One is Silver

Chapters

Prologue, Act I: Her
Prologue, Act II: A Gift
Prologue, Act III: Blight
Safe and Secure
New Pastures
Pinprick
Sense

Prologue, Act I: Her

I've always watched them. I've been around for as long as they. Why they appeared, or I, for that matter, I still don't know. When and where I used to know. It must not have been important. Such thoughts have been lost to the years. The many, many years. The years watching, the years celebrating, the years grieving, devising, devastating, slaughtering. The years fleeing; then, at last, the years entrapped. And suffering. All the glorious, agonizing years.

Time has taken from me all but the truth. I may have forgotten, but I still remember.

I remember Her. She came with the rest of them. She had the admiration, the love of the others, once she’d come to earn them. She never had to earn them from me. But, alas, it has been many years.

Whatever force placed them here, whatever placed me, gave us all power enough to rival even itself. And prized they must have been. They were endowed with a sculpted head on strong shoulders, legs on which they stood tall and proud, arms with the most inconceivable and versatile devices on the ends—all a design I had always admired. They’d been so blessed they hardly had use for their lesser gifts, spectral-seeming wings they seldom used, a mystical crest on the brow wielding magics dwarfed by their sovereign might as Divines.

Though the crest marked them with power beyond reason, their congregation granted them power beyond imagination. They seemed to form for themselves the world as they stepped. Grass grew beneath their feet, trees above their heads. Rivers, streams, and oceans quenched the land of its thirst.

Then in the skies were placed twin orbs, one radiant, one wonderous. And surrounded they were with lesser decorations that still demanded the highest respect.

At last the world, their world, was ready to be filled.

And then she, in an unparalleled moment of glory, formed a being of the purest might and majesty. Four beautiful, powerful legs that could carry it far and so swift as to lift it nearly from the ground. A sense and wisdom about it none would question. All welcomed her creation, and for it she earned much praise.

Inspired—or jealous, perhaps—she who was closest to her took this design further, giving to hers wings to mimic the flight of her own kind, then to another a horn which channeled the same lesser-magics of their crest. Both were acclaimed, but all agreed neither could compare to the first. They lacked the spirit, the pride. They could only be as imitations.

From these three sacred beasts far more were designed, each inspired by the last, until they no longer seemed traceable to their origin. The results were the birds, the fish, the turtles, the wolves, the lions, and innumerable others. And all of them, including the horse, the Prime Beast, were mortal, as to make their existence, however brief, precious for its transience. Save for the Pegasus and the Unicorn. I feel this was done with a hint of spite. They were few, but they were meant to last many, many years.

There would later come the vision of the Alicorn, the Perfect Beast, the wise and mighty horse, but with both horn and wing. This never came to be. Such a supreme being would only do to shame the other three. Eventually, the name fell instead to the makers, a high form of praise. Indeed, they would appear in the art and song of years to come as their symbol, the Beast of the same name.

It seemed that each of the divines had a design to call their own. All but one. I knew her as Astrid. Often I felt as though I were the only one to notice her. She was so eager to create, but so indecisive as to form or function that all her designs were stripped from her very grasp or collapsed upon themselves, conceptually unsound. She with the woeful eyes concealed behind long wisps of hair. So frail, so vulnerable. So alone.

But I digress.

I never counted how many they were. In those blissful times, their number was never a concern to me. There could have been a dozen, a hundred, tens of thousands, but none were as important to me as Her.

Her. Like the others, she seemed to glow. Any would notice, given enough time among them. But no one noticed her warmth. No one but me.

Her. She was of such unspeakable grace and beauty. Her smile was strong yet gentle, her eyes patient and noble. Her hair, flowing and smooth, a warm, silken gold with a prismatic sheen.

Her. I remember I used to watch her. I followed her. She knew, and didn't mind. It was wonderful. I do not remember when it started, or why. I couldn’t have cared less. I admit I enjoyed it. Every minute of it, in fact. Somehow, it had come to be that I would come to her under a tree. Or to be so bold, I would like to say that she would come to me. Sometimes we would meet on the way, and I would surround her, engulf her. I had yet no form, no shape of my own, but as her feet graced the plains, I was the wind that swirled around her the aromas and petals of the flowers as she danced and spun to the tree and fell under the shade of its kind limbs; and to her delight I would be the extended roots that would claim a unsuspecting victims, or the saboteur of a particularly interesting conversation with a well-aimed gust, or the persistent rain cloud that would pursue a single humiliated target; but her favorite was when the skies would let fall instead of rain a sweet syrup that she would sip from a glass formed in hand from the water of a nearby stream, all to my lady's mischievous pleasure. And as she rested I would caress her cheek, again as the wind, and dreamily she would look out to the skies, seeing nothing in the emptiness before her, but oh, did it please me so. I knew that she was looking for me. I was in love—Yes, I had loved her! I was madly, madly in love and mad with it.

Absolutely mad.

Prologue, Act II: A Gift

The young world seemed at first so perfect. The plants grew in gardens and jungles. All sorts of creatures flew in the skies, swam in the waters, and roamed free across the plains. The Makers lived in paradise and shared it with the creatures they had designed.

But a complication soon arose. It had become evident that the two heavenly orbs were destructive if left ungoverned. They needed to be regulated, to be balanced so that the warmth would not scorch and that rest might have its time.

And soon came the day, as she lay under the tree, My Lady told me as though through a dream that she was to be given command over the Sun above, and her Closest would receive the Moon. Together they would part the day from night, dusk from dawn.

This was most delightful news. Then I told Her—somehow, I told her—of all that we could enjoy with this new privilege. Our mischief would have no end!

At this she sat up quickly. “It is not to be abused,” she told me. Her eyes were stern. I had not seen this side of her. I told myself I could come to like it. But it soon left as she laid back down again, and I was glad.

Then as we parted for that time, a truly fantastic idea came to me. I had been preparing a gift for her. Some time ago I had discovered how I could create as the Alicorns did, though independently, without the congregation they required. I could have formed a great and many things, I suppose, but I had instead strived to perfect a most excellent vision, an absolute masterpiece. It had been long in coming, but it was nearly finished. It would be ready by the time of her inauguration—I would give it to her then! It was perfect!

And more, why should it not be then that I confide in her and ask the question, the question that had pained me since its conception: Would she be willing to spend the rest of eternity with me?

We would be together until the world or time itself met its end. Nothing would separate us. Nothing could separate us. Our enjoyment would never end.

And to ask her, I decided, I would present myself to her in physical form, and then shower her with my gift. She would be awestruck, unable to refuse. And if she could, why would she? What did she have to lose? It was all so perfect.

The time soon came, as it would. The gift was ready, as was I. Not far from where the ceremony was to be held, I found a pond of still water. Suspended, it became a looking glass. And I took form beyond that of a concept, a mere thought. I became, and I was real, solid and true.

