Acceptanceby AchaianChaptersCatastropheGlory, Hope, MadnessRejuvenationCatastropheCatastrophe Passing by, she took no more notice of the vacant library as she had during the few short weeks that she had been in Ponyville. It was a nice enough day—blue skies, interchanging green rolling hills and cottage-houses, an atmosphere of quietude, a small and welcoming place in a world that so often forgot the wonder of warm places. She herself had come to Ponyville in search of a job and a place to raise her child, Dinky, and luckily enough she had found both of those things after wandering quite a long way from her original home. Being a mailmare was trying, at times; by no means was it easy work, but she enjoyed a challenge. Not to mention it was an excellent opportunity to meet her neighbors. Or at least, it would have been. When “Derpy” had arrived, she had been inundated in the usual Pinkie Pie-inspired deluge of a party and rapid introductions to everypony in town. Honestly, she would admit that she had been shocked into a motionless and emotionless state by the sheer weight of the welcome that had been so graciously put upon her. It had been a blur of names and faces and ponies she just had to get to know and talk to, and tell all about, and they had all been so nice and so many that she had not known what at all to do. In the second that the lights had been switched on in her house to reveal that torrent of new relations, she had no time to react except by instinct; and her instinct was to flee, but she could not move from the spot. Shortly after her shock faded, she had noticed something peculiar. They were all nice, and nearly all of them had come voluntarily, with the exception of a few who had been drug along by Pinkie. She had no idea how to respond to kindness on such a massive scale. It was utterly alien to her to face a community that cared; she responded by responding not at all. She couldn’t even gather the strength to tell them her name in the first chaotic instants. Not like I would, given how they treated me afterwards. In the wild socialization of the party that followed, they had all looked to her as the guest of honor: telling her how great it was that she could be here now, how adorable Dinky was, yet they thought it strange that she could hardly respond under the mountain of streamers, party favors, and gifts they pressed upon her. In their great rush to accept her, they had suppressed her. Somepony at the party came up with the nickname of “Derpy Hooves” after she had fumbled a present in nervous clumsiness, and from there on it was forever canon amongst them. After all, they thought, if she hadn’t bothered to tell them her name and if she didn’t respond to them calling her that then she must not mind, correct? It became her name to them, and soon nothing else sufficed for their initially harmless antics. The morning found the blaze gone, the guests absent, returned to their homes, and a newly-named and numbed Derpy befuddled but pleased by the unexpected magnitude of kindness. It took a few weeks for the glow to fade away; a few weeks for Ditzy to find that she was once again alone with Dinky. She hadn’t really made any friends at her welcoming party—nothing beyond acquaintances, a name and a face here or there scattershot among memory. After the initial burst of welcomes, cheers, and curious questions had been withdrawn by her shell-shocked silence, the thoughts of the guests turned to the quenching of their social thirst and they had left her alone. Their first impressions had been of a quiet, asocial and somewhat clumsy pony, and thereafter they had ceased to consider her except through that lens. To Ditzy’s dismay, she only realized this until weeks after her party, but it was too late: the doors of understanding had been shut and sealed against her. She would be accepted now, but only as a quiet klutz. Her first impression had been cemented by her solitary existence in the confusing weeks afterwards. How was I supposed to know anything about the social expectations of a normal community? I didn’t have a childhood! I didn’t have a normal life! How was I supposed to act, and then they started—but it’s too late now. There’s no chance for me anymore. I’m alone again. She fought that perception with all her heart and soul, only to be dismissed and left aside. Shortly after, her newness to her neighbors had vanished and the rumor mills began spinning their macabre webs. Where was she from? Why were her eyes “derped,” as it came to be called? Where was Dinky’s father? Could she even be a good mother considering the father was absent and she was apparently disabled, unsociable, and mean? She could hear them talking about her occasionally, always under the assumption that she could not hear them, or even more cruelly with the intent of her hearing them in the attempt of provoking a response. The last one struck her with the magnified pain, causing her bouts of distraught agony and negative introspection that helped not at all. She ignored them as best she could, with the unfortunate effect of reinforcing her asocial perception that only made the rumormongers declaim her louder. In vain, she searched for somepony who would give her a second chance—let her do the talking—and explain herself, let her define herself instead of constantly being harangued. It only took one mistake for them to start judging me. They’re no different from everything I left… they just look nicer. She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she approached the quiet tree-building. There was no use dwelling on problems she couldn’t solve. Considering her lonely state, it was of great interest to her to find that she had mail addressed to the library. Empty buildings did not get mail, and the library was supposedly vacant… She deposited the package in the library’s mailbox, and at last her overbearing curiosity drove her to in investigate. Attentive, she approached the tree—Golden Oaks, she had heard it called once. She thought it unusual that a tree should be converted into a dwelling, but she had seen many more unusual things in her days and was not about to question it. She wondered if the wooden door barring her way was made out of the same tree; she wondered if any of the books inside were composed of the hollowed-out wood. It would be fitting, she thought, but she had no way of knowing. Perhaps one day she would learn. It was a better subject for her to wonder about than the last one. Maybe somepony’s moved into it. No—it’s probably a coincidence; I can’t get my hopes up just to get crushed again. Nonetheless, an uncontrollable surge of curiosity and hints of a faint hope danced behind her eyes as she looked the opaque leaves and trunk over. The tree-house itself sprawled out in a way that would impress a willow, the oak’s girth and implied strength impressive—it would have to be strong to hold the balcony and who-knows whatever else was in the leafy boughs. She had never been inside the uninhabited building; the doors were locked; she even flew round carefully to spy into the windows, but the shutters were bound tightly and uninvitingly. She would divine no information from sneaking about; in any case it appeared whoever was receiving mail had not yet taken residence. With a great reluctance, she landed back in front of the wooden door, bowed her head, and sighed. She had placed so much hope in a moment’s coincidence, and the draining of that chance did no favors for her morale. It had been weeks—a month? —now, and Ditzy could find no inroads into the ponies that inhabited this place that she could only grudgingly call home. They had rushed to her, greeted her, and subsequently left her to suffocate on her own loneliness. It was bad enough having rumors float about as thick and malicious as smog, but she had reached her breaking point. Their actions could no longer be passed off as curiousness gone astray, or unintentional hurts portrayed. It would only be harder for Ditzy to change their perceptions now that they were fully woven into the daily fabric of their lives. Just another dead end… She leaned against the door that barred her from hope and life and sat for a while, staring against the skies. They no longer seemed natural to her; they were now a drab coat of paint splashed onto a moribund reality in the vague and indefinite hopes of one day achieving happiness. She could not bear to stand against her sorrowful maelstrom of emotion much longer; her life was drained, vanishing and seeping out of her into the earth, sky, anywhere but out of where it was needed most. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that she must remain strong. It was the only way, if not for her own hopeless sake, but for Dinky. Her own mother wouldn’t have let her down, and Ditzy would not dishonor her. She would deny the pain and apathy for Dinky, and that gave her the feeble strength to raise herself up from the shadowed threshold of the oak and take to the sky. She couldn’t fall down on her job, after all. I can’t let her down. I can’t let the same things happen to her as they did to me. This is a place she can grow in, and maybe it can be safe for her. My happiness, my anything, is worth nothing if she is not loved. I can’t give up. There is no one else for her. Unbeknownst to her as she flew away, a few letters had slipped out of her mail-bag to lie on the path leading to the door. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Twilight Sparkle was not a happy pony. Her closest source of irritation was the incessantly talking yellow pegasus behind her, engaged in a conversation with Spike about everything he had ever done and every other event of importance in his life. That alone would cause enough problems. Her assistant had been annoying enough with his queries about why he couldn’t make any friends and not just her, to which she had replied that they would only be a cause of distraction to him, and any distraction to him would cause delays in her work, and her work was infinitely more important than any social life he could have. She didn’t think of it quite as arrogance; she considered it justified by her station and quality of work. After all, she was THE faithful student, Celestia’s personal protégé, the head of her class in intelligence, studiousness, et cetera. And Celestia had sent her here in the middle of an unfolding crisis, and spited her concerns on top of that. Twilight resisted the urge to growl in frustration at both her farthest-away source of frustration, the chatterbox on her back, and the one just behind. She desperately wanted them to hush, give her a moment to think, but she knew that any time she was not researching she would spend in fuming disbelief of what Celestia had done. How was it even possible that I could have been ignored about this? I am, by her own words, one of the most intelligent students she’s ever had. It shouldn’t even be possible, let alone reasonable, for Celestia to— Twilight let out a slight yelp as she slipped on something, inadvertently dumping Spike off her back and triggering a squeak and protective leap backwards from Fluttershy. She stood and gazed for an instant at the source of her frustration. Several unopened letters lay scattered across the ground, tiny little obstacles between Twilight and her goal of solitude and work. Great. This place is a mess already and I’m in charge of making sure it’s perfect. I’m sure I can fix everything, but they’re going to have to cooperate. “Spike, grab those letters. We can’t have ponies slipping on them or look trashy for the Summer Sun celebration.” “It’s just a couple of letters, maybe somepony left them here—” Twilight’s glare left no room for maneuvering; Spike realized the foolishness of contesting her in her sour mood and complied before scrambling back atop her, letters in claw. “As I was saying, dragons don’t age as fast as ponies…” Twilight shut out Spike’s talking, the excited yellow pegasus attentively absorbing every animated word Spike had to say. She noticed neither their excited faces, nor the wonder in their conversation, nor the joy in Fluttershy’s face and tone as she let out a reverent “Ooh” whenever Spike told her something she found particularly interesting. Twilight simply could not let go of her indignation, and she would not cease thinking of her work. Unfortunately for her, she did not notice the steely-blue-grey mailmare hurriedly searching through the skies above her, nor her gaze—directed at the path Twilight was taking, frantically in search of a few lost letters. Not, at least, until Twilight nearly ran into her. Ditzy had landed directly in her way, a harried look at the letters she had lost in Spike’s claw she granted, a tiredness in her eyes disguised by a nervous energy in her frame and desperation. Twilight looked up at her, a preemptive loathing forming in her mind for the inevitable overly-friendly introduction and offers and invitations that she would then deny. “I’m sorry; I dropped those letters—” she gestured at Spike’s claw, “—and I really need to deliver them.” Twilight momentarily failed to resist the urge to stare at Ditzy’s eyes, which had been misaligned for several moments, and blurted out the question before she could consider it— “What’s wrong with your eyes?” ~~~~~~~~~~ When Ditzy realized she had lost the letters, she had lost control of over her destructively negative emotions and had taken the cold plunge into the river of despair that had threatened to swallow her up. Panicking, she had retraced her route with a precision driven by bleak terror. The agony of possibility tortured her: if she had lost the letters, she might lose her job, lose her house and fail Dinky as a mother. It was an assumption made only easier by the pain inflicted on her and the desperation tearing through her mind. I can’t fail her and I can’t lose these letters now— A jolting spark of recognition hit her as she spotted the letters in Spike’s claw. She flew down, apologized with the end in mind, and then the abrupt question came. It took Ditzy a second to process the question, and then hatred consumed her mind again. It did not come to light that she had never seen Twilight before. Ditzy had been filled to the brink by the ignorance of others; now it poured over and she was blinded by it, rendered hopeless. She did not see Fluttershy scared. She did not see Spike silent. She did not see Twilight, looking with regret at her, sole desire to apologize for the impolite question. All she saw were taunting faces. It all started as a pain in her chest, a bile that rose in her stomach. She was shaking in her mind, a tremor ran throughout her body, and it was all she could do to not give in to the desire to break. They who had perpetrated rumors had played their perfect game, and Ditzy had lost. They had harried her and cornered her and she would take no more, could take no more, and she didn’t know whether she was going to strike Twilight or collapse into a shaken sobbing mess as an admittance of their horrid victory. In the end of the instant, she quickly seized the letters out of Spike’s claw and rocketed into the sky, through a cloud, without a coherent thought, her anger and pain cascading over into miserable waterfalls of tears flowing freely into the colorless sky. ~~~~~~~ It was not long before Twilight’s shame corrupted into self-rebuke. I can’t believe I would ask something so stupid! I have so many other things to be worried about without making ponies upset! “Twilight, do you have any idea why she acted like that?” Spike asked, looking at Twilight in the few quiet, awkward moments after the encounter. “No, Spike. But we still have a lot to do, so we can’t stop.” And we would probably be going faster if you weren’t taking so much time to talk. After she had reflexively denied Spike’s inquiries about why she thought that unusual-eyed pegasus had flown off in a fit of tears, she turned to her own guilt in the matter. She had more than enough things to worry about without dealing with others. If I’m so smart, then how is it possible that something so insensitive and stupid could slip out? If I’ve learned so many great things, what is it worth if I can’t control myself? Her head bowed in concentration along the path, she edged ever closer to her temporary (or so she thought) residence, the now-unreserved pegasus and oratorical dragon busy in their talk, clueless to the contemplation in Twilight’s head and her slight annoyance at their conversation. ~~~~~~~~~~ It took far too short a time for Ditzy to break into pieces, she felt, as she wrapped herself in a stained old blanket in her sparsely furnished room. Her house—she could not bring herself to call it her home—was a nice one, but she had had precious little time or money to furnish it. Her own room she had left for last, preferring instead to first provide for Dinky. She would refuse to consider anything less as acceptable. So Dinky’s room had been painted and furnished, and the kitchen stocked; the living room was lively and bright, even the guest room was impressive for one of her means, but Ditzy’s own room was bare. She would not, could not complain. It had been her choice and her affirmation of the truth that she would first of all be a good mother to her child. All else, even her own care, was a lesser desire. So Ditzy lay tangled in her blanket and in her own broken dreams and hopes that lay sadly shattered, softly sinking into the bare floor and blank walls, and her ill-gained thoughts painted them in depressed colors for her, saving her the trouble of doing so, but providing no happy ends otherwise. And she could not have told how long it was that she occupied her sickened position, only that the loneliness drew it out into cruel lengths, that the misery was like a parasite, that as she succumbed to it as it became greater and more horrible. But there was light in the glacial shadows, and not inside the house it was, but in the home. And it would find its way to her… Ditzy felt it initially, a warm spot on her chest. For a minute, she was unable to even register the presence of heat in her cold-shocked torment. The heat built, the presence grew, until she felt the warmth spread out around her neck and she gathered the presence of mind to look down and notice the soft pressure. Dinky had crawled into her bed and had nearly fallen asleep hugging her mother. In the moment of understanding, the warmth shot through Ditzy’s body and mind with thunderous emotional recoil. How could I forget… I have everything I need here to be happy. She ran a hoof through Dinky’s mane, her now closing eyes giving a last glimmer at the mother who hung on to the moment. “I have you, and you are my love…” Dinky’s eyes promised to open, but Ditzy set her back to rest with a gentle shh and soft strokes of her hoof through her child's mane; both kept warm in the embrace. It was a ridiculous matter, her misery. It had fallen from her, swept away in the purpose of her life. Outside, the sun was falling below the horizon, the temperature was dropping, and the cold visages of her tormentors were wandering about, but none of that mattered now. Ditzy had her love; Ditzy had her peace. It was all by her side, and it was more than she could want. Dinky was now fast asleep, the last rays of the sun surrendering gracefully to the starry night. Ditzy laid a soft kiss on Dinky’s forehead. It’s alright; we’ll be fine. She laid there for a few more moments that would never be long enough, hearing the soft sounds of their breathing and the glow of warmth between them. It took a will that had traveled more than half the breadth of Equestria to move the few short feet out of Dinky’s embrace and then into the next room. While Ditzy would sorely like to rejoin Dinky, her work was not done yet. She hadn’t even checked her own mail. Ditzy sat down at her dining table, debating amongst herself what to eat while absentmindedly flipping through her personal mail. Most of it was junk, but there was one particular envelope that caught her attention: a pink one, fittingly from Pinkie Pie. It was a party invitation, one of several she had received over the past few weeks. She waffled over whether to actually open it for a minute. Ditzy had had no more desire to “socialize” with most of her neighbors after the unfortunate first party, even though she had tried to change first impressions. She had a suspicion, though—perhaps it was the mail addressed to the empty library, or merely the tumultuous events of the day, but it was a hunch nevertheless. She tore open the envelope and shallowly scanned the words on the letter within, brushing aside some confetti that had been tucked inside—and then a few words branded themselves on Ditzy’s mind. “This is an official invitation for the surprise welcome party of the newest pony in town, Twilight Sparkle…” Attention rapt, Ditzy hurriedly read the rest. If there was a new pony in town, then they probably hadn’t met Ditzy: a pony completely free of the grime that the rumors had smeared on her, a mind unblemished by the unfortunately unfriendly first impression that Ditzy had so mishandled and the others had so abused. A fresh hope, a blank slate, a beckoning candle in the darkness. This is my chance! “… To be held at the Golden Oaks library…” Much-appreciated satisfaction was the reward for Ditzy’s earlier investigations; a victorious flourish graced her face as a smile. “… Commencing at exactly six p.m.” Ditzy turned to face the clock hanging on the north wall before her mind could convince her body to lock up. It was nearly six thirty post meridium, the time zone was correctly set for the clock, it was not placed upside-down, and she quickly ran out of reasons as to why the time displayed on it should be incorrect. Don’t panic, there’s still time… Her body belayed the order to refrain from panic and threatened to sweat and hyperventilate. