbornly clinging to its gnarled branches and effortlessly bringing them down. They floated about the two ponies, their decent slow and gentle, the unicorn’s magical aura washing out their colors.
Gusty pushed a hoof against the trunk of the tree, indicating that her companion should do the same. Uncertain what the unicorn was getting at, but trusting her all the same, Gingerbread pressed her right hoof flat against the rough surface, giving the other pony a curious glance as she did so.
“Don’t think about it; just feel.” Gusty instructed, silencing any question she’d been about to ask, “You’re an earth pony; you should be able to.”
Gingerbread looked back at the tree, glancing up at the leafless branches, then back down at the layer of bark beneath her hoof. She didn’t often tap in to the reserve of magic all earth ponies possessed and, to her, the tree just felt like a tree, cold and coarse. She shook her head a little, looking back at her companion. “I can’t...”
And then, unexpectedly, she was enveloped in that mystical blue aura that was unique to Gusty and Gusty alone. She, and the tree, and Gusty herself…All wrapped in the warm, tingly feel of Gusty’s magic as it flowed freely from her horn, opening up the world, tapping in to the deep-seated magic Gingerbread usually only called upon to help her chose the best ingredients.
And the tree suddenly pulsed with life; warming beneath Gingerbread’s trembling hoof. And she could feel it; its energy and spirit. The tree was shutting down, letting its own earthy magic leach out in to the air as its leaves fell. It sang wordlessly of the coming winter, of its need for sleep. The tree knew what Gusty knew, that a cool air of change was descending on Ponyville, brought from the north on a howling wind that was routinely blocked by the weather ponies.
Gusty dropped back on to all fours, her aura dissipating, the remaining magic nothing but a few sparkles of blue and silver that faded quickly in to the night. “Winter,” her voice was hushed, tone reverent, “It’s coming. Soon.”
Gingerbread could only stare at her, marveling at the strength of her magic. She had seen Gusty working in the past, of course, shuttling leaves and branches around the park, blowing snow from their front walk. But she had never before been touched by the unicorn’s magic; never experienced it firsthoof. It left her breathless, wide-eyed and amazed.
Gusty was more powerful than she had ever let on.
-
Gusty drifted off almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, sinking into that sort of deep sleep that was blissfully free of both dreams and nightmares. It had been a taxing day for her, mentally, emotionally and physically, and sleep was a more than welcome blessed release.
But though the hour was late, Gingerbread found herself wide awake, unable to relax for the thoughts swirling through her mind. How was it possible that nopony had ever noticed the raw abilities housed in her companion’s wiry frame? Was it because they were all looking for more traditional unicorn magic, with its roots in science and alchemy and knowledge, or laced with whimsy and the arts? Or was it simply because nopony had ever bothered to look beyond her glaring failures to see the potential lying within her?
Both thoughts were equally disconcerting; the purpose of magic school was to teach young unicorns how to tap into and harness their distinct magic, how to apply it to both the mundane and the fantastic. Gusty had never learned to break beyond her barriers, but was this because she had never been taught how or was it because she was truly incapable of doing so?
At one time, Gingerbread had believed her when Gusty said she couldn’t. The evidence of her attempts at using magic for everyday tasks was plain to see; her magic easily spiraled out of control, creating gale force winds instead of doing what she wished it to. Or it simply fizzled out altogether, her horn lighting with a glow that extinguished as quickly as it flickered to life.
But the magic she had unleashed that night in the forest…
It was a frightening thought, that Gusty might someday break free of whatever bound her to her limitations. Gingerbread didn’t want to think about what might happen, were the unicorn to unlock the secret to everyday magic. It was something she wanted desperately, but how much would it change her? If she were to suddenly be like everypony else, would she still be unique, or would she fade in to obscurity, no longer the pony that captivated the baker’s heart so?
If she changed, how could Gusty possibly still be herself?
For it was Gusty’s magical restrictions that had drawn Gingerbread to her. In the face of her own weaknesses, Gusty was still stubborn and proud, still unwilling to fold to the fact that she was different and unlike others. Her persistence was endearing and she was forced to work twice as hard as the average unicorn to make up for her shortcomings. And though she complained, often and loudly, she still came through for everypony; still put forth her best efforts. She may have been off-putting to many, but Gingerbread easily overlooked her surliness in favor of giving attention to her more desirable qualities.
Gusty was beautiful in a hard, angular way, like an uncut gem or a snowflake. Her beauty was cold, aloof, something you could reach for without ever touching. But Gingerbread hadn’t been deterred and the result of her warmth and patience was the unicorn curled up in her bed, peacefully sleeping.
The only sounds in the room were the quiet, even rhythm of Gusty’s breathing and the gentle rustle of flannel sheets as Gingerbread crept away and out of bed, careful not to wake her companion. Her worries were unfounded, though; Gusty was a deep sleeper who did nothing more than roll over at the slight disruption, murmuring something unintelligible and sinking deeper into sleep.
Outside, the sky had become overcast, the light of the moon lending an eerie orange glow to the gathering clouds. A few snowflakes swirled past the window, sparkling in the ethereal moonlight as they drifted towards the ground.
It wasn’t cold enough yet for the snow to stick and unless any other pony was awake, nopony else would even know of its existence come morning. Any snowflake that made its way to the ground would inevitably be melted with the rising of the sun, never to be seen again. And that was a good thing; with the official start of winter still a month away, nopony was ready for snow yet. Were it to endure, this flurry would be met only with complaints from the townsponies, who failed to see its true splendor, instead seeing only the cold bleakness it brought with it.