I found that I could appear as I wished. Inspired by the magnificence of the Alicorns, I took an imitation of their shape. I had their arms, their legs. I spared the wings and the mark—I dared not forget myself and overstep in my tribute. I was tall and my features were sharp, as were my eyes, though I found I could not alter their color. They would remain a bold crimson. A permissible inconvenience.

I found I liked my hair comparatively short. I could not decide between the black and the grey, so I settled for putting the grey in front of the black, then touched my chin with a tuft of the same grey.

Then I clothed myself, taking the garb also in the style of Alicorns. The top and bottom halves were a pair, and of a red to match my eyes. There was also a green strip of fabric I had difficulty affixing around my neck by manual means. Even compared to their robes, the formal wear of their males had always seemed to me so tasteless, but as I stood in them before my reflection, I must say I looked astonishing.

I gathered the most impressive flowers and plants I could find and arranged them into a decorative bundle. I checked myself in the water’s surface a final time before returning it to the stream.

And then I released my gift out into the world. Everywhere they emerged, and I gathered a few to present to Her at the ceremony.

On the way I spied by a stroke of luck a proud stallion as it appeared from over the nearest hill. It was then that I decided I would appear to Her on horseback, high and proud with flowers in hand. Why, it would all be so perfect!

But as I approached him, he retreated. He matched me step for step, keeping a constant distance from me. I called out to him, promising to do him no harm. I knew he could understand me, yet he ignored me. I could not guess at his game, but I would not stand for it. I would not let this simple, mortal being ruin this day for me. “You insolent, pathetic brute!” I shouted, and with a mere flick of my new fingers, the beast belonged to me. I rode him back to where I had left those of my gift, and waited for the ceremony to begin.

Seeing as I did in my prior form, I overviewed the grounds from behind the hill. A tholos of white marble the Makers had erected stood out in the grassy field where they had gathered. Rather modest for such an occasion, it seemed to me, but when one lives in paradise there is little need for embellishment.

The could have been of scores or legions for all I cared to notice. And when She and Her Closest stepped to receive their honors, the applause could have been a tremendous cacophony, blasted to resound off the mountains to echo for days to come—it was but a whisper to me.

Then She bowed as the orator bestowed upon her a magnificent necklace, a beautiful pearl set on a thin chain of the finest gold. Her Closest followed, hers a sapphire deeps as the oceans and set in silver. It would be through these that they would command the heavenly globes above.

It was then that I appeared from over the hill. The sea of faces, featureless to me, quickly parted from me and my company. Once at the stereobate I dismounted, then to my knees I lowered myself and said to Her, “My Lady, I come to you on this most joyous of days, bearing gifts in homage to your grace.” I motioned to those behind me.

They were marvelous. Surely she would adore them. As it had been with myself, their form was also in tribute to the great Makers, with their arms and legs, though no wings or crest. Curious they were, these beings whose flaws constituted their perfection. They were reliably inconsistent; they knew what was right and what was wrong, but whatever they did was justified—only others deserved to be punished. What advantage one had over another was by right, never by happenstance. Vows to them were empty words, vengeance was immeasurable and could never be settled. Such beautiful, unstoppable, inconceivable beings they were. For many, many years I had labored over them, and now I had given them to Her.

I had given her Man.

But then from behind—murmurs, rumblings. I tried to catch what was said. “What does he think he’s doing?” They were hushed, but I could just make them out. “Do you see those eyes of his? Unmistakable.” What did he mean by that? “How dare a thing like that show his face here, and now of all times!” “We can’t trust him, he’s one of them. They only can destroy.” They wouldn’t stop. “Does he realize what he’s done, bringing those here?” Something was happening. “Will we be able to reverse the damage? Can we still cleanse the taint in time?” Something—to my body.

Something wasn’t working. I began to tremble. I felt my eyes dart but I could not turn. My skin grew moist. My body heaved, and I realized I could not breathe. This new body, so automatic in its immediate care that I had barely to give it active thought had suddenly lost the ability to perform its most basic of functions, and I could not breathe! Rain from no cloud dripped down my neck and back.

Still I pressed on. I had to. “An—And I come... to ask humbly... if—if you would grant me the honor... of your company, from this day until the end of—until the end—” The words would no longer come.

Yet the whispers! Still, the whispers! “And what audacity, taking this hour of theirs for his own.” “How could he even know her?” “He’s after her power, no doubt. It can be the only reason.” The fools! The insolent, damnable fools! Had it not been I that had prized Her before any other?

She was staring at me. No, with those misty, distant eyes She was staring through me. I found myself pleading to her, not with words but thought alone.

The orator came from behind her, and leaned to her to whisper. His face nearly touched her hair—how dare he! “You couldn’t possibly be familiar with—with him, could you?”

I saw a thousand thoughts swirl through her eyes, but could catch only one: Recognition. She knew who I was.

“We have never met,” She said flatly.

And with that, it was over. The flowers, withered by unnatural means, dropped from my grasp. My shoulders fell, and I was free to inspect the leak from my eye. Shallow sobs seethed through my clenched teeth. Though I had covered my face with my arm, I felt innumerable sets of eyes on me as I made my way through the crowd. I couldn’t have cared less.

There may have been more murmurs, but to me there was only silence. My company did not follow me; the horse had long since fled. On my own feet, weighted by lead and chain, I surmounted the hill alone.

I knew there would be no more rests under the tree, no more winds of petals and scents, no more of our play and laughter. Those times had passed.

“We have never met.” The words rang through my mind a perpetual echo, slamming the sides of my head as it resonated. They were the incantation of a deplorable curse that took hold of me and pulled me from my core, as though to strip me from my new body, tearing at the unprotected flesh inside. This form’s only purpose it seemed was to actualize my pain.

But the pain made real was negligible, next to the pain of the truth. That could not manifest in my body.

And it demanded solace.

Prologue, Act III: Blight

I had long since discovered a force, a reservoir of thoughts and truths through which I had previously gained my ability to create life alone and to take solid form. I was now to return to it, to delve further than I had dared before.

This force was a link we Divines share with the world. We used it to learn what we knew, to surface the answers within ourselves and to awaken our power. To reach it was no path for feet but one of trance. And it was a dangerous and painful one to endure.

Once I had found a spot removed from any and all that would disturb me I fell to my knees and felt myself sink inward. I do not know for how long I remained in this state, but never did I intend to stop, not until I had what I’d come for.

My pain only filled me with a thirst for theirs. I would not be sated until I drank from the river of their blood. They would fall, and I would watch.

I felt my body begin to to change the deeper I went. I permitted it—that my body was becoming a grotesque monstrosity mattered little to me. I let myself grow long and serpentine, and all down my body my skin was coated with scales of a shade I had grown quite attached to: crimson. The color of blood.

More importantly, I learned what I was. I was chaos. I was distruction.

I was Discord.