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass from her without a fight. She would let go of her home, only for a moment, in the hopes of finding a foothold out of the pain. I have to go, I have to go, there’s no time to prepare for anything— She rushed out the door into the cooling night, the last hope shining far away in the distance. ~~~~~~~~ There might have been a time when Twilight would have been amenable to speaking for the sake of speaking, but the thumping of the bass rattling about the house put a damper on any such tentative ideas. She couldn’t even concentrate, let alone seek a solution to the vexation that was the problem of Celestia’s ignorance. Had she not noted the signs? Surely, she had at least read the prediction at Twilight’s insistence. Had Twilight not been wallowing in her self-sustained mental grumblings, she might have heard her door being knocked on. She did not hear the knocking, nor did her retinas absorb the light radiated by the open doorway, and her sensitive nervous endings could not differentiate between the thumping of the bass and the thumping of scaled steps up to her loft. She could smell the myriad evoking scents of the party downstairs by the rush of air, though, and that tipped off her busily analytical brain that something had changed in her blissfully dark and quiet place. A tap, two taps, an uncertain drumbeat played on her by a poking claw. At last, she relented. “Spike, I’m sure that I don’t want to play any party games,” Twilight answered from under her pillow. “But there’s somepony here that wants to talk to you!” “Yeah, a whole party of them.” “Twilight, I think you need to talk to her…” He sounded nervous, or insistent. It was hard to tell for her with his voice muffled. The obstructing pillow shifted an inch, and the party lights blurred through the grooved tunnel into Twilight’s eyes, the sensation creating a phantasmagoric disillusionment, her sight stained by the burst of radiant color, dots flying about as she shifted about to face Spike. “It’s the pegasus with the messed-up eyes. You didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier.” Twilight was fully upright now, the lucid colors from downstairs playing games with her eyes. She couldn’t concentrate now, not with her eyes confused hopelessly. “Alright, give me a minute.” She wouldn’t get a minute. Spike ran back down the stairs from her loft, mercifully closing the door and the playful shadows that had been cast by the uninvited (in Twilight’s mind) houseguests faded to be once more a part of the welcome solidity of darkness. Twilight sighed and resisted the urge to put the pillow back over her head. I can’t believe I did this in the first place. I’m sorry that she got distressed, but it was just one question, and probably one that she gets asked a lot. How was I supposed to know that she was sensitive about it? I haven’t even been here a full day yet and I already made somepony freak out. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face as regret tinged her consciousness. I don’t know her at all… hopefully she’ll be reasonable. It would be strange for her not to forgive one mistake. Distressed, Twilight’s tumultuously tired and tentatively contrite mind wrestled with the idea of apologizing. Could she really find the courage to give a sincere apology? She would have to find her answer quickly as the door moved out of place once more. ~~~~~~~~ It was beyond the sunset now, the sky orange, burning, burning, burnt to grey, with black leaf-ridden trees all around in it. The signs of the seasons echoed her, fading away into the night. Ditzy was rocketing, chasing, whipped to frenzy along the trees in the vain hope of turning back time; from gold to orange to grey it had gone and to violet she and it would go, but who could tell what awaited her there. She whistled through the air, thundered to the door of the lit tree-house, swung open the door and dove inside the maelstrom of voices, bodies; she knew only what she was not looking for, and when she saw what she knew not she had found her destination; around and over, under, she went, a blur, a flash, a miss, a quick apology, she swerved, dove; she would find her hidden hope even if she had to go through the very last door—and soon she did very nearly fly through it, only to be walled in by dismay. The coldest drenching wave could not have struck her harder than to see Twilight looking down from the ledge upon her. ~~~~~~~~ “Hello. I, um…” Twilight would have continued, but the rapidly darkening tone of Ditzy’s face gave her pause. Her face turned down, eyes glaring up as if to charge; her face was frighteningly unreadable in the low light of Twilight’s room. It was a grim statement. Twilight could observe only her eyes, and they promised no immediate nor easy forgiveness. In the waiting silence, they thinned to sinister slits, slices of white and gold and black in comparison to the unnerved cautiously widening violet orbs above. Those narrowed eyes seemed to comprise Ditzy’s whole being in that moment, a solemn mortal promise shining up from the shadowed, dank bottom of the room. It was cold now, a chill that drove a jarring rhythm into Twilight’s spine; the shiver that ran through her body suddenly refused to desist. It was too far gone for Twilight to turn her back. The only possibilities were reconciliation or failure in the freezing room. “I just...” Her words were silenced in her mouth, the frigid air devouring the moisture and the words. It was cold in the air, and it was cold outside, and it was cold in Ditzy’s unrelenting eyes. Merciless, ice-burning entropy crystallized her vocal chords; the bitter cruelty promised in the ice-shattering eyes faded away the precious little energy Twilight could rally. It was overtaking her swiftly, deliberately planting seed-like bursts of dread now. It sapped Twilight like the waters of the northern seas, the apathetic urge to sink below the waves and be consumed; so terrible was it that her hope threatened to slip away from her like heat from metal into coldest air. She worked her mouth, but no words issued forth—it was all she could do to keep from being eaten alive by entropic black ice, the bitterness of the gold, the blankness of the white. Fear of failure gave Twilight enough desperate energy to make a last statement. “I just wanted to ask if—” But Twilight had hesitated for too long. Ditzy leaped furiously, suddenly up, a tiger freezing black, and Twilight buried herself as best she could in the moment before the shadow pulsed over her. Terrible anticipation drove her to hide from winter’s wrath, but nothing more passed over her than moonlight and the ten-fold refracted lights from the unheard downstairs. After an indefinable length of trembling time, Twilight snapped her head up to look about, but neither hide nor hair of Ditzy was left in the room. Behind Twilight, the window was wide open, curtains rippling silently. “…If you were alright.” Twilight covered herself and shivered mightily in the warm summer’s night. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you. ~~~~~~~~~~ Fits of angered syllables pillaged Ditzy’s mind. It would be her, it had to be her. I should have known that something like this would happen. Twilight was no different, despite her newness, from her insistent neighbors. No doubt her question would have ended with the inevitable query about her eyes, or her past, or some other unusual aspect about her without any concern about her herself. Forget all of them. None of them cared about me to give me a second chance. I’ve been the one trying. In the strange sensibility of modern irony, it was fitting that the tones of each mind had swapped between the two misguided souls. Twilight was now fearfully in the sad regret that Ditzy had once been controlled by, her perception of herself hopeless and twisted, while Ditzy had ridden herself of the same only to find herself burnt by the iciness of anger and disappointment, smoldering with the suspicion that she had been set up. Ditzy returned to her house to tussle in an unsatisfying bed as Twilight struggled to put aside her renewed shame in preparation for the dawn and the trials ahead. It would be an unusually long night. Glory, Hope, MadnessGlory, Hope, Madness It was the very essence of glory. Twilight had come to realize, through changes and trials, what is respect, appreciation, selflessness—the love that is friendship. After all, what had once been Nightmare had been astoundingly transformed, sublimely sanctified, redeemed from deathly despair, and she: she had been the key, the spark of it all. She had friends; she was not ashamed to say it and could hardly refrain from repeating it to herself, savoring the feeling and amazingness of the concept: she was enraptured. She was here, now, with her friends and mentor, in the greatest celebration she had ever known. It was a wave of bliss that rode through her, and through them all, and it only rebounded in their individuality to roll back over her and her friends once again. They had come back from the ruined castle more than they had ever been. Twilight wandered in the reveling through the streets as her friends, her friends, talked and ran, celebrated; she was consumed in thought as usual, even when she conversed. Did Celestia know that all of his would happen? Could I have even imagined? And it’s all just started… I have so much more to live now. Twilight looked down the way and was almost dizzy with happiness. There was Celestia, who had not doubted her after all, and Luna—Luna! —who had been thought to be the fanciful vestiges of a myth by those who knew their history, and who had been the monster in the dark for so many centuries. She was present and enthroned with her sister at the end of the way, joyfully renewed, the two were tearful with silent joy. The longest night had given way to longest day; the sun was perihelion, the moon periselene, and they were in harmony, ordered and equal at last. Yet there were yet flaws in paradise, subtle and sickening, and in four places they lurked like cracks, hidden, one day to seize and shake asunder. Twilight could not feel any of that now. They would not feel it in the celebration—not in the victory. She had paused for a moment and watched the celebration, but then went off to rejoin her friends. My friends, my friends! Celestia knew all along that this would happen! How could I ever doubt her? This is the best thing that has ever happened to me… Even then, the celebration was not complete, not even with Twilight’s perfect amazement. Throughout most of the town, the feelings were mostly the same. In every house the state was happy, and in every mind the rejoicing was paramount. For a short while, all but one buried their fears and sorrows, but the last one burned dreadfully. That last one stoked her ash into a fury and allowed it to paint her disposition and gave it command. The last one put on the terrible mental armor of strife and disgust, jealousy and distrust; and the price of wearing that dread was seeing it displayed on all others. Ditzy could feel no joy because she thought their joy could never be hers; she could not accept happiness as itself and so was exempt. She had sunk into maddening misery. So she lay in her house and lay in her smoldering torments as well, and it took not long for her to boil over into hellish hatred, waiting for nothing and receiving nothing and becoming all the madder because of it. In bits and pieces she heard the news of how Twilight had found a way, had found friends, had found acceptance and happiness and all the things that had escaped Ditzy, and that only furthered her malicious mood. She had put on the armor of jealous wrath, and she could not take it off. ~~~~~~~~~~~ The hours passed; the cheer rescinded into quiet and the celebration wound slowly to an end as tired revelers traveled back into their houses, leaving the street eventually empty again. Twilight was the last to wander into her library from off the street, dazed and amazed at how the night and day had gone. Twilight and her friends had found the Elements of Harmony. And they had not just found the Elements, not just the symbols of those virtues, they were those virtues. They themselves were the harmony that had saved them all. And she, Twilight herself, was magic. It had been her life’s purpose, her passion; she lived for it and now she was the archetype of not merely magic, but the magic of friendship and all the good it had wrought in those profound six. It had all been destined for her, she had been chosen to be that unity. The beautiful love they had found would not pass from them. Daylight had begun to fade again, but the promise was assured that it would rise in due time. Just inside the door of the library, Twilight sat and wondered for a moment at the books that lined the walls and attempted to imagine if there could be any among them that could match the bliss she had found, even though she knew she would be in vain. There could be no words to describe what she had found: no book’s solitude could match her friendship now. Has it only been a few hours since I discovered everything I’ve been missing!? I was so silly to turn them down! Silly Twilight. Silly me. It doesn’t even make logical sense! She resisted the urge to giggle ecstatically, caught up in her life-defining revelation, normally serious thoughts turned to simple, pure joy, and she could not cease smiling. The door opened from the other room and Spike entered. “Spike!” Twilight ran over and embraced him in something that she might call a hug, but he might categorize as more of a tackle. “Oof! Twilight, what was that for?” He struggled and squirmed in her grip, but Twilight wouldn’t put him down, wouldn’t let go of him. Not until she had shown her love. “Isn’t it wonderful?” “Having friends? I told you so!” Spike squirmed again, clearly less than comfortable with the awkwardness of the embrace. She put him down, her wide smile revealing her feelings on the matter. She could be no happier. “I always told you it wasn’t a waste of time.” Spike huffed with his arms crossed, put off guard by the unexpected embrace and rolling his eyes. “And you were right.” Twilight admitted cleanly, feeling no pain of or objection of pride in her blissful state. “Speaking of friends, how did your apology with Derpy go?” “Who?” Twilight asked, confused. “You know, the pegasus with the messed-up eyes that dropped those letters the other day. I was talking about her with…” The sinking feeling came again, and Twilight didn’t hear the rest of Spike’s explanation. Her thoughts turned into a different turbulent emotion altogether, as her smile shrunk into a somewhat negative statement and her eyes focused on something about a thousand yards away. “Twilight?” Spike asked. He snapped his claw before her eyes, and she started. “What were you thinking about? You had your thinking look going.” “Oh, it’s nothing, Spike.” Twilight sighed; her words were neutral but her worried expression told a better tale. “Alright, then.” Spike said dubiously. His gaze did not move from Twilight’s back as she retreated to her loft’s door, head bowed in introspection. She was just so happy… it must be something about Derpy. His concern for her only grew as time passed behind the door. ~~~~~~~~ The bitter taste of a moment’s failure tarnished Twilight’s enjoyment of her victory, enough to cause introspection in the midst of the celebration. Her head low, she paced just past the door until it boomed shut, ringing in her ears like a reminder of the night that had threatened not to end. She stopped, in the exact spot that Ditzy had possessed, and stared up at her loft questionably. How did I fail to help her? Granted, it was before she had learned. She had certainly denied friendship to all of those who her here friends now, but they were all her friends now. She no longer had open conflictions in her life, with the exception of Ditzy. I’m supposed to be learning about friendship now, but what… Was she meant to be in conflict with some others? She squashed the idea as quickly as it formed, knowing it to be a ludicrous idea, set against harmony and as discordant as discordant could ever be. But what was wrong with Derpy? She didn’t look stable; it could be anything… I don’t know her; how do I start? Caring and delving into individuals and their deep feelings was a new branch of reasoning for Twilight, and for an instant she struggled with it. If she had any problems, previously she would have simply denied them if what knowledge she had could not solve it, brushed them off or buried them in her books, all of which had proved to be ultimately futile. If she had problems now, she would bring them to her friends. Maybe she hasn’t talked to her friends about her problems. She turned toward the door and cracked it open. “Spike?” She yelled. “Does Derpy have any friends I could talk to?” She got no reply; Twilight determined that Spike must be asleep by it. It had been a long day; they all deserved some rest. She closed the door again, gave a great sigh and turned toward her loft. It was the wrong question, she realized. Does Derpy have any friends at all? It couldn’t be so; she had to have some friends. This was the friendliest place Twilight had ever been. It was not possible for her to imagine loneliness in that moment, and she found the idea that Ditzy was friendless worrisome. Her eyes drifting out of her mind, she focused on her loft above and tried to imagine what it would have been like for Ditzy. Spike had said she had come in in a panic, searching everywhere for