But there, in the night, the snow was beautiful, sparkling like diamonds, as it whirled past the cold windowpane and towards the world below.
Gingerbread smiled to herself, sitting back and letting the curtain fall, obscuring her view of the outside world. The snow, like Gusty’s temper, would come again, many times. But it would only be beautiful in certain circumstances, when the moment was right. The rest of the time, to the rest of the world, it was bothersome, something to be avoided.
The earth pony knew better, though. She embraced the cold, hoping her own warm heart could temper it and, like the spring, bring a thaw.
On impulse, she turned back to the window, brushing aside the curtain and raising the sash to admit the chill of the night.
She was met with a blast of icy air, blowing both the curtains and her mane into her face. And as the cold embrace of the coming winter wrapped around her, she smiled again, glancing back at the sleeping figure in the bed and feeling her heart warm again at the sight of Gusty, so calm and peaceful.
Gingerbread crawled back into bed, tugging the sleeping unicorn close and burying her face in her short mane. Gusty rolled, burrowing against her, the blankets twisting about her body. The earth pony shut her eyes, finally drifting off to the land of sleep, while the wind whistled through the window and scattered rapidly melting snowflakes about the room.
-
“Did you really mean it when you said you wouldn’t love me any more if I changed?”
It was early the next morning and Gingerbread was hard at work, rolling out her chilled dough, efficiently and smoothly. She had it down to an art; ten passes of the rolling pin and it was the perfect thickness for the perfect gingerbread cookies. That morning, she was cutting leaves and acorns out of the dough, making dozens of fall themed cookies that would be frosted in the same beautiful oranges, reds, and yellows of the foliage outdoors.
Gusty was slouched in a chair, munching on one of the day old muffins –blueberry oat- and watching her, wondering at how the baker worked so quickly with only the use of her hooves. It never ceased to amaze her, how Gingerbread made things look so easy; things that the unicorn struggled with on a daily basis. If only she could use her magic properly! Then she would be able to help and the baker’s days would be so much easier.
But…Gingerbread looked so happy when she was working. She was almost always smiling and humming, whether she was mixing batter, filling loaf pans, or frosting cookies. She always said that she put her heart into everything she baked; that the secret ingredient was love. Even if Gusty did manage to tap into her magic and help, would it be the right thing to do?
Would using her magic only serve to overpower the earth pony’s own special magic?
She looked down at her hooves; they were the hooves of a hard working pony, scuffed and worn. She didn’t bother to polish or buff them. They were only going to get chipped more as she did her job, puttering around in the park. She didn’t have the beautiful, pristine hooves of a Canterlot unicorn, who had nothing better to do than to play around with their magic, never to know what it was like to really work.
Never to know what it was like to make magic happen without using the magic inside them.
“Oh Gusty…” Gingerbread had stilled, staring down at the cookie cutter she was pressing into the dough on her worktable, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She frowned, looking over her shoulder at the unicorn seated behind her, “It’s just…You want to be like everypony else so badly and I’m scared that if that were to happen, you wouldn’t be the pony I love any more. And I don’t know if I’d be able to love somepony that’s not you.”
“Do you…” Gusty blinked, taken aback by the other mare’s honesty. She’d never really asked Gingerbread something so serious before and the surprising frankness with which the baker had spoken surprised her. “Do you really think I would change that much; that I wouldn’t be myself anymore?”
“I don’t know, Gusty.” The earth pony sighed, turning back to her work and pushing the cookie cutter into the dough with more force than she meant to, “But I do know that your magic is different and unique. It’s a big part of what makes you special to me, because you’re not like every other pony in the world. And I know that I love everything about you, even when you’re demanding and pushy and grumpy and I don’t want you to change one bit!”
Gusty fell silent, gaze dropping to the floor. All of this time, she had been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she hadn’t seen what her behavior was doing to the other mare. Gingerbread deserved so much better than a whiny, spoiled brat for a partner.
“I understand that it’s hard.” Gingerbread went on, sliding the acorn-shaped cookies on to a baking sheet, “You feel like you’re a failure because you can’t do things other unicorns can. But I don’t care about that. You don’t have to try to impress me, because you already do. Your magic is amazing, Gusty. I wish you knew that.”
Your magic is amazing. Nopony had ever told Gusty that before and it almost felt like an answer that was entirely too effortless. But Gingerbread was not a pony who said things just because she thought they were the things other ponies wanted to hear…She said things she meant, things that came from her heart.
And who, really, had Gusty been trying to change for? It was the snobby unicorns from school that had made her feel bad about her magic to begin with. Her magic, that was wild, untamable, practical only in archaic ways. There wasn’t anything grand and important for her to do with it, but Gingerbread was right -- it was hers and hers alone, and she should learn to stop complaining and appreciate it more.
“…I’m sorry.” Gusty whispered, looking back up at the back of the other pony’s head, watching as she worked. She knew Gingerbread was just trying to help, but she felt even worse, in different ways.
Gingerbread was quiet for a moment as she finished up with the tray of cookies and slid them in to the oven. After setting the timer, she turned, dusting flour from her hooves and trotting across the room to face the unicorn.
“Don’t be sorry.” She took Gusty’s face carefully in her hooves, leaning in to rest their foreheads together, mindful of the other mare’s horn. Their eyes met, sparkling cobalt and frosted blue, Gusty’s shimmering with tears. “Just…” She pressed their muzzles together, kissing the unicorn softly, “Things will get better. So just…don’t be sorry…Be you.”
Gusty snuffled, swiping at the tears and returning the kiss. “Okay,” She mumbled, voice shaky, “I’ll try.”