And more, I found my cure, my vengence. I found a plague, a most curious curse of contradiction that once unleashed would only kill that which could not die. Their fall would not be enough. The world they made would also taste my claw. The land would quake and rupture. The sky would rain bright flames. The sea would storm and the forests burn. More, I released unto the world the cockatrice, the manticore, the dragon, and all other monstrous being my hatred could conceive.

But then came something I hadn’t expected. My masterpieces from before united to fend off the onslaught of creatures, and thrived where they should have been extinguished.

And then came something stranger still. As the Unicorns and the Pegusai fell victim to the Blight they called to my own beings for aid. The Beasts’ offered them their blessings so that their legacy might live on through them.

Those who received the wings of the Pegusai became the Seraphim and were given the ability to shape weapons and armor from the very clouds, which were solid to them and where they made their homes. The greater refinements of knowledge were eventually lost to them, but they served as the ideal protectors of the society they formed with the others.

Those that came to the Unicorns were given their magic in the form of a mark like that of the Makers’. Over the years their studies and practice took their toll on their bodies. They withered physically but emerged as scholars and artists. These, the Starcrest, would give the grand society the culture it needed to unite the races.

But those who did not answer the call, the Earthbound, were strong enough to farm, and skilled enough to invent tools for whatever challenge they faced. Moreover, it was they that retained best that with which I had endowed them. They were beings to whom fate was a mere suggestion. They constantly spat in the face of destiny: if their future ever seemed set in stone, it was their right to break the stone. It was their pattern to break patterns. They could learn seemingly without limit; their trade was by no means their identity. Their name betrayed them—they were in truth the most liberated, most inconceivable of them all.

I emerged from the will of wisdom to find that two of the Makers had survived—and none other than My Lady Fair and Her Closest. It had been for their necklaces, no doubt, their instruments for commanding the great globes above.

They came for me. The three of us crossed deserts, plains, oceans. They healed the land in my wake as quickly as I could ravish it. I was denied even a moment’s pause. My divinity kept me conscious, but I tired beyond fatigue. But that was hardly the worst of it. Their unfailing precision in regulating the sun and moon all the while was the true thorn in my side. Knowing they could give chase and perform their obligations with no sign ever of faltering at either while I struggled to keep moving was true agony. And more, I knew that this was a battle I could not win. It was only a matter of time.

If I could not run, I would hide. Beyond a forest I found a single mountain, and in its face, a cave.

The tunnel ran deeper than I’d expected. Always one bend after another. It was tight in places, despite my slender shape, and I was grateful my body could lose its tangibility where I needed it to.

I do not know how far I went, but I stopped when I heard a faint noise ahead of me. I felt my appearance might not have been appropriate for whatever may lie ahead as even the largest of chambers I’d passed could hardly contain me as it was. I decided in favor of the form in replica of the Makers. The change was not too difficult, though it felt unnatural, like slipping into a costume.

I peered around the unhewn wall into the next chamber. The glow from a diffuse light overhead shone on a dark, curled figure that seethed raspy breaths as it quivered. It took me the longest time to recognize her, but once I did, she was unmistakable: it was the pitiful one from before. It was Astrid.

I proceeded into the chamber with caution, as not to startle her. Her robes, while full of holes, were still in one piece, though when she saw me she froze as though I’d seen her naked.

She was different now, in a way almost frightening to behold. Her skin was hard and plated, dark with a sickly green shimmer. Her slitted eyes and matted hair shone the same unsettling shade. Her wings had lost their feathers, leaving only the tattered membranes.

Her new cheeks were smeared with blood. Her eyes fell shamefully to the rabbit she held, opened at the belly with tooth and nail.

She saw I craved explanation. She stood and said to me, “This is mostly of my own doing. I know you know me as the one with no title, she with no achievement to her name. When I realized all my efforts to leave some mark of my existence on the world around me were doomed never to bear fruit, I sought other means to make my life of at least some consequence, some value. I’d hoped that I’d be chosen to bear the sun or the moon, that I’d be given some responsibility or purpose, but no. They were given to them. They’d earned them.

“I saw then I had but one option. How do you make something worthless priceless? Same as the Makers did with their creatures: make it precious. Ask not how I made it so, but know that my life now has its limits.”

I saw it was true. She lacked the glow of the rest of them. I wondered how she could be brought to such measures. Not even my pain would drive me so far.

But then I checked myself. There was a time where I had known bliss, but here was one who had only ever known suffering.

“Strangely,” she continued, “it was the only way of escaping your Blight, it seems. I could die, therefore it could not kill me, is that correct? Still, it was not without its effects. What you see of me is the result of your curse.”

Just then a thought occurred to me. It wasn’t much yet, but it was quickly growing. “Do you resent me for it?” It felt strange to ask, but I had to know where she stood.

“Resent you? What for? If by that you meant for ridding me of those that had what I never could, I’ll hardly miss them. Else, if you meant this new form, then it is but the price I pay to be free of them.”

“Then,” my thoughts were reeling, “do you you resent them?”

“Them? With the moon and sun? They yet live?”

“And are after me as we speak. Please, would you help me against them, against those that have it all while you hide here with nothing?”

She hesitated before answering. “And how could I be of any help to you?”

“There is something more to you,” I told her. “Something dormant. Something I can see that you cannot. Something,” she gave a start as I reached for her collar, “I must show you.”

In an instant we were together in the well of secrets, and in another we were as we were. We had only glanced its surface.

“What have you found?” she asked, but her eyes told me she already knew.

I took her hand in mine and folded it, then unfolded it again. I felt a fine, iridescent powder collect in my palm. “Follow me,” I said, and took her by the arm into the next chamber.

It was enormous, by far the biggest I’d seen. The top retreated into the darkness and out of view. The floor was comfortably level. If any part could be called the heart of the mountain, it would be here.

I tossed the powder against the face of the rock wall, and it clung like moss. Green clumps of phosphorescence collected into buds and started to pulse with early life.

I looked to Astrid, and she obeyed. She paced around the walls, spreading the spores where she could reach. Then she stepped to the center of the room, and as she threw up her arms a great torrent of wind carried the spores up to the ceiling and all exposed areas of the stone surface.

“Your curse has been that not one of your beings would ever take form,” I told her. “Now you shall have an army of beings, each of a thousand forms. And you shall be their queen. With them, you can help me with my plan.”

“And what is that? What do you expect of me to do?”

“For now, only wait. Wait for my return.”

“And when would that be?”

“Not for many, many years to come. How long will you last?”

Again, she hesitated. “There is... something more to me. Beyond food and drink, I need something else to sustain me, and I feel these new creatures will be the same. We will live so long as we can feed off the goodwill of those around us. These were the terms of my mortality, and those I have accepted. With things as they are I can barely sustain myself. There could not possibly be enough to go around for as long as you say.”

This complicated matters, to be sure, but more, I could feel my pursuers’ presence at the surface. They had found me. I could almost laugh.

I was ready.