Twilight, but Ditzy herself had turned foul once she had found her. What was it that had so twisted her perception? Twilight looking at the loft and bed and still-ajar window and imagined how she must have looked to Ditzy, gazing down in an imperially bored manner and struggling to compose an apology that’s delivery had been so misunderstood as arrogant boredom. It was a harsh judgment of herself, perhaps, but she was more ready to blame herself than others. But what was Ditzy upset about in the first place? What made her want to find me so much? The root of Ditzy’s pain, the reason why the question had caused so much turmoil escaped her. She wasn’t at the celebration, either. What had driven her away from the happiness that the town so enjoyed? Am I going to go and find out? It’s late and I don’t know where she lives, I could spend all night out there and not find her… Twilight paused on the stairs, an unforgiving choice before her. She could ascend into a well-deserved sleep, or she could descend into the unknown night in a vague and perilous attempt to figure out what was wrong with Ditzy. Self-preservation cried out for sleep, yet the lessons of harmony demanded she try to help. More rested on her decision than what she could know. Twilight would not be able to use austere reason in this case, but the warmth of how she felt would decide it for her. It was the edge of a blade, and if she balanced for an instant it would slice her in two as indecision would only cost them all more— Twilight burst out of her loft’s door, determined to continue harmony at whatever cost. She would accept nothing less. ~~~~~~~~~ Spike was a bit smarter than most of his friends gave him credit for. He hadn’t hung around Twilight his whole life for nothing, after all, and he had absorbed no less than a huge quantity and quality of knowledge from being her always-present assistant. His little draconic brain had started whirling around his head the instant he had seen Twilight distressed, and he had come to the rather accurate conclusion that something had gone very wrong with her apology and it was perplexing her beyond means of immediate resolution. He, possessing more care for Twilight than he could ever admit while preserving his masculine dignity, had designed what he thought to be quite a clever plan to help her. He would leave while Twilight was consumed in thought (normally, those phases of hers lasted anywhere from hours to days) and investigate Ditzy. It’s not really spying if I’m watching out for them. Both of them need help and they’re not going to get it if I don’t do anything. Twilight’s probably really tired and if I can find out something about Derpy it will make it easier for her. In any case, Twilight had not heard the rap-tapping of his claw-feet as he slipped out of the library in the direction of where he had heard Ditzy lived. It was dark, though, and in the dark the storm-clouds had begun to gather and connive of a coming gale, a summer thunderstorm, and it would be sooner rather than later that it came. ~~~~~~~~~ “Spike!” Twilight called out, searching for her companion. She wasn’t about to leave without her most valuable assistant, of course. It would be ludicrous to go on her journey unprepared, even if it was just one across town. It’s going to storm soon; I had better get going. But the searching, and the calling, and the thinking all left her with a lack of a particular dragon. At first, she had been convinced that he was sleeping in his room, but that avenue had abruptly ended, and all the others quickly ran short until she stood in the parlor, puzzled. “Spike!” She called out louder, walking through the empty rooms of the house. “Are you around here somewhere?” Echoes and silence replied. “Spike?” It was the soft sound now, tentative with the hint of fear revealing the vast chasm of concern underneath. Where could he be this late? It’s not like him to go out and not tell me. He’s not out still; everypony went home and I’m sure I saw him… She turned around, and the front door caught her attention: it was open just so, just slightly, and her eyes widened. It was the only remaining possibility. Twilight rushed out the front door, heedless of the coming storms, not even bothering to grab a lantern on the way out. ~~~~~~~~ A little window was in the rain, and the light flowed through it to the dragon’s eyes, hidden in the bushes like the bolt before it burst from the cloud. He was there, of course, to see what he could see about the pegasus who had so vexed Twilight, and he wasn’t about to run up to the front door and demand an answer. He had been there for a while now, and he knew it even as the storm rose around him, but he could not tear himself away from that scene in the little window, the little window into the uncharted life. Even as the wind began to howl and tear, he watched. It was a simple thing, really, no panorama nor endless horizon. A light purplish foal sat on the floor doodling away at some unseen drawing, building a door into a world of vibrantly free imagination. There was a couch by the foal, and on the couch was her mother, and the vibrancy of the drawing was countered by the deadened look in her eyes, gazing blankly up at the ceiling. Every so often the foal would clamber up upon Ditzy, her lips’ movements only understandable as silent signs to Spike, and would try to occupy her mother’s attention with the drawing. Ditzy would not look at the vibrant colors, and would softly murmur something to her daughter while ushering her back down with a gentle touch. The foal would not give up, and in time would climb up again, and again, each time being gently moved down without success: but that was not the entirety of the motion. For every time that her daughter would touch her, it was as if a spark jolted through her countenance and her eyes for a single moment would lose their decay. But she would not look at her daughter; she would not look at her vibrant drawing. She could not see them; she had forgotten happiness. It was not long before Spike forgot why he was watching, so intrigued was he by the desperate unceasing spark and her drawing that he could not quite catch glimpse of. At least, until he realized that Twilight was standing right behind him and the bush in the now-pouring rain. “Spike!” Twilight hissed, no shortness missing from her voice. “What are you doing out here in the rain hiding next to somepony’s house? You could have at least—” He put a claw to her mouth and motioned for silence, then pointed Twilight’s gaze inside the window. “You’re spying on her?” Twilight was more than slightly angry at Spike for running off. “Ssh. Watch!” Spike whispered urgently, still consumed by the spectacle he had only the slightest understanding of. “I can’t believe you would go and do something like this, and without telling me.” Twilight was heated the fact that Spike would just run out without telling her, and to do something like this in his absence just made it worse. I can’t believe you! You didn’t even tell me you were leaving! “You should know by now that you can’t just go around looking in—” “Twilight!” Spike said strongly, an oddity that caught her off guard. “Just watch!” Somewhat muffled by his response, Twilight complied for a moment. “What am I supposed to be seeing?” Inside the window, the foal and the drawing had ascended only to be put down again by Ditzy. Spike’s expression turned to impatience as Twilight’s remained blank; he could not find the words to express what had happened. “Can’t you see, in her eyes, it’s like when… It’s like… She’s… what’s the word?” He stomped, growled quietly in frustration as the rain started to fall in torrents around them. Twilight turned to him, and after a moment Spike reciprocated the gesture with a pleading look in his eyes. “Oh, Spike.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if you run off and do crazy things like this. Come on, we need to get home; the storm is starting to pick up.” At least Derpy didn’t see us. I can’t imagine her thinking well of me after how we acted, and now we’re sitting outside her window in a storm… Yet Spike showed no sign of submission; something had struck a chord in his mind. “No!” It had not been the words, but the way she uttered them. In that tone, there had been a hint of condescension, a hint that she did not consider him fairly, and even if she hadn’t meant it, it still grinded on his sense of rightness. It was the seed of contempt that would grow into a complete denial of Spike’s person left unchecked, and he saw it for what it was even in that early stage. He had heard it before and dismissed it as chance and coincidence; he had heard it again and become suspicious; now was his action. I’m not going to let you say no to this so soon! I was right about the friends! “You’re not my mother, you’re my—” Spike caught himself, and Twilight gave him a curious look in the next instant. “But you can’t just leave her! Your apology didn’t work!” “How did you know—” Twilight caught herself too late to save her private events, and that only caused a swell of unfocused anger. “Spike, we are going to have a long conversation about my privacy in the library.” Twilight moved to rise out of the bush, acidic emotion threatening to spill over out of the confines of her disgruntled mind. “I didn’t see it, and I didn’t have to see it to tell what happened,” Spike said. “I could read it all over your face.” “Uh-huh.” Twilight replied, not hearing a word Spike had said while disentangling herself from the bush. Her mind was already lost in a grumbling mood that promised to only sour as the clouds and night grew darker while they wandered their way home. And then the window curtains slammed shut, but before they did Twilight caught a glimpse of a very displeased Ditzy looking at them lying half-inside in her bushes. “Great. Just great.” Twilight put a hoof between her eyes, sighing and trying to rub away the fast-growing headache that was as imminent as the fact that the sun would rise in the morning. Of course, it nearly hadn’t. “Didn’t you see her?” Spike insisted, extricating himself from a particularly nasty thorned area. “You need to go and try to apologize again!” “I will do no such thing in the pouring rain after dark.” Twilight declared, brushing leaves off as the rain picked up. “But why did you look here first?” And then Twilight remembered why she had wanted to set out in the first place, and let out a short groan. Yes, a headache was definitely coming on. This is not the time; this is not the place... “I can apologize in the morning when I’m not sopping wet and the sun is still in the sky.” “It is in the sky.” Spike replied evenly. “We just can’t see it right now because it’s under the horizon.” Twilight gave Spike the most unholy glare from her he had seen in a long time, but he held his pose and did not back down. “Fine,” she said, completely exasperated. At least she could get Spike to be quiet when her apology was rejected, and after that she could get some sleep, at long last. It was a short trip from the side to the front door of the house, but it seemed to take much longer to the two irritated minds that walked, side-by-side, through the void gloom. One was desperate, hoping with all his might that his instincts would not prove him wrong and cause a scar to open with his sometimes-sister. The other was growing fouler by the minute, no concern for others hidden in her mind, no, she was filled with the selfish interest that decried any delay for her own expectations; in her heart there was no room now. Twilight had been pushed too hard, and the magnificent lessons she had learned had had so little time to take root and flourish. Before they both knew it, they were before the door, looking expectantly at it as if it would swing open of its own accord. Twilight gave a final glance at Spike, and had to resist the urge to say something sarcastic when she saw the expectant look on his face. He didn’t change, didn’t move, didn’t bend, but eventually Twilight did. With reluctance and a petulant tiredness, she knocked a hoof on the door. There was a moment’s silence—then two—then the door opened and gave a hint of Ditzy, and rapidly slammed shut once more. “Looks like it didn’t work.” Twilight announced, starting to turn. “Time to head home. This can be done at the proper time.” “You didn’t even say anything!” Spike protested. “She obviously doesn’t want to be bothered, or spied on.” Twilight replied, a particularly disapproving narrow glance on Spike. Spike was nearly frustrated now beyond reason. He wanted to yell at her how she was acting no different than how she had been before she had discovered friends; Twilight had become as determinedly alone and unwilling to risk a chance of interaction. It was apathy—it was the despair that was the void of hope that a friend could be reality. “You’re no different.” Spike growled low in his throat, quiet, poised in his stillness. “What?” Twilight, having already taken a few fateful steps away. “If you’re not going to apologize, then I will for both of us.” Twilight halted, face hidden from Spike, and it was a long, cold, rain-soaked moment before she replied tonelessly. “Suit yourself.” She walked away, the night and rainfall’s cover of darkness stealing his sight of her away in moments. Spike had the distinct feeling that he had lost a home. It ached inside him tormentingly—nothing definite, but his heart’s instinct was of consequences as he shivered. It was a vorpal blow between them, and as he tried to grasp it in his mind it only cut him more and intensified the pain, seemed all the more inevitable, a result of their actions that had ultimately differed. He could not bring himself to find comfort for his half of the deed, the splitting asunder of hearts and minds. I hope Twilight’s not too mad. I did this for her own good, and she thinks that I… I hope she realizes that I was just trying to do what’s right. There was only one door left for him. The closed barrier provided him no comfort against the assails of his worries, but it was the only option he knew he could take. With a deep breath in the freezing rain, he reached and knocked on the shut door. He waited in the silence ruptured by screaming blasts of the ice-water that was the rain. The chill-soaked, thunderous poundings of his bleeding heart ran with tension as the knocks faded into the storm. The door opened, and threatened to close quickly again—but Spike was fast in his desperation and wedged a claw in the door before it could, condemning his senses to a load of pain that he was unaccustomed to, but giving him an instant to speak. “I’m—” The pain was thudding in his veins, crippling his mind in the instant he needed it most; Ditzy would not open the door until it was clear that he would retract and not enter. “I’m sorry for spying on you, and—” The door swung open and Spike grasped his claw, falling into a sitting position and thankful for the immediate gratification that came with his release—yet the door did not swing shut once more. Rather, Ditzy herself stepped outside, her face no less angry than in the glimpses Spike had caught it, but with a curious backdrop to it… she would listen now, perhaps, give Spike an instant of her time to make amends as she stood over him, looking down… But the shriek in the raining air caught them both off guard. RejuvenationRejuvenation Twilight had turned and had left Spike. That dusky activity had dawned on Twilight as something very unsettling in the short period of unintentional introspection that had followed leaving him. Initially, she had dismissed it as an involuntary reaction to Spike’s disobedience. Usually he would never do something so defiant. Still, she did not consider that his actions might have been caused by a change in her, and her tired and selfish apathy kept charge of her for a moment longer. The despair that caused this was a strange breed to consider, but the most common: she could not imagine change. Twilight had been so warped in that moment that she did not see the intricate possibilities of the thousand paths that she could take to apologize to Ditzy. She had failed—as she was prone to do—to swallow her pride and see her own faultiness, her own stubbornness. So scared was she of failure, a fear disguised as and aided by tiredness, that she had failed to be a friend. Then she considered her actions, and abruptly stopped. What am I doing!? I can’t leave him! The prick of conscience touched her as she reached the end of the way. Twilight looked back in concern, eyes desperately glancing through the dark rain, and she saw Ditzy standing over Spike in the mud like a winged tiger over its prey. She was too far away to distinguish the hint of hopeful curiosity hidden in Ditzy’s expression. To her, it looked as if Ditzy had knocked Spike down, and she could only see the residual anger and pain on her face and the vulnerability of Spike. No! Panicked, all selfish thoughts flown, she cried through the rain and ran to intercept, although she could not think of a logical reason for the panic other than the memory of the cold eyes. Ditzy was no longer fixated on Spike, but was looking with a curious expression toward the impassioned Twilight. Arriving still in a heated state an instant later, Twilight seized Spike with her magic and dropped him behind her, breathing hard and in a battle-ready poise with a protective look in her eyes, her horn pointed at the now-retreating and on-guard Ditzy. “I won’t let you hurt him!” Twilight’s declaration flew on hot breath into the chilling rain. Spike pulled himself up, confused. “Twilight, what are—” But Twilight was full-forward now, all attention glaring at Ditzy, who had wisely and guardedly stepped back from the irrational mare. “You won’t... I won’t let you…” Words were failing Twilight, but coherent sentences would have made no difference now, for Ditzy had ceased to pay attention to Twilight and had a look of unfocused wide-eyed shock on her face. What am I… She’s not… “Twilight!” Spike was indignant, and more than a little embarrassed. “I was just starting to apologize, what are you doing?” Ditzy wasn’t seeing either of them. “I just… I couldn’t… You saw what happened when I apologized!” Twilight stopped, now confused to her own motivations for the spontaneous act. “No; I didn’t.” Spike replied. “I never invaded your privacy, Twilight.” “But then how did you…” Both of them stopped, realizing the quiet presence of Ditzy. “You can come in.” “What?” Twilight and Spike uttered simultaneously. “Come in, please.” Ditzy turned and entered her house, leaving the door wide open for them and disappearing from their sight around a corner. Spike and Twilight had curious expression, and exchanged them, but no exchange of expressions or words could help them understand what had just transpired in the mind of Ditzy. Instead, they trod carefully, tentatively, into the house, like two children without an idea of what to expect from the bizarre circumstance, keen on the previously angry presence that had left. And it was as Twilight entered that she realized that she had absolutely no plan. Normally, a violation of that magnitude would have caused Twilight to panic and become roughly spastic until she had a map to follow, but now all she could consider was the great foggy immediate future that was so suddenly bearing down on her. She had exclaimed it just yesterday, that all the ponies in this town were crazy, and now it seemed it was true for her as well: she had not the slightest idea what she was doing anymore, left with no right place to go but forward. She rued the irony, but only for a moment—the fog had rolled over her and now she was in Ditzy’s living room, alone with Ditzy; Spike had been asked to wait outside, and Ditzy was now waiting for her to speak. It was like looking in a mirror, looking at Ditzy—granted, a bit less parallel about the eyes, but she was just as unsure and off-kilter as Twilight was in that moment, uncomfortable in her own house. There they were, standing in front of the couch that Spike had spied, with nothing but the phantasmagoric measureless masses of memory and thought and feeling between them. Both of the two ever-so-vulnerable states of mind were frozen hopelessly in the presence of the other. They looked at each other fearfully now, and Twilight was not the one most afraid, no—it was Ditzy. It was what Twilight had wrought and brought to mind that had scared Ditzy into hopefulness. ~~~~~~~~~ It had started with the shriek-slice into the rain that had been the call for Spike, but it had been a scream of terrible times past for Ditzy: a thread yanked from the stained fabric of her past, a reminder of concerns and fears that had paralyzed her—but only for an instant—the stage was set and the present would not allow her to remember the past, not fully. And Twilight had run up like a shepherd after sheep nearly devoured, like a master after her imperiled student… Like a mother after her child… Nonetheless, the doors of the past slammed upon, ripping off the hinges as visceral scenes of dark and evil places flooded Ditzy, drowning her, and she sank into the black and cold depths of forgotten memory as she swam to no avail. The last of her breath would soon escape her wracked form; it would only go an instant longer in the cold ocean depths, devoid of light and hope. At last something slipped into her eyes that was enough to break the titanic-tight grasp of her past, and it was Twilight, shielding Spike protectively, ready to fight the bleakest battle. And it reminded her of her past, too, but this time the memory wrought another change in her, a positive change, even as she backed away from. Twilight, who had so valiantly (if belatedly) displayed what love she had hidden behind the scholarly exterior, surprised Ditzy. Even the vague and indefinite promises of retribution she made were made with a fervor that touched something of the scarred pegasus. Because the firelight in Twilight had reminded Ditzy of a day that was suddenly so close to the present, thrust into reality by incandescent orbs that had shone with the barest hint of the Elements that bound them all, and the day that she was reminded of was not pleasant, but it gave Ditzy a chance… one chance she could leap at, blind faith all she had left, never an option she had preferred, but always one she had had to take. And she had said the words; she had phrased with her own lips the words that had been denied her everywhere, the very words that formed the sentiment that indicated the love that hadn’t been hers since she was a child and ever since had been denied her everywhere else. “You can come in.” What other words? What other words could have captured the infiniteness and depth and the harmony of the magnificent love that been ripped away from her, torn out of her chest bleeding? Because it wasn’t really just that the inhabitants of Ponyville had taken what had been seen as an offensive attitude toward Ditzy, it was the combined ignorance and—inadvertent or not—malice that Ditzy had ever encountered including them that she had been all too willing to portray on a canvas that had been handed to her clean. And Twilight—Ditzy had seen herself in her, and in a moment of merciful weakness had recognized the fear that had rejuvenated the love, and had for a single instant extended the sympathy that had fulfilled that love, the words that could bridge the divide and heal the wrongs and retrieve all the harmony that Ditzy had discarded and been denied. Anything else would be to succumb to misery. It was the hammer-blow to her mind, and Ditzy had turned out of numbing shock and surprise, the heightened reverberations capturing every feeling of the moment and the moment’s essence, lost and moving seemingly without a conscious current of nerves into the house, again repeating the sentiment. Ditzy moved with her mind in a blur, the world sharpened and dulled with the crescendo and decrescendo of the emotional explosion; she found it surprising that she had not stumbled, and numb catharsis flowed gently and commandingly through her like vibrant rivers of nerve-reaction, coursing like the lifeblood that brought tranquility to the mind, obliterating without reserve the grey draining death that had ensnared Ditzy until all she was left with a fuzzy feeling. She felt the minutest hint of warmth flow and a vague fear of it. Who am I anymore? The constricting armor of ignorant malice and pain had been thrown off, piece by piece, it lay scattered and broken on the mind’s eyes’ floor, and she was bare and defenseless, overwhelmingly vulnerable. And now Twilight was before her: less overwhelmed by emotion, but with the same uncertainty locked inside her. She was as still as the walls of the house, but she seemed to be gathering her strength to say something. “I wanted to say earlier that I was sorry for asking that question, but I didn’t get a chance to.” Twilight shifted, looking off to the side, not noticing the dramatic changes in Ditzy’s demeanor due to her own awkwardness. “I’m here to apologize for that, and also for Spike trying to spy on you. I’m not sure what—” Had she been able to take note of Ditzy, she would have seen the pain in her vulnerability. Twilight’s attention snapped back when she realized that Ditzy’s head was on her shoulder, and she was crying—saying something muffled, over and over again. “I’m sorry,” Ditzy was saying, muffled by sobs as she wept. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” What is she— Twilight was confused beyond action, and it took effort for her to not draw back from the mare suddenly in her arms, but instead she drew Ditzy closer into her embrace, staring wildly at the ceiling as she tried to comprehend the insanity. A thousand thoughts flew through Twilight’s mind in that instant. Was this the same mare who had acted in cruel fury? The same who had slammed the door on her and Spike, and nearly crushed him? What had happened to the cold pegasus? For the entirety of her existence to Twilight, she had been a mysteriously cold, angry and set apart mare. She had done nothing but writhe in miserable pain and commit acts that only caused hurt. And she was here, in Twilight’s grasp—at her mercy—and she was weeping, nearly bawling, and Twilight could send her back into misery or bring her to happiness and comfort with the easiest glance, the least motion; all it would take for either would be the slightest sign, and for a moment her confusion and fear considered the darker path… And Twilight had to accept either all of her past and present now or none of it, for the other options only delayed the choice. The reconciliation or sundering had to be made; accept her all or nothing before she could be helped. But I didn’t turn her away, I’m holding her, why would I even think of a different… I’m already doing what they would want me to do. All that’s left is to go through with it. “It’s ok.” Twilight said to Ditzy, and pulled her as tight as she could. She had no idea what was wrong, but she was going to help. “I’m here to help you.” Ditzy didn’t stop heaving, but her sobbing convulsions were less vehement now. It was a minute or two in total, and the mutual heat that passed between was a comfort for Twilight, who had so recently ignorant of love, and Ditzy, who seemed to have broken down into a child herself—finding what was lost. In time, Ditzy drew back, and Twilight let her go with a reluctance that surprised herself. Ditzy looked wild, conflicted, hopeful—and fearful. “I’m sorry that I…” “I think you got that point across.” Twilight said with a warm and playful smile, sarcasm present but no hurt intended and none taken. “I—” “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It was my fault.” Ditzy sat down, unable to comprehend for a moment the selflessness, mind drawn into disarray but no longer in pain, confused at the world and bewildered at herself. Twilight was struggling in her mind now, Ditzy unaware, for Twilight had fulfilled the original purpose of her visit. Something in her hungered to get away now, go back to her library now and bury herself in books as was her desire. Something else, though—perhaps the sight of Ditzy’s tear-drying countenance—demanded that she stay, that she go the extra mile, follow the spirit of friendship that had taken her here. “Is there something I can help you with?” Ditzy was rapidly regaining her composure and emotional control, still in wonder and in shock of what had happened, but restrained as well. “I don’t deserve to ask anything of you.” Ditzy said, infinitely more in control now. “You can leave if you want to. I accept your apology.” “I don’t want to leave and even if I don’t owe you anything, I’d still like to talk to you,” Twilight replied. She knew she was on rocky ground with little knowledge of what to do in such a situation, but now she was immaculate, sure that she would find a way. Her confidence granted her an air of surety, and that surety granted Ditzy a sense of bravery, and unfortunately that bravery was tempered by the pains that had wrought the situation, and Ditzy did not move but drew inward into herself. Twilight sat down on Ditzy’s couch, leaving plenty of room for Ditzy to sit and to think. Ditzy did not move. “I’m not going to leave until I’m satisfied that you’re better.” “I said I’m fine.” Ditzy said, patience starting to evaporate as grieves forgotten crept back into her mind. Twilight’s stubbornness refused to let her leave, as she had promised, and soon Ditzy had a less than pleased look at she who was occupying half of her couch. Although Ditzy restrained herself from anger, she also restrained herself from sitting, and the stand-off soon reached several minutes. But Twilight was stubborn, stubborn and clever and brilliant—an excellent combination. “I used to have a lot of doubts about friends.” Twilight began, speaking to the wall and doing her best not to look at Ditzy. It would only make her uncomfortable. “All I used to have were assumptions, really. I didn’t actually know anything about them because I never bothered. I assumed they were a waste of time, a pain in the flank, and that most ponies were crazy—and sometimes I was right. Sometimes, it was better for them to be studying or improving themselves when they were off gallivanting around town late at night. Sometimes, they were a big pain: they had drama and problems and things that normally I wouldn’t even call concerns that consumed all of their attention, sometimes to the point that they became obsessed about things that I thought were trivial. And I was definitely right about them being crazy.” Twilight had Ditzy’s attention, full and direct, whether she wanted to give it or not—but Twilight wasn’t really talking to her, not anymore. “But they turned out to be real.” “It turned out, a lot of the things that I called a waste of time weren’t actually wastes. I used to think that the best way to learn something was in a book, and sometimes it is. But that was irrational of me—I neglected the rest of the world! These past few days, I realized that there are moments that can never be captured in words, never be expressed in a song, some things that can only be felt rather than expressed. I wouldn’t trade that for any collection of books, or for anything in the world.” “Sometimes, they hurt me or caused me a lot of frustration, like during the party. Some of them aren’t very nice, but there are some who care, and it can take time to distinguish between who is really causing you pain and who is actually trying to be your friend, and it takes them time too sometimes to figure out if they want to be your friend. It is absolutely the most difficult thing I have ever experienced… but it was worth it. Even all the pain that came with it. And I know now that if I had to do it all again with it being ten times harder, I would still do it.” “And I was completely wrong, without a doubt, about the craziness.” Ditzy was enraptured by her speech, and now confused. Hadn’t she just contradicted herself? Twilight let a grinning smile come over her face, still looking at the wall. “Oh yes, they are definitely crazy. But friends are supposed to be like that sometimes—and in some cases, all of the time. I misunderstood the point of the craziness and dismissed it as a waste. Even when they seem so different and so strange, that’s just their way of expressing their experiences, and it is absolutely wonderful.” Twilight suddenly turned to face Ditzy, and Ditzy whirled around in fear. She couldn’t let Twilight catch the glimpse of hope on her face, couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t let her in. “You look hurt, and I want to help you.” Ditzy shook her head no, inadvertently, doing her best not to betray her sorrow. She would still not turn around to face Twilight. “And there is…” Twilight’s tone shifted, a curiosity that intrigued Ditzy. “Still something that bothers me, one thing that I don’t understand.” Ditzy delved into her analytical side, trying to understand why Twilight’s tone had shifted, what it meant. “Last night, when I was in the castle and we had turned Princess Luna back from Nightmare Moon…” Twilight stopped, and Ditzy’s unseen eyes went wide. “The first thing that Princess Luna did was go up and apologize to Princess Celestia, who’s actually her sister, crazily enough. There was something… well, that Celestia didn’t do… that has been bugging me ever since.” Is she... Ditzy wouldn’t believe it. “Luna apologized to Celestia quite a bit, but I don’t remember Celestia ever apologizing to Luna.” Twilight shifted in her seat; her gaze was again upon the wall. “I mean, it couldn’t be entirely Luna’s fault, no matter what the story said. There had to be something that Celestia could apologize for, and as uncomfortable for me to think about it, it was probably at least a little Celestia’s fault, so she should have apologized too, and I…” Twilight squirmed. She opened… Twilight had revealed her pain to Ditzy. Twilight owed her nothing! Ditzy was the monster here, at least in her own mind, and the revelation that Twilight would reveal herself to Ditzy after all that had been done to Twilight upset the order of her mind so abruptly that she could not move nor breathe nor think coherent thoughts for several seconds. After every last atrocious thing that Ditzy had done to Twilight, she had still made the conscious decision to open up and be vulnerable—to lay herself bare at Ditzy’s mercy. She had thrown herself at the hooves of one who had shown no sign of redemption, a move of staggering faith in the belief of Ditzy’s hidden better nature. “But we both apologized.” Twilight whispered, visibly shaking. Twilight shifted about nervously in her seat for several seconds, waiting for Ditzy’s reaction to the fear that wouldn’t be finished. Ditzy turned around, and it was not joy on her face, but great fear, nervousness, and the scars of old pains—yet the slightest hint of bravery, too, and that heartened Twilight. Am I going to do this? Can I even do this? Ditzy shivered and her eyes were closed, but she sat next to Twilight. “I—I’m not really from here…” Ditzy began. It was slow, at first. Ditzy talked as if it was an awkward and uncertain confession; after long periods of time she started talking to Twilight more comfortably, telling her about her past and her troubles, the acceptance she had never found, the hope that Twilight had brought her so unintentionally and then brutally discarded, completely without her knowing, and the gratefulness that Ditzy now had for her. Twilight was remorseful as she realized the agony she had created and contributed to, even if it was unintentional, and the pains she took to extend her apologetic sympathy touched Ditzy. Twilight had felt the consequences of her own actions, and now Ditzy realized her own. Twilight had listened intently; she had heard every word. Ditzy was sure of her care now, and eventually she was comfortable in it, and Twilight in her. They were like the air that granted the reprieve to drowning and the water that healed the agony of dehydration and the rest and tranquility and peace of a dreamless sleep that bore away the pains of the day, and they both took their places in it. They learned to trust each other that night; they learned to accept each other that night, flaws and triumphs and all. They could melt away their problems with the help of each other once they had learned; their mutual healing became a profound occasion to them. It was dark outside, but it was warm and bright in the house, and it was warmest where the minds met and danced and learned again the joy of a friend’s love, even ones who had so recently scarred the other. They sat on that couch for a long, long time; long enough for Spike, who was tapping his claws impatiently outside, to become drowsy and threaten to fall asleep next to the door, and soon he did. He slept soundly and unmoved until the early hours of the morning, attention rapt on curious and alternatively dark and hopeful dreams. ~~~~~~~~~ Spike turned over, a yawn coming over him as he did. Eventually, he opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling of the library, and he lay in drowsiness. Birds were chirping shrill and deliberate melodies outside, warm light streaming in through windows that were best felt rather than seen on the blankets, floors and faces inside. It was a new dawn, the newest he could know—until the next one, of course. He took his time to enjoy it, something that Twilight could not seem to appreciate as much as he could. It took a rather lengthy amount of time for him to realize that wasn’t where he had fallen asleep. It took him longer to remember where he had fallen asleep, but once he did he veritably leaped out of bed and looked around wildly for Twilight. He rushed about, bursting through doors until he reached her study and found her buried in books. “Twilight!” “Yes, Spike?” Twilight asked with an even tone, pages turning. “How did your apology go?” Spike asked hurriedly, afraid he had missed something. “It went great.” Twilight turned another page, and Spike knew that she wasn’t listening to him. He put his claw to his forehead and sighed, turning to leave. Perhaps he wouldn’t figure this one out, and his heart and emotions drained at the thought. “Oh, and can you get the mail for me?” Twilight asked distractedly. “Sure.” Spike said, his mutter a color darker than usual, which Twilight missed entirely in her studiousness. Spike walked, down out of her study, into the foyer, passing as he saw in his mind the memories that had lead up to all of this. He was sorely disappointed that he wouldn’t know what had happened to the wall-eyed pegasus, and he wasn’t about to go running off again to find out. That would just be asking for Twilight to get angry at him right after he had made her extremely distressed, which was dangerous enough for him as it was; of course he also didn’t want to hurt her or her feelings. Out the door, onto the walk, down the path that clacked his claws, he made his way to the mailbox. He didn’t look when he opened it, only expecting the usual emptiness or piece of junk mail. Instead, his claw hit something more, and he with his curiosity engaged pulled out a plate of muffins. He was confused at first, but then he saw the tag attached, and his wonder was fulfilled as it read: from Ditzy, to Twilight. In surprise, he looked up into the sky, and with satisfaction he noticed—there she was, flying away on her route, smiling.