I did not warn her I was about to change between my forms. She gasped as I grew to fill the room, and screamed when I snatched her from the ground. A thin, green membrane spread between my claws and enveloped her.

“Just wait,” I told her. She beat against the walls of the enclosure, but her eyes soon rolled back in her head and she stopped struggling altogether. I released the encasement, and it held itself suspended in the air. “Sleep, and wait. I will return.”

I rushed up through the tunnel to the surface, all the while brimming with joy. I knew what would happen. I could hardly wait. I emerged to find them waiting for me. I did not resist.

I surveyed the land below us. It was the twilight hour. The first stars of the night were waking and the last rays of the sun fleeing, spreading a palette of colors across the clouds. My lungs drank in the taste of evening forest air. Creatures would be retreating to their shelters now. It could be heard in the silence that the world was preparing itself for rest, all with the promise of the morning to come. I savored the moment while it lasted, and found I had fallen in love, as I had before, with this time and this world.

And I simply could not wait to see it fall.

They knew they could not destroy me. They could only imprison me where I could be kept under watchful eye, but to keep me with Her would be an undue sentence on both our parts. Instead I would be sealed away into the necklace of She of the Moon.

The process was unspeakably painful, like losing your body an inch at a time to searing ice. I could feel my very being recede from its extremities as it was pulled from my body, leaving behind only stone. And all the while I could not help but remember how much more She had hurt me before.

And it was all according to plan. I could no longer contain myself. Despite the pain I felt I could burst into song; and I did. Yes, I sang, for all it was worth!

But I could only manage one note before my lungs were left as stone.

Safe and Secure

The yellowed pages flipped furiously until twin leather covers pounded them together. The book landed atop one of several stacks in the pile. Its did not hold this position long, as a newcomer soon overthrew it. This pattern repeated and repeated until the shelf was nearly bare.

"Where is it?" Twilight seethed. She abandoned the bookshelf and walked down the aisle to the next, already mostly bare and with its own pile. "I knew I put it somewhere I'd remember…" She navigated the maze of shelves, footsteps echoing through the library chambers. She arrived at a wooden bookstand to find Spike snoring, his purple scales shimmering in the warm sunbeam.

"Oh, Spike!" Twilight sighed and lifted him from the book he’d been sleeping on.

Spike, startled, dug his claws into the book’s open pages, ripping them out as Twilight raised him. “Oh, now look at what you’ve done!” she cried, and set him on the table beside her. He gave a disgruntled snarl and tried as best he could to return to his nap.

Once Twilight had removed the pages from his claws, she took them and laid them flat in their proper positions. With her finger, she traced along the seams and holes where they had ripped. Under her touch, the sheets and the book became whole again within seconds.

Such a shame to see something like a book’s pages damaged so, Twilight thought. What a marvelous thing a book’s page was. A single sheet could hold untold knowledge and wisdom, all contained within the scratches of a quill’s ink.

"It is here, right here," Twilight said, pressing the open pages flat. She traced a line with her finger. "It says so, right in the lore, '… but the dusk of the evening fifty score years hence shall herald her return. Seeking her vengeance, she will once again plunge the world into the everlasting night of Nocturnea.'"

Spike gave a scoffing hiss before once again resting his head on his foreleg. "Well, who asked you?" she shot back, frustrated. "The moonlight's been wavering irregularly, and it's almost the foretold time of reckoning! This is serious! It's been Augured!" She gave a few disgruntled puffs. "And besides," she continued once she had calmed down some, turning away and folding her arms, "it's not like it’s impossible."

Spike rolled onto his back and gave a snarling groan. "I'll have to take this up with the Princess,” Twilight continued. “She'll know what to do about this. Or… or at least she'll believe me."

She shut the book, stowed it in her handbag, and held out her arm to Spike. He hesitated at first, but climbed to his usual perch on her shoulder.

Twilight stowed the book in her large handbag and headed down the tall hallways of the Gallopstride castle, passing giant window after giant window that overlooked the city at the base of the mountain below.

She arrived at the grand hall, and with a nervous step followed the velvet carpet up to the dais. Her Majesty was seated on her golden throne, idly conversing with a lightly-armored Seraph. In truth, the throne was held by a Queen, though she preferred "Princess." A Queen was a faceless power to which lives were blindly sworn; a Princess was approachable, the champion of her people.

Her conversation seemed to have stemmed from a military report, but had since digressed to a light-hearted tale of a clumsy soldier-in-training. The conversation ended with Twilight's entrance, but the light spirits lingered. "Alright, Major, that'll be all," the Princess said, dismissing her officer.

The Seraph rose from the ground with a single beat of her wings, then swiftly passed Twilight, exiting through the doors behind her. In passing she said simply, "Cool dragon." Twilight turned and caught enough of her image to hold it in mind, but gave no reply. The Seraph had on an incomplete uniform, official but bulky cargo trousers below a thin cotton cyan tank-top that draped down her sleek figure, official jacket tied at her waist.

Curiously, she had worn an arm plate on her far side, the kind worn to cover the sword arm of a bladeswoman, but no other form of protection was evident and she carried no weapon. The battle-worn arm plate was positively ancient judging by the design and deadened luster, but otherwise surprisingly well kept.

But what had struck her most strongly was the hair. Humans had been designed liberally enough to bear a variety of colors, but never before had she had seen such a multitude of hues. Was it dyed, or had it been touched by spells? Nonplussed, Twilight abandoned the thought.

"Your—Your Highness," Twilight began. She nearly forgot to give a slight bow before delving into her handbag. She produced a messy handfull of loose papers covered in nearly-indiscernible charts and diagrams, a few of which escaped to the floor. Twilight indicated markings on one of the sheets, and made a hopeless attempt at explaining them. "As—as the archived records show, the moon’s lighting, and the irregular patterns suggest—"

She stopped to reach down to some of the fallen papers. She rose to find the Princess standing before her, arms extended warmly. Twilight may have been a grown woman, but the Princess still stood a head taller than her.

The Princess sighed and said caringly, "Twilight, dear, why is it you are not out with your companions, making plans for tomorrow’s festival? You’ve been so preoccupied with your studies, I can't help but be concerned."

Twilight's face reddened and she fought the urge to toss down the papers she was holding. "That's another matter entirely! This is serious! The foretold date of the Nightmare's return is imminent! The moon's wavering light—"

"The moon's glow has flickered for centuries. This is nothing new, Twilight. Much less something to worry about." The Princess turned for a set of doors on the wall behind the throne. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

"It's different now! It’s more frequent, more intense. This means something. I'm sure of it. You would know about the banishment more than anyone, wouldn't you? Isn't it of your own doing? You know it is not entirely fail-safe."

The Princess stopped short to give a soft sigh. "True, there is one way to break the seal, but precautions have been taken,” she answered. “There is no reason for them to be broken now and not before." She continued for the doors.