CatastropheCatastrophe Passing by, she took no more notice of the vacant library as she had during the few short weeks that she had been in Ponyville. It was a nice enough day—blue skies, interchanging green rolling hills and cottage-houses, an atmosphere of quietude, a small and welcoming place in a world that so often forgot the wonder of warm places. She herself had come to Ponyville in search of a job and a place to raise her child, Dinky, and luckily enough she had found both of those things after wandering quite a long way from her original home. Being a mailmare was trying, at times; by no means was it easy work, but she enjoyed a challenge. Not to mention it was an excellent opportunity to meet her neighbors. Or at least, it would have been. When “Derpy” had arrived, she had been inundated in the usual Pinkie Pie-inspired deluge of a party and rapid introductions to everypony in town. Honestly, she would admit that she had been shocked into a motionless and emotionless state by the sheer weight of the welcome that had been so graciously put upon her. It had been a blur of names and faces and ponies she just had to get to know and talk to, and tell all about, and they had all been so nice and so many that she had not known what at all to do. In the second that the lights had been switched on in her house to reveal that torrent of new relations, she had no time to react except by instinct; and her instinct was to flee, but she could not move from the spot. Shortly after her shock faded, she had noticed something peculiar. They were all nice, and nearly all of them had come voluntarily, with the exception of a few who had been drug along by Pinkie. She had no idea how to respond to kindness on such a massive scale. It was utterly alien to her to face a community that cared; she responded by responding not at all. She couldn’t even gather the strength to tell them her name in the first chaotic instants. Not like I would, given how they treated me afterwards. In the wild socialization of the party that followed, they had all looked to her as the guest of honor: telling her how great it was that she could be here now, how adorable Dinky was, yet they thought it strange that she could hardly respond under the mountain of streamers, party favors, and gifts they pressed upon her. In their great rush to accept her, they had suppressed her. Somepony at the party came up with the nickname of “Derpy Hooves” after she had fumbled a present in nervous clumsiness, and from there on it was forever canon amongst them. After all, they thought, if she hadn’t bothered to tell them her name and if she didn’t respond to them calling her that then she must not mind, correct? It became her name to them, and soon nothing else sufficed for their initially harmless antics. The morning found the blaze gone, the guests absent, returned to their homes, and a newly-named and numbed Derpy befuddled but pleased by the unexpected magnitude of kindness. It took a few weeks for the glow to fade away; a few weeks for Ditzy to find that she was once again alone with Dinky. She hadn’t really made any friends at her welcoming party—nothing beyond acquaintances, a name and a face here or there scattershot among memory. After the initial burst of welcomes, cheers, and curious questions had been withdrawn by her shell-shocked silence, the thoughts of the guests turned to the quenching of their social thirst and they had left her alone. Their first impressions had been of a quiet, asocial and somewhat clumsy pony, and thereafter they had ceased to consider her except through that lens. To Ditzy’s dismay, she only realized this until weeks after her party, but it was too late: the doors of understanding had been shut and sealed against her. She would be accepted now, but only as a quiet klutz. Her first impression had been cemented by her solitary existence in the confusing weeks afterwards. How was I supposed to know anything about the social expectations of a normal community? I didn’t have a childhood! I didn’t have a normal life! How was I supposed to act, and then they started—but it’s too late now. There’s no chance for me anymore. I’m alone again. She fought that perception with all her heart and soul, only to be dismissed and left aside. Shortly after, her newness to her neighbors had vanished and the rumor mills began spinning their macabre webs. Where was she from? Why were her eyes “derped,” as it came to be called? Where was Dinky’s father? Could she even be a good mother considering the father was absent and she was apparently disabled, unsociable, and mean? She could hear them talking about her occasionally, always under the assumption that she could not hear them, or even more cruelly with the intent of her hearing them in the attempt of provoking a response. The last one struck her with the magnified pain, causing her bouts of distraught agony and negative introspection that helped not at all. She ignored them as best she could, with the unfortunate effect of reinforcing her asocial perception that only made the rumormongers declaim her louder. In vain, she searched for somepony who would give her a second chance—let her do the talking—and explain herself, let her define herself instead of constantly being harangued. It only took one mistake for them to start judging me. They’re no different from everything I left… they just look nicer. She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she approached the quiet tree-building. There was no use dwelling on problems she couldn’t solve. Considering her lonely state, it was of great interest to her to find that she had mail addressed to the library. Empty buildings did not get mail, and the library was supposedly vacant… She deposited the package in the library’s mailbox, and at last her overbearing curiosity drove her to in investigate. Attentive, she approached the tree—Golden Oaks, she had heard it called once. She thought it unusual that a tree should be converted into a dwelling, but she had seen many more unusual things in her days and was not about to question it. She wondered if the wooden door barring her way was made out of the same tree; she wondered if any of the books inside were composed of the hollowed-out wood. It would be fitting, she thought, but she had no way of knowing. Perhaps one day she would learn. It was a better subject for her to wonder about than the last one. Maybe somepony’s moved into it. No—it’s probably a coincidence; I can’t get my hopes up just to get crushed again. Nonetheless, an uncontrollable surge of curiosity and hints of a faint hope danced behind her eyes as she looked the opaque leaves and trunk over. The tree-house itself sprawled out in a way that would impress a willow, the oak’s girth and implied strength impressive—it would have to be strong to hold the balcony and who-knows whatever else was in the leafy boughs. She had never been inside the uninhabited building; the doors were locked; she even flew round carefully to spy into the windows, but the shutters were bound tightly and uninvitingly. She would divine no information from sneaking about; in any case it appeared whoever was receiving mail had not yet taken residence. With a great reluctance, she landed back in front of the wooden door, bowed her head, and sighed. She had placed so much hope in a moment’s coincidence, and the draining of that chance did no favors for her morale. It had been weeks—a month? —now, and Ditzy could find no inroads into the ponies that inhabited this place that she could only grudgingly call home. They had rushed to her, greeted her, and subsequently left her to suffocate on her own loneliness. It was bad enough having rumors float about as thick and malicious as smog, but she had reached her breaking point. Their actions could no longer be passed off as curiousness gone astray, or unintentional hurts portrayed. It would only be harder for Ditzy to change their perceptions now that they were fully woven into the daily fabric of their lives. Just another dead end… She leaned against the door that barred her from hope and life and sat for a while, staring against the skies. They no longer seemed natural to her; they were now a drab coat of paint splashed onto a moribund reality in the vague and indefinite hopes of one day achieving happiness. She could not bear to stand against her sorrowful maelstrom of emotion much longer; her life was drained, vanishing and seeping out of her into the earth, sky, anywhere but out of where it was needed most. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that she must remain strong. It was the only way, if not for her own hopeless sake, but for Dinky. Her own mother wouldn’t have let her down, and Ditzy would not dishonor her. She would deny the pain and apathy for Dinky, and that gave her the feeble strength to raise herself up from the shadowed threshold of the oak and take to the sky. She couldn’t fall down on her job, after all. I can’t let her down. I can’t let the same things happen to her as they did to me. This is a place she can grow in, and maybe it can be safe for her. My happiness, my anything, is worth nothing if she is not loved. I can’t give up. There is no one else for her. Unbeknownst to her as she flew away, a few letters had slipped out of her mail-bag to lie on the path leading to the door. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Twilight Sparkle was not a happy pony. Her closest source of irritation was the incessantly talking yellow pegasus behind her, engaged in a conversation with Spike about everything he had ever done and every other event of importance in his life. That alone would cause enough problems. Her assistant had been annoying enough with his queries about why he couldn’t make any friends and not just her, to which she had replied that they would only be a cause of distraction to him, and any distraction to him would cause delays in her work, and her work was infinitely more important than any social life he could have. She didn’t think of it quite as arrogance; she considered it justified by her station and quality of work. After all, she was THE faithful student, Celestia’s personal protégé, the head of her class in intelligence, studiousness, et cetera. And Celestia had sent her here in the middle of an unfolding crisis, and spited her concerns on top of that. Twilight resisted the urge to growl in frustration at both her farthest-away source of frustration, the chatterbox on her back, and the one just behind. She desperately wanted them to hush, give her a moment to think, but she knew that any time she was not researching she would spend in fuming disbelief of what Celestia had done. How was it even possible that I could have been ignored about this? I am, by her own words, one of the most intelligent students she’s ever had. It shouldn’t even be possible, let alone reasonable, for Celestia to— Twilight let out a slight yelp as she slipped on something, inadvertently dumping Spike off her back and triggering a squeak and protective leap backwards from Fluttershy. She stood and gazed for an instant at the source of her frustration. Several unopened letters lay scattered across the ground, tiny little obstacles between Twilight and her goal of solitude and work. Great. This place is a mess already and I’m in charge of making sure it’s perfect. I’m sure I can fix everything, but they’re going to have to cooperate. “Spike, grab those letters. We can’t have ponies slipping on them or look trashy for the Summer Sun celebration.” “It’s just a couple of letters, maybe somepony left them here—” Twilight’s glare left no room for maneuvering; Spike realized the foolishness of contesting her in her sour mood and complied before scrambling back atop her, letters in claw. “As I was saying, dragons don’t age as fast as ponies…” Twilight shut out Spike’s talking, the excited yellow pegasus attentively absorbing every animated word Spike had to say. She noticed neither their excited faces, nor the wonder in their conversation, nor the joy in Fluttershy’s face and tone as she let out a reverent “Ooh” whenever Spike told her something she found particularly interesting. Twilight simply could not let go of her indignation, and she would not cease thinking of her work. Unfortunately for her, she did not notice the steely-blue-grey mailmare hurriedly searching through the skies above her, nor her gaze—directed at the path Twilight was taking, frantically in search of a few lost letters. Not, at least, until Twilight nearly ran into her. Ditzy had landed directly in her way, a harried look at the letters she had lost in Spike’s claw she granted, a tiredness in her eyes disguised by a nervous energy in her frame and desperation. Twilight looked up at her, a preemptive loathing forming in her mind for the inevitable overly-friendly introduction and offers and invitations that she would then deny. “I’m sorry; I dropped those letters—” she gestured at Spike’s claw, “—and I really need to deliver them.” Twilight momentarily failed to resist the urge to stare at Ditzy’s eyes, which had been misaligned for several moments, and blurted out the question before she could consider it— “What’s wrong with your eyes?” ~~~~~~~~~~ When Ditzy realized she had lost the letters, she had lost control of over her destructively negative emotions and had taken the cold plunge into the river of despair that had threatened to swallow her up. Panicking, she had retraced her route with a precision driven by bleak terror. The agony of possibility tortured her: if she had lost the letters, she might lose her job, lose her house and fail Dinky as a mother. It was an assumption made only easier by the pain inflicted on her and the desperation tearing through her mind. I can’t fail her and I can’t lose these letters now— A jolting spark of recognition hit her as she spotted the letters in Spike’s claw. She flew down, apologized with the end in mind, and then the abrupt question came. It took Ditzy a second to process the question, and then hatred consumed her mind again. It did not come to light that she had never seen Twilight before. Ditzy had been filled to the brink by the ignorance of others; now it poured over and she was blinded by it, rendered hopeless. She did not see Fluttershy scared. She did not see Spike silent. She did not see Twilight, looking with regret at her, sole desire to apologize for the impolite question. All she saw were taunting faces. It all started as a pain in her chest, a bile that rose in her stomach. She was shaking in her mind, a tremor ran throughout her body, and it was all she could do to not give in to the desire to break. They who had perpetrated rumors had played their perfect game, and Ditzy had lost. They had harried her and cornered her and she would take no more, could take no more, and she didn’t know whether she was going to strike Twilight or collapse into a shaken sobbing mess as an admittance of their horrid victory. In the end of the instant, she quickly seized the letters out of Spike’s claw and rocketed into the sky, through a cloud, without a coherent thought, her anger and pain cascading over into miserable waterfalls of tears flowing freely into the colorless sky. ~~~~~~~ It was not long before Twilight’s shame corrupted into self-rebuke. I can’t believe I would ask something so stupid! I have so many other things to be worried about without making ponies upset! “Twilight, do you have any idea why she acted like that?” Spike asked, looking at Twilight in the few quiet, awkward moments after the encounter. “No, Spike. But we still have a lot to do, so we can’t stop.” And we would probably be going faster if you weren’t taking so much time to talk. After she had reflexively denied Spike’s inquiries about why she thought that unusual-eyed pegasus had flown off in a fit of tears, she turned to her own guilt in the matter. She had more than enough things to worry about without dealing with others. If I’m so smart, then how is it possible that something so insensitive and stupid could slip out? If I’ve learned so many great things, what is it worth if I can’t control myself? Her head bowed in concentration along the path, she edged ever closer to her temporary (or so she thought) residence, the now-unreserved pegasus and oratorical dragon busy in their talk, clueless to the contemplation in Twilight’s head and her slight annoyance at their conversation. ~~~~~~~~~~ It took far too short a time for Ditzy to break into pieces, she felt, as she wrapped herself in a stained old blanket in her sparsely furnished room. Her house—she could not bring herself to call it her home—was a nice one, but she had had precious little time or money to furnish it. Her own room she had left for last, preferring instead to first provide for Dinky. She would refuse to consider anything less as acceptable. So Dinky’s room had been painted and furnished, and the kitchen stocked; the living room was lively and bright, even the guest room was impressive for one of her means, but Ditzy’s own room was bare. She would not, could not complain. It had been her choice and her affirmation of the truth that she would first of all be a good mother to her child. All else, even her own care, was a lesser desire. So Ditzy lay tangled in her blanket and in her own broken dreams and hopes that lay sadly shattered, softly sinking into the bare floor and blank walls, and her ill-gained thoughts painted them in depressed colors for her, saving her the trouble of doing so, but providing no happy ends otherwise. And she could not have told how long it was that she occupied her sickened position, only that the loneliness drew it out into cruel lengths, that the misery was like a parasite, that as she succumbed to it as it became greater and more horrible. But there was light in the glacial shadows, and not inside the house it was, but in the home. And it would find its way to her… Ditzy felt it initially, a warm spot on her chest. For a minute, she was unable to even register the presence of heat in her cold-shocked torment. The heat built, the presence grew, until she felt the warmth spread out around her neck and she gathered the presence of mind to look down and notice the soft pressure. Dinky had crawled into her bed and had nearly fallen asleep hugging her mother. In the moment of understanding, the warmth shot through Ditzy’s body and mind with thunderous emotional recoil. How could I forget… I have everything I need here to be happy. She ran a hoof through Dinky’s mane, her now closing eyes giving a last glimmer at the mother who hung on to the moment. “I have you, and you are my love…” Dinky’s eyes promised to open, but Ditzy set her back to rest with a gentle shh and soft strokes of her hoof through her child's mane; both kept warm in the embrace. It was a ridiculous matter, her misery. It had fallen from her, swept away in the purpose of her life. Outside, the sun was falling below the horizon, the temperature was dropping, and the cold visages of her tormentors were wandering about, but none of that mattered now. Ditzy had her love; Ditzy had her peace. It was all by her side, and it was more than she could want. Dinky was now fast asleep, the last rays of the sun surrendering gracefully to the starry night. Ditzy laid a soft kiss on Dinky’s forehead. It’s alright; we’ll be fine. She laid there for a few more moments that would never be long enough, hearing the soft sounds of their breathing and the glow of warmth between them. It took a will that had traveled more than half the breadth of Equestria to move the few short feet out of Dinky’s embrace and then into the next room. While Ditzy would sorely like to rejoin Dinky, her work was not done yet. She hadn’t even checked her own mail. Ditzy sat down at her dining table, debating amongst herself what to eat while absentmindedly flipping through her personal mail. Most of it was junk, but there was one particular envelope that caught her attention: a pink one, fittingly from Pinkie Pie. It was a party invitation, one of several she had received over the past few weeks. She waffled over whether to actually open it for a minute. Ditzy had had no more desire to “socialize” with most of her neighbors after the unfortunate first party, even though she had tried to change first impressions. She had a suspicion, though—perhaps it was the mail addressed to the empty library, or merely the tumultuous events of the day, but it was a hunch nevertheless. She tore open the envelope and shallowly scanned the words on the letter within, brushing aside some confetti that had been tucked inside—and then a few words branded themselves on Ditzy’s mind. “This is an official invitation for the surprise welcome party of the newest pony in town, Twilight Sparkle…” Attention rapt, Ditzy hurriedly read the rest. If there was a new pony in town, then they probably hadn’t met Ditzy: a pony completely free of the grime that the rumors had smeared on her, a mind unblemished by the unfortunately unfriendly first impression that Ditzy had so mishandled and the others had so abused. A fresh hope, a blank slate, a beckoning candle in the darkness. This is my chance! “… To be held at the Golden Oaks library…” Much-appreciated satisfaction was the reward for Ditzy’s earlier investigations; a victorious flourish graced her face as a smile. “… Commencing at exactly six p.m.” Ditzy turned to face the clock hanging on the north wall before her mind could convince her body to lock up. It was nearly six thirty post meridium, the time zone was correctly set for the clock, it was not placed upside-down, and she quickly ran out of reasons as to why the time displayed on it should be incorrect. Don’t panic, there’s still time… Her body belayed the order to refrain from panic and threatened to sweat and hyperventilate. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass from her without a fight. She would let go of her home, only for a moment, in the hopes of finding a foothold out of the pain. I have to go, I have to go, there’s no time to prepare for anything— She rushed out the door into the cooling night, the last hope shining far away in the distance. ~~~~~~~~ There might have been a time when Twilight would have been amenable to speaking for the sake of speaking, but the thumping of the bass rattling about the house put a damper on any such tentative ideas. She couldn’t even concentrate, let alone seek a solution to the vexation that was the problem of Celestia’s ignorance. Had she not noted the signs? Surely, she had at least read the prediction at Twilight’s insistence. Had Twilight not been wallowing in her self-sustained mental grumblings, she might have heard her door being knocked on. She did not hear the knocking, nor did her retinas absorb the light radiated by the open doorway, and her sensitive nervous endings could not differentiate between the thumping of the bass and the thumping of scaled steps up to her loft. She could smell the myriad evoking scents of the party downstairs by the rush of air, though, and that tipped off her busily analytical brain that something had changed in her blissfully dark and quiet place. A tap, two taps, an uncertain drumbeat played on her by a poking claw. At last, she relented. “Spike, I’m sure that I don’t want to play any party games,” Twilight answered from under her pillow. “But there’s somepony here that wants to talk to you!” “Yeah, a whole party of them.” “Twilight, I think you need to talk to her…” He sounded nervous, or insistent. It was hard to tell for her with his voice muffled. The obstructing pillow shifted an inch, and the party lights blurred through the grooved tunnel into Twilight’s eyes, the sensation creating a phantasmagoric disillusionment, her sight stained by the burst of radiant color, dots flying about as she shifted about to face Spike. “It’s the pegasus with the messed-up eyes. You didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier.” Twilight was fully upright now, the lucid colors from downstairs playing games with her eyes. She couldn’t concentrate now, not with her eyes confused hopelessly. “Alright, give me a minute.” She wouldn’t get a minute. Spike ran back down the stairs from her loft, mercifully closing the door and the playful shadows that had been cast by the uninvited (in Twilight’s mind) houseguests faded to be once more a part of the welcome solidity of darkness. Twilight sighed and resisted the urge to put the pillow back over her head. I can’t believe I did this in the first place. I’m sorry that she got distressed, but it was just one question, and probably one that she gets asked a lot. How was I supposed to know that she was sensitive about it? I haven’t even been here a full day yet and I already made somepony freak out. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face as regret tinged her consciousness. I don’t know her at all… hopefully she’ll be reasonable. It would be strange for her not to forgive one mistake. Distressed, Twilight’s tumultuously tired and tentatively contrite mind wrestled with the idea of apologizing. Could she really find the courage to give a sincere apology? She would have to find her answer quickly as the door moved out of place once more. ~~~~~~~~ It was beyond the sunset now, the sky orange, burning, burning, burnt to grey, with black leaf-ridden trees all around in it. The signs of the seasons echoed her, fading away into the night. Ditzy was rocketing, chasing, whipped to frenzy along the trees in the vain hope of turning back time; from gold to orange to grey it had gone and to violet she and it would go, but who could tell what awaited her there. She whistled through the air, thundered to the door of the lit tree-house, swung open the door and dove inside the maelstrom of voices, bodies; she knew only what she was not looking for, and when she saw what she knew not she had found her destination; around and over, under, she went, a blur, a flash, a miss, a quick apology, she swerved, dove; she would find her hidden hope even if she had to go through the very last door—and soon she did very nearly fly through it, only to be walled in by dismay. The coldest drenching wave could not have struck her harder than to see Twilight looking down from the ledge upon her. ~~~~~~~~ “Hello. I, um…” Twilight would have continued, but the rapidly darkening tone of Ditzy’s face gave her pause. Her face turned down, eyes glaring up as if to charge; her face was frighteningly unreadable in the low light of Twilight’s room. It was a grim statement. Twilight could observe only her eyes, and they promised no immediate nor easy forgiveness. In the waiting silence, they thinned to sinister slits, slices of white and gold and black in comparison to the unnerved cautiously widening violet orbs above. Those narrowed eyes seemed to comprise Ditzy’s whole being in that moment, a solemn mortal promise shining up from the shadowed, dank bottom of the room. It was cold now, a chill that drove a jarring rhythm into Twilight’s spine; the shiver that ran through her body suddenly refused to desist. It was too far gone for Twilight to turn her back. The only possibilities were reconciliation or failure in the freezing room. “I just...” Her words were silenced in her mouth, the frigid air devouring the moisture and the words. It was cold in the air, and it was cold outside, and it was cold in Ditzy’s unrelenting eyes. Merciless, ice-burning entropy crystallized her vocal chords; the bitter cruelty promised in the ice-shattering eyes faded away the precious little energy Twilight could rally. It was overtaking her swiftly, deliberately planting seed-like bursts of dread now. It sapped Twilight like the waters of the northern seas, the apathetic urge to sink below the waves and be consumed; so terrible was it that her hope threatened to slip away from her like heat from metal into coldest air. She worked her mouth, but no words issued forth—it was all she could do to keep from being eaten alive by entropic black ice, the bitterness of the gold, the blankness of the white. Fear of failure gave Twilight enough desperate energy to make a last statement. “I just wanted to ask if—” But Twilight had hesitated for too long. Ditzy leaped furiously, suddenly up, a tiger freezing black, and Twilight buried herself as best she could in the moment before the shadow pulsed over her. Terrible anticipation drove her to hide from winter’s wrath, but nothing more passed over her than moonlight and the ten-fold refracted lights from the unheard downstairs. After an indefinable length of trembling time, Twilight snapped her head up to look about, but neither hide nor hair of Ditzy was left in the room. Behind Twilight, the window was wide open, curtains rippling silently. “…If you were alright.” Twilight covered herself and shivered mightily in the warm summer’s night. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you. ~~~~~~~~~~ Fits of angered syllables pillaged Ditzy’s mind. It would be her, it had to be her. I should have known that something like this would happen. Twilight was no different, despite her newness, from her insistent neighbors. No doubt her question would have ended with the inevitable query about her eyes, or her past, or some other unusual aspect about her without any concern about her herself. Forget all of them. None of them cared about me to give me a second chance. I’ve been the one trying. In the strange sensibility of modern irony, it was fitting that the tones of each mind had swapped between the two misguided souls. Twilight was now fearfully in the sad regret that Ditzy had once been controlled by, her perception of herself hopeless and twisted, while Ditzy had ridden herself of the same only to find herself burnt by the iciness of anger and disappointment, smoldering with the suspicion that she had been set up. Ditzy returned to her house to tussle in an unsatisfying bed as Twilight struggled to put aside her renewed shame in preparation for the dawn and the trials ahead. It would be an unusually long night.
Glory, Hope, MadnessGlory, Hope, Madness It was the very essence of glory. Twilight had come to realize, through changes and trials, what is respect, appreciation, selflessness—the love that is friendship. After all, what had once been Nightmare had been astoundingly transformed, sublimely sanctified, redeemed from deathly despair, and she: she had been the key, the spark of it all. She had friends; she was not ashamed to say it and could hardly refrain from repeating it to herself, savoring the feeling and amazingness of the concept: she was enraptured. She was here, now, with her friends and mentor, in the greatest celebration she had ever known. It was a wave of bliss that rode through her, and through them all, and it only rebounded in their individuality to roll back over her and her friends once again. They had come back from the ruined castle more than they had ever been. Twilight wandered in the reveling through the streets as her friends, her friends, talked and ran, celebrated; she was consumed in thought as usual, even when she conversed. Did Celestia know that all of his would happen? Could I have even imagined? And it’s all just started… I have so much more to live now. Twilight looked down the way and was almost dizzy with happiness. There was Celestia, who had not doubted her after all, and Luna—Luna! —who had been thought to be the fanciful vestiges of a myth by those who knew their history, and who had been the monster in the dark for so many centuries. She was present and enthroned with her sister at the end of the way, joyfully renewed, the two were tearful with silent joy. The longest night had given way to longest day; the sun was perihelion, the moon periselene, and they were in harmony, ordered and equal at last. Yet there were yet flaws in paradise, subtle and sickening, and in four places they lurked like cracks, hidden, one day to seize and shake asunder. Twilight could not feel any of that now. They would not feel it in the celebration—not in the victory. She had paused for a moment and watched the celebration, but then went off to rejoin her friends. My friends, my friends! Celestia knew all along that this would happen! How could I ever doubt her? This is the best thing that has ever happened to me… Even then, the celebration was not complete, not even with Twilight’s perfect amazement. Throughout most of the town, the feelings were mostly the same. In every house the state was happy, and in every mind the rejoicing was paramount. For a short while, all but one buried their fears and sorrows, but the last one burned dreadfully. That last one stoked her ash into a fury and allowed it to paint her disposition and gave it command. The last one put on the terrible mental armor of strife and disgust, jealousy and distrust; and the price of wearing that dread was seeing it displayed on all others. Ditzy could feel no joy because she thought their joy could never be hers; she could not accept happiness as itself and so was exempt. She had sunk into maddening misery. So she lay in her house and lay in her smoldering torments as well, and it took not long for her to boil over into hellish hatred, waiting for nothing and receiving nothing and becoming all the madder because of it. In bits and pieces she heard the news of how Twilight had found a way, had found friends, had found acceptance and happiness and all the things that had escaped Ditzy, and that only furthered her malicious mood. She had put on the armor of jealous wrath, and she could not take it off. ~~~~~~~~~~~ The hours passed; the cheer rescinded into quiet and the celebration wound slowly to an end as tired revelers traveled back into their houses, leaving the street eventually empty again. Twilight was the last to wander into her library from off the street, dazed and amazed at how the night and day had gone. Twilight and her friends had found the Elements of Harmony. And they had not just found the Elements, not just the symbols of those virtues, they were those virtues. They themselves were the harmony that had saved them all. And she, Twilight herself, was magic. It had been her life’s purpose, her passion; she lived for it and now she was the archetype of not merely magic, but the magic of friendship and all the good it had wrought in those profound six. It had all been destined for her, she had been chosen to be that unity. The beautiful love they had found would not pass from them. Daylight had begun to fade again, but the promise was assured that it would rise in due time. Just inside the door of the library, Twilight sat and wondered for a moment at the books that lined the walls and attempted to imagine if there could be any among them that could match the bliss she had found, even though she knew she would be in vain. There could be no words to describe what she had found: no book’s solitude could match her friendship now. Has it only been a few hours since I discovered everything I’ve been missing!? I was so silly to turn them down! Silly Twilight. Silly me. It doesn’t even make logical sense! She resisted the urge to giggle ecstatically, caught up in her life-defining revelation, normally serious thoughts turned to simple, pure joy, and she could not cease smiling. The door opened from the other room and Spike entered. “Spike!” Twilight ran over and embraced him in something that she might call a hug, but he might categorize as more of a tackle. “Oof! Twilight, what was that for?” He struggled and squirmed in her grip, but Twilight wouldn’t put him down, wouldn’t let go of him. Not until she had shown her love. “Isn’t it wonderful?” “Having friends? I told you so!” Spike squirmed again, clearly less than comfortable with the awkwardness of the embrace. She put him down, her wide smile revealing her feelings on the matter. She could be no happier. “I always told you it wasn’t a waste of time.” Spike huffed with his arms crossed, put off guard by the unexpected embrace and rolling his eyes. “And you were right.” Twilight admitted cleanly, feeling no pain of or objection of pride in her blissful state. “Speaking of friends, how did your apology with Derpy go?” “Who?” Twilight asked, confused. “You know, the pegasus with the messed-up eyes that dropped those letters the other day. I was talking about her with…” The sinking feeling came again, and Twilight didn’t hear the rest of Spike’s explanation. Her thoughts turned into a different turbulent emotion altogether, as her smile shrunk into a somewhat negative statement and her eyes focused on something about a thousand yards away. “Twilight?” Spike asked. He snapped his claw before her eyes, and she started. “What were you thinking about? You had your thinking look going.” “Oh, it’s nothing, Spike.” Twilight sighed; her words were neutral but her worried expression told a better tale. “Alright, then.” Spike said dubiously. His gaze did not move from Twilight’s back as she retreated to her loft’s door, head bowed in introspection. She was just so happy… it must be something about Derpy. His concern for her only grew as time passed behind the door. ~~~~~~~~ The bitter taste of a moment’s failure tarnished Twilight’s enjoyment of her victory, enough to cause introspection in the midst of the celebration. Her head low, she paced just past the door until it boomed shut, ringing in her ears like a reminder of the night that had threatened not to end. She stopped, in the exact spot that Ditzy had possessed, and stared up at her loft questionably. How did I fail to help her? Granted, it was before she had learned. She had certainly denied friendship to all of those who her here friends now, but they were all her friends now. She no longer had open conflictions in her life, with the exception of Ditzy. I’m supposed to be learning about friendship now, but what… Was she meant to be in conflict with some others? She squashed the idea as quickly as it formed, knowing it to be a ludicrous idea, set against harmony and as discordant as discordant could ever be. But what was wrong with Derpy? She didn’t look stable; it could be anything… I don’t know her; how do I start? Caring and delving into individuals and their deep feelings was a new branch of reasoning for Twilight, and for an instant she struggled with it. If she had any problems, previously she would have simply denied them if what knowledge she had could not solve it, brushed them off or buried them in her books, all of which had proved to be ultimately futile. If she had problems now, she would bring them to her friends. Maybe she hasn’t talked to her friends about her problems. She turned toward the door and cracked it open. “Spike?” She yelled. “Does Derpy have any friends I could talk to?” She got no reply; Twilight determined that Spike must be asleep by it. It had been a long day; they all deserved some rest. She closed the door again, gave a great sigh and turned toward her loft. It was the wrong question, she realized. Does Derpy have any friends at all? It couldn’t be so; she had to have some friends. This was the friendliest place Twilight had ever been. It was not possible for her to imagine loneliness in that moment, and she found the idea that Ditzy was friendless worrisome. Her eyes drifting out of her mind, she focused on her loft above and tried to imagine what it would have been like for Ditzy. Spike had said she had come in in a panic, searching everywhere for Twilight, but Ditzy herself had turned foul once she had found her. What was it that had so twisted her perception? Twilight looking at the loft and bed and still-ajar window and imagined how she must have looked to Ditzy, gazing down in an imperially bored manner and struggling to compose an apology that’s delivery had been so misunderstood as arrogant boredom. It was a harsh judgment of herself, perhaps, but she was more ready to blame herself than others. But what was Ditzy upset about in the first place? What made her want to find me so much? The root of Ditzy’s pain, the reason why the question had caused so much turmoil escaped her. She wasn’t at the celebration, either. What had driven her away from the happiness that the town so enjoyed? Am I going to go and find out? It’s late and I don’t know where she lives, I could spend all night out there and not find her… Twilight paused on the stairs, an unforgiving choice before her. She could ascend into a well-deserved sleep, or she could descend into the unknown night in a vague and perilous attempt to figure out what was wrong with Ditzy. Self-preservation cried out for sleep, yet the lessons of harmony demanded she try to help. More rested on her decision than what she could know. Twilight would not be able to use austere reason in this case, but the warmth of how she felt would decide it for her. It was the edge of a blade, and if she balanced for an instant it would slice her in two as indecision would only cost them all more— Twilight burst out of her loft’s door, determined to continue harmony at whatever cost. She would accept nothing less. ~~~~~~~~~ Spike was a bit smarter than most of his friends gave him credit for. He hadn’t hung around Twilight his whole life for nothing, after all, and he had absorbed no less than a huge quantity and quality of knowledge from being her always-present assistant. His little draconic brain had started whirling around his head the instant he had seen Twilight distressed, and he had come to the rather accurate conclusion that something had gone very wrong with her apology and it was perplexing her beyond means of immediate resolution. He, possessing more care for Twilight than he could ever admit while preserving his masculine dignity, had designed what he thought to be quite a clever plan to help her. He would leave while Twilight was consumed in thought (normally, those phases of hers lasted anywhere from hours to days) and investigate Ditzy. It’s not really spying if I’m watching out for them. Both of them need help and they’re not going to get it if I don’t do anything. Twilight’s probably really tired and if I can find out something about Derpy it will make it easier for her. In any case, Twilight had not heard the rap-tapping of his claw-feet as he slipped out of the library in the direction of where he had heard Ditzy lived. It was dark, though, and in the dark the storm-clouds had begun to gather and connive of a coming gale, a summer thunderstorm, and it would be sooner rather than later that it came. ~~~~~~~~~ “Spike!” Twilight called out, searching for her companion. She wasn’t about to leave without her most valuable assistant, of course. It would be ludicrous to go on her journey unprepared, even if it was just one across town. It’s going to storm soon; I had better get going. But the searching, and the calling, and the thinking all left her with a lack of a particular dragon. At first, she had been convinced that he was sleeping in his room, but that avenue had abruptly ended, and all the others quickly ran short until she stood in the parlor, puzzled. “Spike!” She called out louder, walking through the empty rooms of the house. “Are you around here somewhere?” Echoes and silence replied. “Spike?” It was the soft sound now, tentative with the hint of fear revealing the vast chasm of concern underneath. Where could he be this late? It’s not like him to go out and not tell me. He’s not out still; everypony went home and I’m sure I saw him… She turned around, and the front door caught her attention: it was open just so, just slightly, and her eyes widened. It was the only remaining possibility. Twilight rushed out the front door, heedless of the coming storms, not even bothering to grab a lantern on the way out. ~~~~~~~~ A little window was in the rain, and the light flowed through it to the dragon’s eyes, hidden in the bushes like the bolt before it burst from the cloud. He was there, of course, to see what he could see about the pegasus who had so vexed Twilight, and he wasn’t about to run up to the front door and demand an answer. He had been there for a while now, and he knew it even as the storm rose around him, but he could not tear himself away from that scene in the little window, the little window into the uncharted life. Even as the wind began to howl and tear, he watched. It was a simple thing, really, no panorama nor endless horizon. A light purplish foal sat on the floor doodling away at some unseen drawing, building a door into a world of vibrantly free imagination. There was a couch by the foal, and on the couch was her mother, and the vibrancy of the drawing was countered by the deadened look in her eyes, gazing blankly up at the ceiling. Every so often the foal would clamber up upon Ditzy, her lips’ movements only understandable as silent signs to Spike, and would try to occupy her mother’s attention with the drawing. Ditzy would not look at the vibrant colors, and would softly murmur something to her daughter while ushering her back down with a gentle touch. The foal would not give up, and in time would climb up again, and again, each time being gently moved down without success: but that was not the entirety of the motion. For every time that her daughter would touch her, it was as if a spark jolted through her countenance and her eyes for a single moment would lose their decay. But she would not look at her daughter; she would not look at her vibrant drawing. She could not see them; she had forgotten happiness. It was not long before Spike forgot why he was watching, so intrigued was he by the desperate unceasing spark and her drawing that he could not quite catch glimpse of. At least, until he realized that Twilight was standing right behind him and the bush in the now-pouring rain. “Spike!” Twilight hissed, no shortness missing from her voice. “What are you doing out here in the rain hiding next to somepony’s house? You could have at least—” He put a claw to her mouth and motioned for silence, then pointed Twilight’s gaze inside the window. “You’re spying on her?” Twilight was more than slightly angry at Spike for running off. “Ssh. Watch!” Spike whispered urgently, still consumed by the spectacle he had only the slightest understanding of. “I can’t believe you would go and do something like this, and without telling me.” Twilight was heated the fact that Spike would just run out without telling her, and to do something like this in his absence just made it worse. I can’t believe you! You didn’t even tell me you were leaving! “You should know by now that you can’t just go around looking in—” “Twilight!” Spike said strongly, an oddity that caught her off guard. “Just watch!” Somewhat muffled by his response, Twilight complied for a moment. “What am I supposed to be seeing?” Inside the window, the foal and the drawing had ascended only to be put down again by Ditzy. Spike’s expression turned to impatience as Twilight’s remained blank; he could not find the words to express what had happened. “Can’t you see, in her eyes, it’s like when… It’s like… She’s… what’s the word?” He stomped, growled quietly in frustration as the rain started to fall in torrents around them. Twilight turned to him, and after a moment Spike reciprocated the gesture with a pleading look in his eyes. “Oh, Spike.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if you run off and do crazy things like this. Come on, we need to get home; the storm is starting to pick up.” At least Derpy didn’t see us. I can’t imagine her thinking well of me after how we acted, and now we’re sitting outside her window in a storm… Yet Spike showed no sign of submission; something had struck a chord in his mind. “No!” It had not been the words, but the way she uttered them. In that tone, there had been a hint of condescension, a hint that she did not consider him fairly, and even if she hadn’t meant it, it still grinded on his sense of rightness. It was the seed of contempt that would grow into a complete denial of Spike’s person left unchecked, and he saw it for what it was even in that early stage. He had heard it before and dismissed it as chance and coincidence; he had heard it again and become suspicious; now was his action. I’m not going to let you say no to this so soon! I was right about the friends! “You’re not my mother, you’re my—” Spike caught himself, and Twilight gave him a curious look in the next instant. “But you can’t just leave her! Your apology didn’t work!” “How did you know—” Twilight caught herself too late to save her private events, and that only caused a swell of unfocused anger. “Spike, we are going to have a long conversation about my privacy in the library.” Twilight moved to rise out of the bush, acidic emotion threatening to spill over out of the confines of her disgruntled mind. “I didn’t see it, and I didn’t have to see it to tell what happened,” Spike said. “I could read it all over your face.” “Uh-huh.” Twilight replied, not hearing a word Spike had said while disentangling herself from the bush. Her mind was already lost in a grumbling mood that promised to only sour as the clouds and night grew darker while they wandered their way home. And then the window curtains slammed shut, but before they did Twilight caught a glimpse of a very displeased Ditzy looking at them lying half-inside in her bushes. “Great. Just great.” Twilight put a hoof between her eyes, sighing and trying to rub away the fast-growing headache that was as imminent as the fact that the sun would rise in the morning. Of course, it nearly hadn’t. “Didn’t you see her?” Spike insisted, extricating himself from a particularly nasty thorned area. “You need to go and try to apologize again!” “I will do no such thing in the pouring rain after dark.” Twilight declared, brushing leaves off as the rain picked up. “But why did you look here first?” And then Twilight remembered why she had wanted to set out in the first place, and let out a short groan. Yes, a headache was definitely coming on. This is not the time; this is not the place... “I can apologize in the morning when I’m not sopping wet and the sun is still in the sky.” “It is in the sky.” Spike replied evenly. “We just can’t see it right now because it’s under the horizon.” Twilight gave Spike the most unholy glare from her he had seen in a long time, but he held his pose and did not back down. “Fine,” she said, completely exasperated. At least she could get Spike to be quiet when her apology was rejected, and after that she could get some sleep, at long last. It was a short trip from the side to the front door of the house, but it seemed to take much longer to the two irritated minds that walked, side-by-side, through the void gloom. One was desperate, hoping with all his might that his instincts would not prove him wrong and cause a scar to open with his sometimes-sister. The other was growing fouler by the minute, no concern for others hidden in her mind, no, she was filled with the selfish interest that decried any delay for her own expectations; in her heart there was no room now. Twilight had been pushed too hard, and the magnificent lessons she had learned had had so little time to take root and flourish. Before they both knew it, they were before the door, looking expectantly at it as if it would swing open of its own accord. Twilight gave a final glance at Spike, and had to resist the urge to say something sarcastic when she saw the expectant look on his face. He didn’t change, didn’t move, didn’t bend, but eventually Twilight did. With reluctance and a petulant tiredness, she knocked a hoof on the door. There was a moment’s silence—then two—then the door opened and gave a hint of Ditzy, and rapidly slammed shut once more. “Looks like it didn’t work.” Twilight announced, starting to turn. “Time to head home. This can be done at the proper time.” “You didn’t even say anything!” Spike protested. “She obviously doesn’t want to be bothered, or spied on.” Twilight replied, a particularly disapproving narrow glance on Spike. Spike was nearly frustrated now beyond reason. He wanted to yell at her how she was acting no different than how she had been before she had discovered friends; Twilight had become as determinedly alone and unwilling to risk a chance of interaction. It was apathy—it was the despair that was the void of hope that a friend could be reality. “You’re no different.” Spike growled low in his throat, quiet, poised in his stillness. “What?” Twilight, having already taken a few fateful steps away. “If you’re not going to apologize, then I will for both of us.” Twilight halted, face hidden from Spike, and it was a long, cold, rain-soaked moment before she replied tonelessly. “Suit yourself.” She walked away, the night and rainfall’s cover of darkness stealing his sight of her away in moments. Spike had the distinct feeling that he had lost a home. It ached inside him tormentingly—nothing definite, but his heart’s instinct was of consequences as he shivered. It was a vorpal blow between them, and as he tried to grasp it in his mind it only cut him more and intensified the pain, seemed all the more inevitable, a result of their actions that had ultimately differed. He could not bring himself to find comfort for his half of the deed, the splitting asunder of hearts and minds. I hope Twilight’s not too mad. I did this for her own good, and she thinks that I… I hope she realizes that I was just trying to do what’s right. There was only one door left for him. The closed barrier provided him no comfort against the assails of his worries, but it was the only option he knew he could take. With a deep breath in the freezing rain, he reached and knocked on the shut door. He waited in the silence ruptured by screaming blasts of the ice-water that was the rain. The chill-soaked, thunderous poundings of his bleeding heart ran with tension as the knocks faded into the storm. The door opened, and threatened to close quickly again—but Spike was fast in his desperation and wedged a claw in the door before it could, condemning his senses to a load of pain that he was unaccustomed to, but giving him an instant to speak. “I’m—” The pain was thudding in his veins, crippling his mind in the instant he needed it most; Ditzy would not open the door until it was clear that he would retract and not enter. “I’m sorry for spying on you, and—” The door swung open and Spike grasped his claw, falling into a sitting position and thankful for the immediate gratification that came with his release—yet the door did not swing shut once more. Rather, Ditzy herself stepped outside, her face no less angry than in the glimpses Spike had caught it, but with a curious backdrop to it… she would listen now, perhaps, give Spike an instant of her time to make amends as she stood over him, looking down… But the shriek in the raining air caught them both off guard.
RejuvenationRejuvenation Twilight had turned and had left Spike. That dusky activity had dawned on Twilight as something very unsettling in the short period of unintentional introspection that had followed leaving him. Initially, she had dismissed it as an involuntary reaction to Spike’s disobedience. Usually he would never do something so defiant. Still, she did not consider that his actions might have been caused by a change in her, and her tired and selfish apathy kept charge of her for a moment longer. The despair that caused this was a strange breed to consider, but the most common: she could not imagine change. Twilight had been so warped in that moment that she did not see the intricate possibilities of the thousand paths that she could take to apologize to Ditzy. She had failed—as she was prone to do—to swallow her pride and see her own faultiness, her own stubbornness. So scared was she of failure, a fear disguised as and aided by tiredness, that she had failed to be a friend. Then she considered her actions, and abruptly stopped. What am I doing!? I can’t leave him! The prick of conscience touched her as she reached the end of the way. Twilight looked back in concern, eyes desperately glancing through the dark rain, and she saw Ditzy standing over Spike in the mud like a winged tiger over its prey. She was too far away to distinguish the hint of hopeful curiosity hidden in Ditzy’s expression. To her, it looked as if Ditzy had knocked Spike down, and she could only see the residual anger and pain on her face and the vulnerability of Spike. No! Panicked, all selfish thoughts flown, she cried through the rain and ran to intercept, although she could not think of a logical reason for the panic other than the memory of the cold eyes. Ditzy was no longer fixated on Spike, but was looking with a curious expression toward the impassioned Twilight. Arriving still in a heated state an instant later, Twilight seized Spike with her magic and dropped him behind her, breathing hard and in a battle-ready poise with a protective look in her eyes, her horn pointed at the now-retreating and on-guard Ditzy. “I won’t let you hurt him!” Twilight’s declaration flew on hot breath into the chilling rain. Spike pulled himself up, confused. “Twilight, what are—” But Twilight was full-forward now, all attention glaring at Ditzy, who had wisely and guardedly stepped back from the irrational mare. “You won’t... I won’t let you…” Words were failing Twilight, but coherent sentences would have made no difference now, for Ditzy had ceased to pay attention to Twilight and had a look of unfocused wide-eyed shock on her face. What am I… She’s not… “Twilight!” Spike was indignant, and more than a little embarrassed. “I was just starting to apologize, what are you doing?” Ditzy wasn’t seeing either of them. “I just… I couldn’t… You saw what happened when I apologized!” Twilight stopped, now confused to her own motivations for the spontaneous act. “No; I didn’t.” Spike replied. “I never invaded your privacy, Twilight.” “But then how did you…” Both of them stopped, realizing the quiet presence of Ditzy. “You can come in.” “What?” Twilight and Spike uttered simultaneously. “Come in, please.” Ditzy turned and entered her house, leaving the door wide open for them and disappearing from their sight around a corner. Spike and Twilight had curious expression, and exchanged them, but no exchange of expressions or words could help them understand what had just transpired in the mind of Ditzy. Instead, they trod carefully, tentatively, into the house, like two children without an idea of what to expect from the bizarre circumstance, keen on the previously angry presence that had left. And it was as Twilight entered that she realized that she had absolutely no plan. Normally, a violation of that magnitude would have caused Twilight to panic and become roughly spastic until she had a map to follow, but now all she could consider was the great foggy immediate future that was so suddenly bearing down on her. She had exclaimed it just yesterday, that all the ponies in this town were crazy, and now it seemed it was true for her as well: she had not the slightest idea what she was doing anymore, left with no right place to go but forward. She rued the irony, but only for a moment—the fog had rolled over her and now she was in Ditzy’s living room, alone with Ditzy; Spike had been asked to wait outside, and Ditzy was