"Your Highness, please understand!" Twilight dropped the sheets to the floor, resorting to frantic arm gestures. "There was something else! It's what first brought my attention to it all. I was charting a constellation last night when I saw—this... this strange, green flash. It came from the moon as a long strand. It only lasted for an instant. It couldn't have stricken too far from here. And I'm sure I saw it."

The Princess's expression turned to a frown and she dropped her head.

"I'm certain I was the only one to see it," Twilight continued. "I doubt anyone else could have seen it without a telescope. It passed through mine by mere chance, and I was able to trace its angle back to the moon."

"Come, Twilight,” the Princess sighed. “There is something you should see." She passed through the doors, Twilight following behind her.

The two traveled along the stone hallway lined on each side with guarded doors. Candles lit themselves in their holes as the two passed them by, casting ghostly shadows along the walls and floor. Though the corridor seemed well-kept, Twilight could not ignore how desolate it felt. Spike shivered on her shoulder. At the end was another set of double doors, identical to the last.

The two proceeded through to find what looked like a fine, wooden wardrobe resting against the far wall. It seemed to dominate the otherwise featureless room, guarded by a Sentinel on either side. Twilight was surprised to see the two watchmen at such a secluded post, so deep within the castle. The two were Starcrest, like all of the Sentinels, suggesting that there was some form of enchantment or ward involved.

"Open the chiffonier, if you will," the Princess ordered politely, pointing to an amulet one of the watchmen wore. His face brightened, freed from the monotony of the post, while his partner grimaced at the thought of the chore.

The one with the amulet removed it and tapped the edge of it against one door in no particular area and gave the handle a try.

"Is there a problem?" the Princess asked. "Was the procedure not covered in your instructions when you were assigned this post? We do this rather frequently." His companion groaned and snatched the disk from his hand, laid it flat against a circular design on one of the doors, and gave it a turn, muttering an incantation. He then returned the amulet to his partner. The two then bowed and stepped aside to let the Princess pass.

She slowly drew open the cabinet doors and smiled, pleased to see its contents secure and untouched. She retrieved from inside a necklace, a beautiful blue bauble set in fine silver and chain of the same make. It captivated Twilight; it seemed as deep as the oceans, as the night sky. Spike cooed with envy at the sight of it.

"You see?" the Princess began, turning to Twilight. "It's safe. This is the only means of the Empress Nightmare's escape and return. The security seems simple, to be sure, but I've placed the ward myself, and the arrangements are fine set. I frequently access it myself, so it's always under watchful eye. There are no holes in the system, I’m certain. There is nothing to worry about, my dear."

She then made a motion around it with her hand, as though turning the pearl in its setting. It emitted an eerie noise that sounded through the hallways. The Princess acted as though this was normal, but she jumped when it was interrupted by something else, something low, almost a growl but soft as a whisper. For a moment, Twilight wondered if she had even heard it, but she was sure she felt it. It had surrounded her and engulfed her as it sank in and pierced her to the bone. Spike whimpered, making his discomfort known.

The Princess promptly replaced the artifact into the cabinet with a sharp slam of the doors. The design on the surface glowed dimly for a moment as the ward reset.

"It of course has other uses," the Princess said, composing herself. "Namely, it allows me to adjust the orbit of the moon and its phases, as is necessary in the absence of its former carrier—much as I do with the sun." She gave a tug at the golden chain of a marvelous pearl necklace she herself wore.

The former carrier, Twilight recalled. The Empress Nightmare herself.

Twilight waited to hear of any other functions the jewel might serve, but the Princess instead turned to exit the chamber. Twilight followed, voicing none of her confusion.

When the two finally returned to the Grand Hall, Twilight still pressed her point. "Alright, I understand that the Nightmare's return is no immediate threat, but what about the anomaly? It came right from the moon. I can't explain it any further than that. It can't be a good sign."

The Princess seated herself back on the throne. "Oh, Twilight dear, if it should reassure you, I would be glad to research any causes of your little green beam. Now, if you'd leave the matter be, I have a list of errands for you to run to help prepare for tomorrow's celebration." She smiled and produced a small roll of paper from her draping sleeve.

Twilight moaned and tipped back her head in disappointment. "Why is it that you always send me to do these menial tasks when a guard or servant could do the same?"

"Well, as my apprentice, it's part of the idea that you figure that out for yourself. Now, it's not in the city, but a town not far from here. It's a delightful little place that calls itself Ponytail, and no, that's not for any particular local hair tradition. You'll be fine as you are." She gave another smile. “I’ll send for a horse.”

“I always wondered how it is you call for them. They always seem just to show up.”

Twilight took the note and gave a parting bow as she turned to leave, opening the doors with a spell. The Princess called out to her from behind, "Be safe. Have fun," and just before the great doors slammed, "make some friends."

The doors stopped short as Twilight gave an unamused reply. "It isn't like I will be staying for very long. And why must that ever be your only joke?" The doors shut behind her.

The Princess sighed and cradled her head in her hand, elbow resting on the golden arm of the ornate chair. Why is it only ever a joke to her? she thought to herself.

New Pastures

The limb shook from its base with an even but intensifying rhythm. At the perfect moment, Jacqueline Apple stalled the final downward bend before releasing it. The apples fell softly from the branch and landed in the barrel-bottom basket below, cushioned by the tall grass underneath. Not one apple was bruised.

Applejack, as she was known, lowered herself from the branches. She removed her flimsy leather hat and wiped the sweat from her brow. The sleeves of her plain white cotton work shirt were cut short, and the power of her arms could easily be seen. She was not of a particularly bulky build, but the long years of farm life were evident on her well-developed form.

As she walked over to the next tree, already set with baskets around it, she shaded her eyes with her hat see a stranger, a Starcrest with dark purple hair, riding past on a fine stallion. Perched on her shoulder was a rather odd lizard that didn't seem to be enjoying the ride. "That ain't a riding skirt," Applejack said to herself. The rider had to lean far forward to avoid compromising her attire, but her position seemed appropriate for her full gallop. Any slower and it would have been unbecoming. "Nice to see a new face 'round here, though," said Applejack. The stranger followed the path leading into town, rounded a hill and passed out of view.

Some time later, Applejack slid out of the final tree of the row after finishing with the last branch. The day’s picking taken care of, she headed back to the house for her sister. They had just bought a new expanse of land, and Applebloom still had to learn to plow.

She traced back several trees, but stopped when she crossed rows. “Hey, you!”

The figure stooping over the basket gave a startled jump. She hastily tied the sack and sprinted down the row.

“Stop, thief!”

The thief was faster than Applejack had expected, even with the load. She was quickly losing ground to her. The day’s picking had left her ill-prepared for the chase.

As they passed by her house, Applejack quickly ran inside and retrieved something from the entryway dresser drawer. In seconds, she was out the door again.

The thief was getting crafty, and started to weave between the rows. Applejack followed as best she could, but could now catch only glimpses of her. When the thief finally broke from the field, she was riding horseback. Applejack couldn’t tell when she had mounted, but could now at least get a good look at her.