now waiting for her to speak. It was like looking in a mirror, looking at Ditzy—granted, a bit less parallel about the eyes, but she was just as unsure and off-kilter as Twilight was in that moment, uncomfortable in her own house. There they were, standing in front of the couch that Spike had spied, with nothing but the phantasmagoric measureless masses of memory and thought and feeling between them. Both of the two ever-so-vulnerable states of mind were frozen hopelessly in the presence of the other. They looked at each other fearfully now, and Twilight was not the one most afraid, no—it was Ditzy. It was what Twilight had wrought and brought to mind that had scared Ditzy into hopefulness. ~~~~~~~~~ It had started with the shriek-slice into the rain that had been the call for Spike, but it had been a scream of terrible times past for Ditzy: a thread yanked from the stained fabric of her past, a reminder of concerns and fears that had paralyzed her—but only for an instant—the stage was set and the present would not allow her to remember the past, not fully. And Twilight had run up like a shepherd after sheep nearly devoured, like a master after her imperiled student… Like a mother after her child… Nonetheless, the doors of the past slammed upon, ripping off the hinges as visceral scenes of dark and evil places flooded Ditzy, drowning her, and she sank into the black and cold depths of forgotten memory as she swam to no avail. The last of her breath would soon escape her wracked form; it would only go an instant longer in the cold ocean depths, devoid of light and hope. At last something slipped into her eyes that was enough to break the titanic-tight grasp of her past, and it was Twilight, shielding Spike protectively, ready to fight the bleakest battle. And it reminded her of her past, too, but this time the memory wrought another change in her, a positive change, even as she backed away from. Twilight, who had so valiantly (if belatedly) displayed what love she had hidden behind the scholarly exterior, surprised Ditzy. Even the vague and indefinite promises of retribution she made were made with a fervor that touched something of the scarred pegasus. Because the firelight in Twilight had reminded Ditzy of a day that was suddenly so close to the present, thrust into reality by incandescent orbs that had shone with the barest hint of the Elements that bound them all, and the day that she was reminded of was not pleasant, but it gave Ditzy a chance… one chance she could leap at, blind faith all she had left, never an option she had preferred, but always one she had had to take. And she had said the words; she had phrased with her own lips the words that had been denied her everywhere, the very words that formed the sentiment that indicated the love that hadn’t been hers since she was a child and ever since had been denied her everywhere else. “You can come in.” What other words? What other words could have captured the infiniteness and depth and the harmony of the magnificent love that been ripped away from her, torn out of her chest bleeding? Because it wasn’t really just that the inhabitants of Ponyville had taken what had been seen as an offensive attitude toward Ditzy, it was the combined ignorance and—inadvertent or not—malice that Ditzy had ever encountered including them that she had been all too willing to portray on a canvas that had been handed to her clean. And Twilight—Ditzy had seen herself in her, and in a moment of merciful weakness had recognized the fear that had rejuvenated the love, and had for a single instant extended the sympathy that had fulfilled that love, the words that could bridge the divide and heal the wrongs and retrieve all the harmony that Ditzy had discarded and been denied. Anything else would be to succumb to misery. It was the hammer-blow to her mind, and Ditzy had turned out of numbing shock and surprise, the heightened reverberations capturing every feeling of the moment and the moment’s essence, lost and moving seemingly without a conscious current of nerves into the house, again repeating the sentiment. Ditzy moved with her mind in a blur, the world sharpened and dulled with the crescendo and decrescendo of the emotional explosion; she found it surprising that she had not stumbled, and numb catharsis flowed gently and commandingly through her like vibrant rivers of nerve-reaction, coursing like the lifeblood that brought tranquility to the mind, obliterating without reserve the grey draining death that had ensnared Ditzy until all she was left with a fuzzy feeling. She felt the minutest hint of warmth flow and a vague fear of it. Who am I anymore? The constricting armor of ignorant malice and pain had been thrown off, piece by piece, it lay scattered and broken on the mind’s eyes’ floor, and she was bare and defenseless, overwhelmingly vulnerable. And now Twilight was before her: less overwhelmed by emotion, but with the same uncertainty locked inside her. She was as still as the walls of the house, but she seemed to be gathering her strength to say something. “I wanted to say earlier that I was sorry for asking that question, but I didn’t get a chance to.” Twilight shifted, looking off to the side, not noticing the dramatic changes in Ditzy’s demeanor due to her own awkwardness. “I’m here to apologize for that, and also for Spike trying to spy on you. I’m not sure what—” Had she been able to take note of Ditzy, she would have seen the pain in her vulnerability. Twilight’s attention snapped back when she realized that Ditzy’s head was on her shoulder, and she was crying—saying something muffled, over and over again. “I’m sorry,” Ditzy was saying, muffled by sobs as she wept. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” What is she— Twilight was confused beyond action, and it took effort for her to not draw back from the mare suddenly in her arms, but instead she drew Ditzy closer into her embrace, staring wildly at the ceiling as she tried to comprehend the insanity. A thousand thoughts flew through Twilight’s mind in that instant. Was this the same mare who had acted in cruel fury? The same who had slammed the door on her and Spike, and nearly crushed him? What had happened to the cold pegasus? For the entirety of her existence to Twilight, she had been a mysteriously cold, angry and set apart mare. She had done nothing but writhe in miserable pain and commit acts that only caused hurt. And she was here, in Twilight’s grasp—at her mercy—and she was weeping, nearly bawling, and Twilight could send her back into misery or bring her to happiness and comfort with the easiest glance, the least motion; all it would take for either would be the slightest sign, and for a moment her confusion and fear considered the darker path… And Twilight had to accept either all of her past and present now or none of it, for the other options only delayed the choice. The reconciliation or sundering had to be made; accept her all or nothing before she could be helped. But I didn’t turn her away, I’m holding her, why would I even think of a different… I’m already doing what they would want me to do. All that’s left is to go through with it. “It’s ok.” Twilight said to Ditzy, and pulled her as tight as she could. She had no idea what was wrong, but she was going to help. “I’m here to help you.” Ditzy didn’t stop heaving, but her sobbing convulsions were less vehement now. It was a minute or two in total, and the mutual heat that passed between was a comfort for Twilight, who had so recently ignorant of love, and Ditzy, who seemed to have broken down into a child herself—finding what was lost. In time, Ditzy drew back, and Twilight let her go with a reluctance that surprised herself. Ditzy looked wild, conflicted, hopeful—and fearful. “I’m sorry that I…” “I think you got that point across.” Twilight said with a warm and playful smile, sarcasm present but no hurt intended and none taken. “I—” “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It was my fault.” Ditzy sat down, unable to comprehend for a moment the selflessness, mind drawn into disarray but no longer in pain, confused at the world and bewildered at herself. Twilight was struggling in her mind now, Ditzy unaware, for Twilight had fulfilled the original purpose of her visit. Something in her hungered to get away now, go back to her library now and bury herself in books as was her desire. Something else, though—perhaps the sight of Ditzy’s tear-drying countenance—demanded that she stay, that she go the extra mile, follow the spirit of friendship that had taken her here. “Is there something I can help you with?” Ditzy was rapidly regaining her composure and emotional control, still in wonder and in shock of what had happened, but restrained as well. “I don’t deserve to ask anything of you.” Ditzy said, infinitely more in control now. “You can leave if you want to. I accept your apology.” “I don’t want to leave and even if I don’t owe you anything, I’d still like to talk to you,” Twilight replied. She knew she was on rocky ground with little knowledge of what to do in such a situation, but now she was immaculate, sure that she would find a way. Her confidence granted her an air of surety, and that surety granted Ditzy a sense of bravery, and unfortunately that bravery was tempered by the pains that had wrought the situation, and Ditzy did not move but drew inward into herself. Twilight sat down on Ditzy’s couch, leaving plenty of room for Ditzy to sit and to think. Ditzy did not move. “I’m not going to leave until I’m satisfied that you’re better.” “I said I’m fine.” Ditzy said, patience starting to evaporate as grieves forgotten crept back into her mind. Twilight’s stubbornness refused to let her leave, as she had promised, and soon Ditzy had a less than pleased look at she who was occupying half of her couch. Although Ditzy restrained herself from anger, she also restrained herself from sitting, and the stand-off soon reached several minutes. But Twilight was stubborn, stubborn and clever and brilliant—an excellent combination. “I used to have a lot of doubts about friends.” Twilight began, speaking to the wall and doing her best not to look at Ditzy. It would only make her uncomfortable. “All I used to have were assumptions, really. I didn’t actually know anything about them because I never bothered. I assumed they were a waste of time, a pain in the flank, and that most ponies were crazy—and sometimes I was right. Sometimes, it was better for them to be studying or improving themselves when they were off gallivanting around town late at night. Sometimes, they were a big pain: they had drama and problems and things that normally I wouldn’t even call concerns that consumed all of their attention, sometimes to the point that they became obsessed about things that I thought were trivial. And I was definitely right about them being crazy.” Twilight had Ditzy’s attention, full and direct, whether she wanted to give it or not—but Twilight wasn’t really talking to her, not anymore. “But they turned out to be real.” “It turned out, a lot of the things that I called a waste of time weren’t actually wastes. I used to think that the best way to learn something was in a book, and sometimes it is. But that was irrational of me—I neglected the rest of the world! These past few days, I realized that there are moments that can never be captured in words, never be expressed in a song, some things that can only be felt rather than expressed. I wouldn’t trade that for any collection of books, or for anything in the world.” “Sometimes, they hurt me or caused me a lot of frustration, like during the party. Some of them aren’t very nice, but there are some who care, and it can take time to distinguish between who is really causing you pain and who is actually trying to be your friend, and it takes them time too sometimes to figure out if they want to be your friend. It is absolutely the most difficult thing I have ever experienced… but it was worth it. Even all the pain that came with it. And I know now that if I had to do it all again with it being ten times harder, I would still do it.” “And I was completely wrong, without a doubt, about the craziness.” Ditzy was enraptured by her speech, and now confused. Hadn’t she just contradicted herself? Twilight let a grinning smile come over her face, still looking at the wall. “Oh yes, they are definitely crazy. But friends are supposed to be like that sometimes—and in some cases, all of the time. I misunderstood the point of the craziness and dismissed it as a waste. Even when they seem so different and so strange, that’s just their way of expressing their experiences, and it is absolutely wonderful.” Twilight suddenly turned to face Ditzy, and Ditzy whirled around in fear. She couldn’t let Twilight catch the glimpse of hope on her face, couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t let her in. “You look hurt, and I want to help you.” Ditzy shook her head no, inadvertently, doing her best not to betray her sorrow. She would still not turn around to face Twilight. “And there is…” Twilight’s tone shifted, a curiosity that intrigued Ditzy. “Still something that bothers me, one thing that I don’t understand.” Ditzy delved into her analytical side, trying to understand why Twilight’s tone had shifted, what it meant. “Last night, when I was in the castle and we had turned Princess Luna back from Nightmare Moon…” Twilight stopped, and Ditzy’s unseen eyes went wide. “The first thing that Princess Luna did was go up and apologize to Princess Celestia, who’s actually her sister, crazily enough. There was something… well, that Celestia didn’t do… that has been bugging me ever since.” Is she... Ditzy wouldn’t believe it. “Luna apologized to Celestia quite a bit, but I don’t remember Celestia ever apologizing to Luna.” Twilight shifted in her seat; her gaze was again upon the wall. “I mean, it couldn’t be entirely Luna’s fault, no matter what the story said. There had to be something that Celestia could apologize for, and as uncomfortable for me to think about it, it was probably at least a little Celestia’s fault, so she should have apologized too, and I…” Twilight squirmed. She opened… Twilight had revealed her pain to Ditzy. Twilight owed her nothing! Ditzy was the monster here, at least in her own mind, and the revelation that Twilight would reveal herself to Ditzy after all that had been done to Twilight upset the order of her mind so abruptly that she could not move nor breathe nor think coherent thoughts for several seconds. After every last atrocious thing that Ditzy had done to Twilight, she had still made the conscious decision to open up and be vulnerable—to lay herself bare at Ditzy’s mercy. She had thrown herself at the hooves of one who had shown no sign of redemption, a move of staggering faith in the belief of Ditzy’s hidden better nature. “But we both apologized.” Twilight whispered, visibly shaking. Twilight shifted about nervously in her seat for several seconds, waiting for Ditzy’s reaction to the fear that wouldn’t be finished. Ditzy turned around, and it was not joy on her face, but great fear, nervousness, and the scars of old pains—yet the slightest hint of bravery, too, and that heartened Twilight. Am I going to do this? Can I even do this? Ditzy shivered and her eyes were closed, but she sat next to Twilight. “I—I’m not really from here…” Ditzy began. It was slow, at first. Ditzy talked as if it was an awkward and uncertain confession; after long periods of time she started talking to Twilight more comfortably, telling her about her past and her troubles, the acceptance she had never found, the hope that Twilight had brought her so unintentionally and then brutally discarded, completely without her knowing, and the gratefulness that Ditzy now had for her. Twilight was remorseful as she realized the agony she had created and contributed to, even if it was unintentional, and the pains she took to extend her apologetic sympathy touched Ditzy. Twilight had felt the consequences of her own actions, and now Ditzy realized her own. Twilight had listened intently; she had heard every word. Ditzy was sure of her care now, and eventually she was comfortable in it, and Twilight in her. They were like the air that granted the reprieve to drowning and the water that healed the agony of dehydration and the rest and tranquility and peace of a dreamless sleep that bore away the pains of the day, and they both took their places in it. They learned to trust each other that night; they learned to accept each other that night, flaws and triumphs and all. They could melt away their problems with the help of each other once they had learned; their mutual healing became a profound occasion to them. It was dark outside, but it was warm and bright in the house, and it was warmest where the minds met and danced and learned again the joy of a friend’s love, even ones who had so recently scarred the other. They sat on that couch for a long, long time; long enough for Spike, who was tapping his claws impatiently outside, to become drowsy and threaten to fall asleep next to the door, and soon he did. He slept soundly and unmoved until the early hours of the morning, attention rapt on curious and alternatively dark and hopeful dreams. ~~~~~~~~~ Spike turned over, a yawn coming over him as he did. Eventually, he opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling of the library, and he lay in drowsiness. Birds were chirping shrill and deliberate melodies outside, warm light streaming in through windows that were best felt rather than seen on the blankets, floors and faces inside. It was a new dawn, the newest he could know—until the next one, of course. He took his time to enjoy it, something that Twilight could not seem to appreciate as much as he could. It took a rather lengthy amount of time for him to realize that wasn’t where he had fallen asleep. It took him longer to remember where he had fallen asleep, but once he did he veritably leaped out of bed and looked around wildly for Twilight. He rushed about, bursting through doors until he reached her study and found her buried in books. “Twilight!” “Yes, Spike?” Twilight asked with an even tone, pages turning. “How did your apology go?” Spike asked hurriedly, afraid he had missed something. “It went great.” Twilight turned another page, and Spike knew that she wasn’t listening to him. He put his claw to his forehead and sighed, turning to leave. Perhaps he wouldn’t figure this one out, and his heart and emotions drained at the thought. “Oh, and can you get the mail for me?” Twilight asked distractedly. “Sure.” Spike said, his mutter a color darker than usual, which Twilight missed entirely in her studiousness. Spike walked, down out of her study, into the foyer, passing as he saw in his mind the memories that had lead up to all of this. He was sorely disappointed that he wouldn’t know what had happened to the wall-eyed pegasus, and he wasn’t about to go running off again to find out. That would just be asking for Twilight to get angry at him right after he had made her extremely distressed, which was dangerous enough for him as it was; of course he also didn’t want to hurt her or her feelings. Out the door, onto the walk, down the path that clacked his claws, he made his way to the mailbox. He didn’t look when he opened it, only expecting the usual emptiness or piece of junk mail. Instead, his claw hit something more, and he with his curiosity engaged pulled out a plate of muffins. He was confused at first, but then he saw the tag attached, and his wonder was fulfilled as it read: from Ditzy, to Twilight. In surprise, he looked up into the sky, and with satisfaction he noticed—there she was, flying away on her route, smiling.