She had twin curls her hair, magenta and navy-blue. Her simple white dress was well-worn and had yellowed with age, but was surprisingly clean.

Knowing that on foot she would be no match for a horse, Applejack stopped and took aim. She held in hand a device few would believe achievable, capable of firing pre-primed rounds in quick succession. The revolver. As it had not yet reached the industry, its components were crudely hand-crafted, as were the bullets. Though the concept was promising, what Applejack held was not yet as effective or reliable as blade or bow, and prone to jamming in unfamiliar hands. But here it would suffice.

Bang! Bang!

Bang!

The shots split the air, echoing from the surrounding hills. The thief rode off with pace unbroken. Applejack had fired high, and had aimed to miss. The apples had been from the bruised basket, worth nothing on the market. Though they needed every sale they made, she understood stealing to eat. She knew that in her place, she would have to do the same. After all, all it would take...

Applejack perished the thought. She could not risk hitting the horse, she decided. To ride a horse that came to you was fine, hitching one a pardonable offence, but to harm one was sin.

“What was all that ‘bout?” Applebloom asked her once she returned to the house. “What happened?”

“Thief stole some apples,” answered Applejack, returning the revolver to its drawer. “She won’t be back.”

“D’ya shoot her?”

"Nah, missed. She got the idea, though." Young Applebloom seemed disappointed.

"C'mon, Bloom, let's see about that new plot." "And you’ll be doing a double shift of the plowing. Don’t moan. You earned yourself a detention today, if ya'll recall, and that's just what you get. You’re doing tomorrow's work today. Fair's fair." The two walked together down the seemingly endless rows of wonderful-smelling trees, the sun still high in the afternoon sky.

When they arrived at the plot, they found their older brother Macintosh already at the site, leaning on a post of the wire fence, watching what they had been awaiting for days to appear. The plot had already been weeded over the past week, and all the tools were in place, and at last the final piece had arrived.

"Horse showed up?" Applejack asked. It was a fairly obvious question, as the beautiful beast slowly roamed not ten yards beyond the fence before them, but it was a question she felt deserved to be asked.

"Eeyup," Mackintosh replied plainly, not taking his eyes from the much welcome creature.

"Well, time to hook 'em up," she said as she nimbly vaulted the fence.

Mackintosh gave a slight nod, eyes still held, his hair, fair with a hint of strawberry and well due for a trim, bounced lazily in front of his face. "Eeyup," he agreed, his low voice ringing heavily.

Applejack grabbed the coil of rope from a peg of the fence and tied one end of it into a slip-knot. Calmly she approached the horse and slid it down its strong neck, tightening it gently. She led the horse over to the plow, backed it up to it, and began to strap it in.

"Ain't that like hitchen them?" Applebloom worriedly asked from behind the fence.

"It's only to hold 'em steady so he don’t hurt himself," she replied, not looking up from the task at hand.

"Eeyup."

The horse, nervous at the intimidating device, gave a whinny and a fidget, cutting its flank on one of the metal shafts of the plow. "Dammit," Applejack muttered under her breath. "Like that."

"Ya hurt him! Lookit all them scars on his flank! This plowing job ain't safe. We shouldn't use horses for it," Applebloom decreed with a stubborn pout. "Why do we even need this here plot anyways?"

Just like a kid, Applejack thought to herself. Don't mind if someone gets shot, but lay a finger on a horse and we have to start a whole liberation.

"Applebloom," Applejack turned briefly to her sister, "we need this plot to up our sales since we had to lower our prices to keep up with Flim-Flam United Fruit." She mockingly jerked her head with the name of the dominating trust. "And we don't hunt down these horses. They wander in when they please. The plows scare them some, sure, and they's a bit dangerous. There's always a risk. But look at them scars. This ain't his first time. Horses are anything but stupid. They ain't coming here on accident. They keep coming back, but they don't have to, they want to. They want to help." She belted the final strap and patted the horse's broad neck, stroking her fingers through its coarse mane.

Mackintosh chuckled, his massive shoulders heaving under his scarlet flannel shirt. His jaw protruded into an odd smile, droopy eyes pleased at his sister's words.

"Eeyup."

Pinprick

The measurements were marked, the needle threaded, and the lighting bright so as to see the full color. With a sigh of concentration, Rarity began to weave and bind the perfectly-aligned fabric with the needle. Her hold was delicate but firm, her pace smooth and controlled. She held a steady rhythm until she jumped at a sudden knock at the door, pricking her finger on the needle. She pulled the finger from the fabric to avoid a stain and set the materials on her desk. She gave the wound a brief suckle before hurrying to the door.

She opened it to find a woman, a Starcrest like herself, standing on her porch, dressed in royal uniform and reading from a small slip of paper. "Why hello," she greeted, perhaps a bit nervous. She had not been expecting company.

The stranger’s hair was a deep purple, Rarity noted, much like her own though straight and far darker except for a bright violet streak. Her Royal Whites were clean but wrinkled from travel. The jacket, double-breasted with gold buttons, hugged her body loosely and ended below the waist. A simple dark skirt draped about her knees.

"Hello," the visitor replied. "Rarity Rosestar? Appointed Equestrian Secretary of the Treasury?" She stopped to look up to Rarity, who replied with a nod. “I've been sent to collect a routine financial report.” She made a mark on the slip before lowering it, returning it and the quill to a pocket of her large handbag.

"Oh, yes, of course." Rarity stepped aside, admitting her guest. "Please, do come in. I have the forms on hand, if you'd give me a moment to retrieve them. If the Guard had sent word, I’d have had them already, or at least would have put on some tea." She gave a slight curtsy, and left for the hallway. As she rounded the corner, she glanced back to find that the stranger had noticed a set of dresses and outfits on display on an arrangement of mannequins. Rarity proceeded to her study with a delighted step.

It of course had a desk, a chair, a file cabinet, and most of the other fittings one might expect in a home office. Despite the lamps and the window, to Rarity this room always seemed the darkest in the house. She did not come here often. It was not exactly a displeasure to be here, but it always carried the air of purpose, of monotony.

It had been suggested time and time again that she merge the office and sewing room as to save space, either store the thread in the drawers or hide the cabinet behind the display stand. No one understood the purpose. Rarity’s duties and obligations were bound within these walls, and she prized her right to detain them.

Once she’d located the file, Rarity returned to find her guest inspecting not a dress but the cape that hung in the display case mounted on the wall. The stranger's fingers hovered just off the glass, as though hesitant to streak the surface. Her eyes did not leave it as Rarity approached. "This is so very old…"

"Why, yes it is, actually. It’s been in the family as far back as I can date it. I suppose you might say it's vintage," Rarity said with a form of modesty. She then ran a hand through her well-styled hair. The motion was presented as if by habit but was in truth deliberate, meant to bring attention to her own attire. Rarity was proud to wear a long skirt of a lavender to match her hair below a white, loose-fitting blouse, a look completed with her heeled shoes and high-rimmed sewing glasses. “Casually professional,” as she liked to call it. When her guest did not take notice, she stepped to join her by the cape.

“This stitching pattern hasn’t been used for centuries,” admired her guest. “This is simply a relic. It couldn't be from the Third Age, could it? How has it lasted all these years?”

"I believe it is, though it would be impossible to tell for sure. The pattern could always be an imitation. Spells that prevent wear and tear are not difficult to learn, so it has never needed extensive mending. Handled gently, it can be kept well from the touch of the years."

It was then that the sound of purring brought to Rarity’s attention a weight on her shoulder. She felt a shudder climb her spine as she froze, her eyes sliding to see. There, inches from her face, sat some odd, purple lizard. And it was purring.

"Oh, Spike!" the visitor scolded as she lifted the creature from her. “My apologies. He generally behaves himself.”

"Oh, no, truly, it's fine," said Rarity as she straightened a hair. She only wondered why she hadn't noticed the creature before. "Ah, well, er...” She held out the papers. “Here are the forms, then. I wonder why this business isn't saved for Council meetings. We could hand them in ourselves if we held them more often. We haven't had one in months."

The visitor stowed the sheets in her large handbag. "The Princess prefers mainly to leave the Council members to themselves,” she explained. “Official matters are not meant to interfere with their personal lives. She just doesn't want to bother them."

Then on a different note, "Your family owns the diamond mine across the Avian border, is that correct?”

"Why, yes. It’s been in the family for generations. Such a spectacular find it must have been to have lasted all of these years, and it still gives more from time to time. The finds have never been frequent, but it shows no signs of going dry." Her fingers went to her cheek in thought. "We may have even had it as long as the cape, actually, but it would be impossible to tell for sure. We’ve had some disputes with another family over the ownership, though, some marriage and legal issues over the years. I’ve traced it back as far as I can, but the line blurs so much beyond six hundred years ago I lose it. The mine is probably the reason the family has sat on the Council as the Royal Treasurers for that far back. It has earned us our reputation for finances, in the least."

"Well, if your reputation serves, you would have the wealth in your standing to be considered a marchioness,” said the stranger. “Yet, you don't claim that title, do you? Is there some reason for the humility?"

“Oh, my. That’s flattering for you to say, but it’s not quite that simple. We have plenty of money in reserve, a handsome fortune, even, but only because it has accumulated over so many years.” Rarity gestured to the notably spacious rooms and their furnishings. A porcelain vase rested on the white grand piano in the far room, and an Eastern-Outlandish wicker basket held umbrellas by the door. Most of the house’s other fittings were similarly fine, though few in number. "Most of what you see here are heirlooms, to be honest. Frivolous spending would quickly run us dry. And besides, a noble is effectively a celebrity. Her power comes from the public just as well as it does her wealth. She's respected, of course, almost feared, even, but she would never be seen as a member of the neighborhood. She has an image to maintain, and often has assistance with it. But servants, agents, they only help until they control. They tell you who to meet, where to go, what to eat, and—” Rarity folded her arms “— what to wear. A public figure is almost never allowed to design for herself. Nor for anyone else, in effect. A celebrity either conforms to trends or defies them, never starting them, and if any of hers do catch on, they will only last until someone else steals the attention.The trends that last, those that are remembered, are not from the image of the figures but the style of the people. And the best styles start through subtlety. So far they’re only sold locally, but whenever I pass by a neighbor wearing one of my designs, it’s by no obligation but that they genuinely like it. And to me, that’s the highest compliment anyone could give.”

The stranger nodded. “I see. I believe the same holds for why the Princess prefers her title over ‘Queen.’”

Rarity looked to see that her finger had begun to bleed again. She immediately rested the tip on her lips, parting them slightly. The sour metallic taste was minimal. It was best to prevent infection.

The stranger was quick to notice. "Did that happen sewing? You know that if you were to use spells, you'd be at much lower risk."

Rarity did not mention that it had happened at the knock on the door. Instead, she gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Well, if I used spells for something I enjoy doing, then, well, what would be the point? When I use needle and thread, I am adding something else to the work, something I can still see woven in with the stitching whenever I look back on it.”

"Oh, yes, I've heard similar,” the visitor nodded. “It would seem many to want to include some form or another of sentiment in their work."

Rarity was nearly taken aback. With a word, the stranger had dismissed all her effort and passion. She had named it, and to name it was to kill it. Sentiment. A short, shallow word that defined the essence but captured none of it.

"Well, yes, I would expect," she said, disheartened. "One doesn't take shortcuts with their calling."

Her guest nodded and then glanced to the door. “I should probably be going. I’ve much else to do, and the ride is long.” She turned for the door, the lizard’s attention on Rarity still.

"Ah, yes, I understand. I don't suppose you plan on staying in town very long." Rarity called after her, "But I don't believe I caught your name…?"

"It's Starbrow,” she answered while closing the door behind her. “My name is Twilight Starbrow.”

“Then safe travels, Miss Starbrow.” Rarity waved, then turned for the sewing room once the door had shut. She looked to her finger again. The blood had stopped.

“Sentiment,” she muttered.

Sense

Crack an egg. Drip. Not a shell. Another. Cup of sugar, plenty of flour. Salt—just a pinch. Teaspoon of vanilla, shake of baking powder. Beat well, making sure the beaters stop spinning before—never mind! Haha! I'll clean it up in a bit. Ding! Oh, the bread's done! It rose perfectly. Batter in a pan, bread out, slide pan in oven. Great! What's next? Let's see here, crush some almonds—who's that at the door? Come innn!

Twilight entered the pastry shop to find an excited baker taking a taste of the batter from off her cheek.

Someone new!

"Well, hey!” The baker rounded the counter, and with her other hand, took Twilight’s in a vigorous handshake. “We’ve never met. You must be new around here. Are you just visiting? How long are you staying? Are you here to buy or place an order?"

Once her hand was free, Twilight was surprised to find it clean. "Actually," she she said, "I'm looking for someone. Could I speak with the shop owner, please?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Cake are out… somewhere.”

“They didn’t say where they were going?”

“Eh, maybe,” the baker shrugged.

"Actually,” Twilight said, checking her list, “I don’t think it’s the Cakes I’m looking for. This is rather unexpected.”

"Maybe I could help!” the baker offered. “I'm just their clerk, but I do the baking and the sales and take inventory and the deliveries and the—"

"Do you know where I could find a Miss… it just gives 'Pie.'"

"Oh, sure! That's me!" the grinned baker. "Pinkie Pie!"

"You?" Twilight asked. "You’re the Chancellor of Domestic Welfare and Secretary of Public Relations?"

"Yeah, that's the full title, I think," Pinkie said as she wiped her face with a hand towel.

I can never remember the whole thing.

"How… strange. I don’t think we’ve ever had a Council member quite so…" she said as Pinkie lowered a large tub of dishes into the sink with an unsettling crash, "…so young."

"Hm?"

"Erm, what I mean is," Twilight stumbled, “the Council is younger this generation than any before, but the others were at least full adults when they ran for their jobs. I didn’t think it was even legal to run at your age.”

“Oh, well I’m only two years below the mark, and when I said I was ready for the job, no one ran against me, so the Princess just gave it to me anyway.”

“Well, it’s true the descendants of the previous Council members have ran unopposed for centuries, and I respect the Princess’s judgement, but it’s still an important job to give someone your age. You alone have the power to call a vote to impeach the Princess. Are you sure you can handle the responsibility?”

“Oh, don’t worry, my mom taught me all I need to know.” Pinkie nodded towards the bookshelf on the far wall. “That’s her there, if you want to see.”

Twilight absently heard a timer ring as she walked over to the bookshelf. There she found a framed photograph of a woman sitting on a split-rail fence, laughing as her daughter reached over her for the balloon in her hand. The two had the same pink hair, but the daughter’s was curlier and wilder. An unpainted barn could be seen in the distance.

“So you grew up on a farm, then?” Twilight asked, still looking at the picture.

“Yeah, but it was no fun there. As soon as I could I moved here next to the capitol so it’s close to my royal job, except with lower rent than in the city and lots and lots of friendly people!”

“I suppose that would be the best decision,” Twilight said, walking back to the counter. “We couldn’t expect you to keep the pulse of the public opinion living so far from—hold on.” Twilight pointed to the iced four-layer cake now set on the counter. “That cake. How is it that it is already iced?”

Pinkie shrugged. “Well, what’s a cake without icing?”

“No, I mean how is it iced having just came out of the oven?”

“Well, you wouldn’t expect me to ice it before I put in in the oven, would you? That’d be just silly.”

“Ack—no, that’s what—”

Though normally I’d wait for the layer to cool before icing it instead of doing them all one at a time, but I’m in a bit of a crunch.

"So you're here to pick up some papers, right?" Pinkie asked, scrubbing a mixing bowl.

Twilight let a breath escape her teeth. "Yes, I'm here for—hold on a moment. I never mentioned what I came for. How did you know?"

Pinkie wiped her hand quickly on the towel and pressed a finger to her temple, twisting it slightly. "'Pinkie-Sense,'" she hissed. "It never fails.”

Twilight furrowed her brow and gave Pinkie an odd look.

“Plus, your bag is open and I could see the papers like mine, and with your uniform I kinda just figured…"

“Oh, I—yes, I’m here to pick up the documents for last month’s consensus. Would you please retrieve them?"

"Sure, be right back!" Pinkie said and disappeared around a doorway behind her.

Hardly a moment later, Pinkie reappeared through a doorway on the upstairs level. "Hey, did you want the submission form-thingies or the record-stuff?" she called.

"The, um… the records—how did you—"

“’Kay, just a sec.”

A few minutes later Pinkie reemerged, flailing her arms as she descended the stairs. "I can't find them anywhere!" she shouted, then collapsed on the counter with a soft crackle from underneath her. She immediately shot back up and reached into her her apron pocket. "That's where they were!"

Why didn’t I hear them when I climbed up the ladder?

"I forgot I'd put them there so that I’d know where to find them later! Have you ever done anything like that?"

Twilight did not respond.

She’s got quite the look on her face.

“You seem to have a lot on your hands,” she said. “Is it always this busy?”

“No, not really. But we’re catering for the Summer Sun Celebration tomorrow!” Her stirring picked up speed as her enthusiasm grew. “Can you believe Equestria is going to turn a thousand years old?”

Twilight pinched the bridge of her nose. “The kingdom’s far older than that,” she corrected. “It’s only the Fourth Age that’s reaching its thousandth year. If you’ll recall, Equestria was founded at the start of the Third Age.”

Pinkie thought that over for a moment. “Oh, yeah! When they slew that dragon thingy.”

“Chaos demon, yes. If you believe the legends.”

"Do you believe them?" Pinkie asked brightly.

Twilight wanted to say "no." To anyone else, the story would seem like myth, but having studied under the Princess most her life, Twilight had always been inclined to believe the first-hand accounts of her exploits.

Pinkie Pie didn’t wait for an answer. "This party is going to be huge!"

"I'm sure," said Twilight.

"Everyone's going to gather at the plaza…" Pinkie's grin widened and she quickened her stirring.

"We could expect—" responded Twilight.

"The Princess will give her speech, and everyone will hear and cheer…"

"I’m well aware—" returned Twilight.

"And the decorations!" Twilight was beginning to worry that the batter might slosh out of the bowl. But before it could spill, Pinkie set the bowl aside and started loading the bottom rack of a delivery cart with the treats that had been cooling. "There'll be food stands, and banners, and streamers hanging from street lights and—" she stopped loading to lean her full body on the cart. "And the balloons! I love balloons!"

As the baker had closed her eyes, Twilight decided now might be the best time to head for the door, but just as she turned to leave, she was stopped by the voice behind her. "Hey, wait, when's your birthday? And your name! I need your name."

Twilight sighed and turned to reply. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was thinking I could throw you a party sometime. Or—or maybe a surprise party—no, wait, you already know about it now. Well, it'll just have to be a regular party then. Those are still fun."

Twilight sighed. "Why would you want to throw me a birthday party?"

"I hold parties for everyone in town! They're so fun, I hold them any and every chance I get! One of these cakes is for one this evening. And it helps with business too; sales, deliveries, services, receptions. I know the birthday of everyone in town. They hardly have to order and schedule the parties anymore, we do it all for them. And if we catch the hosts by surprise and they can’t attend or afford all we've planned for them…" she thought to herself for a moment. "Well, then, it's on the house, I guess."

Twilight mulled that over a moment, then nodded, satisfied with the answer.

“So what’s your name?”

“It’s Twilight,” she said. “Twilight Starbrow.”

She sure looks like she’s having a long day.

“Wait, look out!” Pinkie called, scrambling over the counter in Twilight’s direction. Twilight retreated into a bookshelf behind her, knocking down a vase that would have landed on her head if Pinkie’s hands were not already there to catch it.

“You should really try to be more careful. Good thing my Pinkie-sense was there to saye the day.”

“But I wasn’t—it wasn’t until—you were the one—”

Ignoring Twilight’s stammering, Pinkie glanced at her wristwatch, one of a long-outdated but durable make. Twilight would likely have been delighted to see it, had she taken notice.

“Oh, dear,” Pinkie muttered, then resumed stocking the cart. “I wish I could chat for longer, but this one’s going to be late. Sorry to have to go so quickly.”

“Oh, no, it’s no problem,” Twilight said through clenched teeth as Pinkie sped out the door with the cart.

Wow. What would it take to get her to smile?

Author's Note

Oh, hey, look who's posting again.